The King's Cursed Bride

Accused: Part 3

            

Quint dragged her by her hair, towards a corner of the cell. She bit her lip as agony ripped across her skull. A bucket sat next to the wall, half filled with scummy water. A memory flickered in her mind—Akar dunking her head in the trough. She remembered to gasp before Quint plunged her head into the bucket.

The water was cold, so cold her head ached, as if her skin were freezing and tightening around her skull. She breathed out slowly, letting the bubbles tickle her chin before drifting towards the surface.

Seconds trickled by, their passage marked by the throb of her head and beat of her heart.

Once her lungs were nearly emptied, she tried to lift her head, but Quint shoved it more deeply into the bucket, slamming her forehead into the wooden bottom. A flurry of bubbles escaped her lips. A heavy pressure gripped her chest, tightening bit by bit until her lungs felt like lead. She needed air.

Her heart buckled beneath her sternum, as if trying to escape the increasing pressure. She tried to twist away from Quint, but he was stronger—and her ankles and wrists were bound.

Against her will, her lips parted and she sucked in a mouthful of water. It reached her throat before she started coughing, only for another involuntary gasp to draw more water in. She'd thought the water cold at first, but now it burned, branding her lungs, her throat, her nose. It felt like she'd sucked in a handful of red-hot nails, ripping and shredding and searing as they went down.

Quint yanked her back out just as her vision began to swirl, and she crashed to the floor, her wet clothes slapping the stone. She gasped and sputtered, her cheeks wet with water and tears. Hot shame engulfed her at her own weakness as sobs escaped her lips.

Quint chuckled as he stood over her. "No marks."

Fear gripped her, and suddenly she was back, at the mercy of ruthless men who did with her body as they pleased. She should've tried to stand up, to kick Quint's legs out from under him, to answer him back with dignity befitting her station.

Instead, she curled more tightly on the wet floor and waited for the next blow.

Something bubbled up beneath her fear: anger. Where was Elon? Surely he knew that this would've happened. Why had he left her? She'd been trying to do the right thing. Could this be some sort of punishment? Could he have forgotten about her? Was this a lesson?

Quint knelt next to her and gripped her chin, his nails cutting into her skin. "Now, answer my questions and perhaps the rest of tonight will go smoothly for you. Who killed the gardener?"

For a moment, she considered giving him the few breadcrumbs of knowledge she had gathered. But if he knew she had been protecting a Reaper because Elon hadn't wanted the Reaper's identity revealed, what would that say of Elon? Would he spread the information around the villages? Cause an uprising against Elon? Turn Elon's own people against him? If she revealed the truth, it could hurt Elon. Even though she wasn't sure why he hadn't come for her yet, even though she hadn't the slightest clue why he would protect a Reaper, she couldn't let him be hurt.

Carissa shook her head. "I refuse to—"

His fist rammed into her chest. There was a sickly crunch, and pain stole her breath, its hot blade slicing past her ribs.

His smile was thin. "I didn't say refusal was an option."

She tried to breath deeply, but stopped short when agony pierced her chest. "Quint, I know you cared for the gardener. I know he was a good man. I know you want justice. I'm sure Elon wants justice too."

Quint's smile became brittle. "Then where was he? When my wife was about to die? When my brother was killed in an accident? When the gardener was murdered? Where is he now, when you need him?" He bent his head towards hers, his breath musty as he chuckled. "You see? He's abandoned you, just like he's abandoned me and all of his people. The most powerful man in the world, thousands of people and resources at his disposal, and yet he chooses to do nothing." His nostrils flared. "I refuse to follow him any longer. I will have justice for the pains of this world."

She swallowed. "Quint, if you stop now, perhaps the King will spare you, and maybe if you talk to him, he'll share what his plans are."

He pointed a finger at her, continuing as if he hadn't hear her, "and you've chosen to side with him, to intentionally allow this injustice, so you will suffer like you've allowed others to suffer." He yanked her upright by her hair, ignoring her suppressed whimper. "You're obviously no good for information, so you'll have to serve another purpose."

She gritted her teeth, trying to focus on his words past the pain.

He used his other hand to brush her fingers. "For every injustice he's allowed, I'll send one piece of you to him. And we'll start with your fingers." He dragged her to the wall again.

She twisted in his grip, bile stinging the back of her throat. "No, no. Don't." She glanced up at him, hoping to catch of glimpse of him softening. "Please don't."

He dropped her, so she slumped against the wall. Then he pinned her left wrist to the stone, folding all her fingers down but her ring finger. "There's something fitting about sending him this finger first."

Air stuttered past her throat, as if reluctant to enter her chest. Tingles prickled her skin as the cell tipped and swayed like a ship in a storm. She tugged against his grip.

He pressed her wrist into the wall, his knuckles white. "If you don't hold still, I might cut off more than just this finger."

Quint withdrew his sword with his free hand, the sound of the blade against the sheath echoing in the cell.

She looked away, the world taking on a fuzzy quality—a high-pitched whine nipping at her ears, colors and shapes meshing together, her skin so tingly is nearly buzzed.

Metal whistled through the air. Pain burst in her hand—hitting her so hard and fast she could barely catch her breath. And when she finally did, it escaped once more—in a scream so loud it scraped her throat raw.

His grip loosened, and she cradled her bloody hand to her chest.

The pain was fire eating away at her finger, consuming her with its heat, making her bloody stub of a finger weep hot red tears. Her gaze caught on a red-stained chunk of flesh on the ground.

Her stomach twisted, and she spewed her last meal onto the floor. Instead of sharpening the world, the pain made it grow fuzzier still. Perhaps she would pass out. At that moment, the idea held more appeal that it should have.

Sounds rang in her ears, and it took her a moment to parse out their meaning:

Men shouting.

Movement, struggle.

Swords clashing.

Then silence.

Something was happening to the other men, the men Quint had sent to guard them. Quint stood frozen to the spot, his attention on the long hallway. In the silence, his breath was billowing and loud.

Footsteps. Evenly spaced apart. Without falter. A steady tapping, like the dripping of rain. A man strode into view. He didn't stop until he stood in front of the cell. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes were fire, sparking with molten heat. He stood there, a bloody sword dangling from his grip, his hair mussed and uncrowned—as if he'd just woken from bed.

Elon had come for her.

***

Author's Note: You guys know where to find the sneak peek ;)