The Golden Trap

Elara fell to her knees, coughing. "It's... it's alright. I feel a little faint."

"It is not alright!" Kaelen roared. He looked at his hand. The mud was flaking off, revealing the perfect, manicured hand of the Lord he used to be. "It is taking you to fix me! It is the vanity again! I am consuming you to make myself pretty!"

"Kaelen, stop," Elara wheezed. "We can... we can figure this out."

"There is nothing to figure out!" Kaelen snarled. He grabbed her. He didn't embrace her; he lifted her like a sack of grain.

"Put me down!"

"I am saving you," Kaelen said, his voice hard. "I will not be this. I will not be the parasite."

He ran with her, out of the garden, up the stairs. He moved with supernatural speed, the curse accelerating his strength even as it restored his form.

He reached the courtyard. The carriage Thomas had abandoned was still there, the horses long gone, but the carriage remained.

He threw the door open and placed Elara inside.

"Kaelen, don't!" Elara grabbed his arm. Her grip was weak. Her skin was looking translucent, like old parchment.

"Forgive me, Elara," Kaelen said. "You were right. The boy was kind. But the man... the man has to make a choice."

He slammed the door shut. He jammed a rusted iron bar through the handles, locking her in.

"Kaelen!" she screamed, pounding on the window. "What are you doing?"

Kaelen turned away. Half his face was beautiful again, half was still monstrous mud. He looked at the Citadel.

"I cannot break the betrothal," he shouted over his shoulder. "Magic binds us. As long as I live, the curse feeds on you."

"No!" Elara realized what he meant. "Kaelen, don't you dare!"

"The Whispering Gallery," Kaelen said. "The Final Withering. If I turn myself to stone... the bond breaks. You will live, Elara. You will find a husband who is warm and soft and alive."

"I don't want a soft husband!" Elara shrieked. "I want you!"

But he was already running. He ran back into the dark throat of the Citadel, locking the great iron doors behind him.