The King's Cursed Bride

Taken by Reapers: Part 4

The Reaper whipped out his Scythe. "Stay where you are, your highness."

With him coming at her with a Scythe? Not likely. Carissa pulled the servant, and they both stood together. Carissa used both arms to restrain the girl; after all, there was no point in trying to silence her now.

Carissa tightened her grip as the Reaper approached. "Stop where you or, or I'll—"

The Reaper twirled his Scythe. "You'll what?"

An excellent question. It wasn't as if she had anything to threaten the servant girl with—and even if she did, it wasn't likely the Reaper would care. But perhaps the girl could still serve as a distraction.

Carissa whispered to her, "Sorry." Then she shoved the girl forward before kicking the small of her back. The girl stumbled into the Reaper.

Carissa darted to the edge of the tent and wriggled her way underneath the fabric.

Coldness curled around her ankle, and she glanced down to find the Reaper had grabbed her. She stamped on his fingers a few times with her free leg. Something crunched beneath her foot, and the Reaper released her with a pained hiss.

Carissa stood and darted in between the tents. The Reaper would likely gather a few other Reapers to try and track her down. She had to escape the camp. But what about Elon?

Her steps slowed, and she softened her footfall as she approached where Elon was being held. She peered around the tent she hid behind. Several Reapers stood around the circumference of the marquee. They really had increased Elon's guard. Maybe she would have to leave without him and come back with help. But leaving without him felt... wrong.

Feet padded against the ground, the sound growing louder, and Carissa entered the tent in front of her. Thankfully, it was empty—nothing inside but a pallet, a low-lying table, and a few sacks. A few pieces of hardtack sat on the table, and cloth spilled out of one of the sacks.

She stepped closer and fingered the material. Clothing. Perhaps she could wear a disguise and free Elon. It seemed the only option available.

The footsteps approached her tent, then passed it. She was safe—for now.

Carissa shed her clothes and changed into the rough spun dress. It was a few inches short, but it would do. She stuffed her clothes into the sack, grabbed a piece of hardtack, and turned to face the tent entrance.

Elon had saved her. Now it was time for her to save Elon.

Carissa peeped out of the tent opening. All clear. She left the safety of the tent and glanced at the Reapers again. She'd have to be convincing. How would a servant act? Carissa stooped her shoulder slightly and fixed her gaze on the ground. She shuffled towards the tent, clasping her hands so the Reapers wouldn't see how much they shook.

She stopped when she spotted the hem of a black cloak. "Excuse me. Mistress Zorelle has asked that I bring the prisoner some food."

Someone laughed—a soft, feminine laugh. Was this another female Reaper? Carissa glanced up just as a Reaper emerged from the tent. And not just any Reaper.

Zorelle.

Her gaze ran up and down Carissa. "I'm fairly certain I would remember if I'd asked you to bring Elon food, Carissa."

This was great. Just great. Maybe she could snatch one of the Reapers' Scythes, or outrun them or—

The Reapers began to approach Carissa, but Zorelle held up her hand. "No, wait. Elon and I have made a deal."

Cold poured through her veins. What had Elon done? Carissa straightened, throwing off her servile posture in favor of a more queenly one. "What did he agree to?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Zorelle slid to the side, gesturing to the opening with a flourish.

Zorelle was just letting her go to Elon? She wasn't worried about Carissa escaping with him? Maybe this was a trap. Maybe she should run while she still could.

"It's alright, Carissa," Elon called from within. At least, it sounded like him.

But he'd spent the last month training her to kill Reapers; it didn't seem likely he would suddenly be in league with them.

"You can come in now, Carissa."

If Zorelle wanted to trick her, she'd have to do better than that. Carissa took a step forward, as if she were about to go in. Her body was coiled, like a spring ready to release. She'd have to be fast, and once she made it to the forest—

"That's a bad idea, Carissa."

A trickle of unease ran down her spine. Had he used Foresight to see what would have happened? But what if Reapers had similar abilities? "How do I know it's you, Elon?"

"Would you like me to prove it?" His tone carried an undercurrent of laughter.

"Yes."

"Then I'll tell you three things about yourself, and you'll be the judge of whether or not that's sufficient proof."

Carissa nodded. "Fine."

"You're often frustrated by me, but you try not to show it. And you do a very poor job, by the way."

She snorted. "Not bad, but that could have been a random guess."

"Very well. You're favorite thing about me is my dashing good looks—and my suave charm."

His words startled a laugh from her before she could stop it.

He chuckled with her. "In truth, your favorite things about me are my sense of humor and my gentleness. They help keep your darkness at bay."

Her chest tightened. It had to actually be Elon. But then, what was he planning?

"Finally, sometimes you're still scared to sleep in the dark, because when you can't see, often you forget what's reality and memory. You forget that it's me holding you and not—"

Carissa burst through the tent opening.