Page 16 of The Nightmare Bride

O ver the next three weeks, I trailed Kyven like a would-be jailer, watchful and suspicious.

Not that my vigilance accomplished much.

As if in answer to my scrutiny, the prince doubled down on his carefree image—he laughed easily, did everything with gusto, and seized every opportunity to slip me a wink or a half smile.

Moreover, ever since our conversation in the cupola, he often studied me as if sizing up a mountain he planned to climb.

Which unsettled me, to say the least. Mostly because I knew that, however well he disguised it, he was likely thinking about pain. Specifically mine , and as the days passed, I almost hoped he would slip. Unleash his sadistic tendencies so I wouldn’t have to endure this farce anymore.

But instead of putting me out of my misery, the insufferable man just..

.never stopping moving. Breakfast usually involved three separate trips to the sideboard, followed by an exhaustive investigation of the manor’s rooms in search of something “stimulating.” When that inevitably failed, Kyven would pester some poor steward for a job, then spend the afternoon chopping wood, or feeding the hot-water boilers, or wrestling the sheep for shearing.

Whatever the task, it usually involved a ridiculous amount of brute strength, and apparently required him to take off his shirt.

Infuriating, egotistical show-off.

Keeping him in my sights exhausted me, and I still had to tend to Amryssa. The only thing making my double duties tolerable was the fact that the prince didn’t chafe at my relentless presence. He only ever complained of boredom, and then he did so with his customary half smile in place.

Nothing else seemed to vex him. Not the heat. Not the scalding tea Miss Quist spilled on his spotless jacquard waistcoat one morning. Apparently, not even the fact that he’d married the wrong woman, whose bed he would share for the next eight weeks.

When I told him he would sleep in my room until the annulment went through, he waggled his brows, a wicked gleam in his eye.

But he never so much as touched me. He only sauntered around my chamber each evening, his clothing at a minimum.

More than once, he caught me running my eyes over his sculpted torso.

“See something you like?” he said one night.

I jerked my attention down to the book in my lap. I’d made it my policy never to fall asleep before he did, so while he puttered around, expending the last of his considerable energy, I took the opportunity to read.

“No,” I said.

“Ah, the infamous denial of attraction.”

“Attraction?” My fingers clamped around the pages, smudging the ink. “Ha. The only thing I find attractive here is the fact that I’ll be rid of you in five weeks.”

“Ah, but five weeks isn’t an insignificant amount of time.” He drummed his fingers against his chin. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll fall madly in love with me before then.”

I grimaced. “You have a zero percent chance of making me fall in love with you. Especially in five weeks.”

“You know, you’re right. My apologies.”

My shoulders loosened.

“I’m sure I can do it in three,” he added, and winked.

I couldn’t help myself. I threw the book. Kyven ducked away, laughing.

Goddess, I hated him. Yet as the weeks passed, some part of me did grow accustomed to his presence.

I never forgot I was sharing my bedchamber with a monster—one who, by his own admission, was keeping secrets.

But that didn’t stop me from sometimes, just sometimes, appreciating the way the day’s heat dusted him with gold, how he looked as though someone had painted him from light and fire.

Not to mention the way my heart beat dull and drunk in response.

A shame, really. All that gorgeousness, wasted on a villain.

The days passed. Each evening, I read until Kyven wore himself down. Then I called on the dagger’s enchantment, ensuring he wouldn’t wake until I did.

Then I rolled away and ignored him. Or tried. But the heat-drenched silence had a maddening habit of amplifying each sound. There was the cadence of his breath. His sleepy murmurs. The startling frequency with which he dreamed.

All of which prevented me from finding proper rest.

Still, I would’ve endured a thousand of those unsettled nights in order to see the changes in Amryssa. Without the threat of marriage hanging over her head, she smiled more. Her musical laugh graced my ears with increasing frequency.

Only now did I realize how painfully somber she’d become after Olivian had announced his intentions to marry her off. And if she still spent long hours staring out the window, if she somehow looked frailer than ever, at least the wait for the annulment had given her room to breathe.

All too soon, it would be over.

Soon enough, everything would fall apart, just as Amryssa had said.

Vick was up to something.

I couldn’t say exactly when I’d realized. Maybe when Kyven tried, for the third time, to distract me when his orange-haired attendant emerged from a room that hadn’t been used in almost a decade. Or maybe when I caught Vick sitting in the library, sketching walls and stairwells in the air.

“What’re you doing?” I said.

He took my measure, his gaze acute, like he could calculate my innermost secrets if he viewed me from a certain angle. “Making a blueprint.”

“Of?”

“The house.”

I paused. Vick sat in an overstuffed armchair, his shortsword leaned against the side, but his hands were empty—not a scrap of parchment in sight. “What, inside your head?”

“Where else?”

I blinked. I’d lived here nine years and still struggled to navigate the manor’s sprawl, at least when roaming the lesser-used wings. The idea of someone charting this labyrinth in less than a month...

“There’s a locked room,” he said, unmoved by my astonishment. “On the third floor. If you take two rights from the stairs, then a left, it’s the last one on the right. That door’s barred. What’s in there?”

I frowned. Kyven was off in the corner, entertaining himself by spinning a standing globe, then plunking down a forefinger at random. Absorbed as he was, he didn’t look up.

“Does the seneschal keep something in there?” Vick’s green eyes bored into mine. “Something important?”

My throat worked. Goddess, Kyven had said Vick didn’t do small talk, but this was...intense.

“What business is it of yours?” I managed.

“This is my home, now. Shouldn’t I learn the ins and outs?”

I wanted to say no, but...ugh. Maybe he had a point. And my relentless sparring with Kyven had drained me of the will to argue.

So I pondered the question. It took me three tries to mentally conjure the correct hallway, but?—

Ah. A locked room. The locked room.

Right.

“It’s the Lady Marche’s bedchamber,” I said. “Or it was. Olivian sealed it up when she died. No one’s been in there in years. Well, except...”

Vick leaned in, but I had no desire to tell him about the steward who’d taken it upon himself to air out the Lady’s chamber five years ago.

Olivian had hurled the man against a wall and throttled him to within an inch of his life.

I would never forget the way the man’s mouth had opened, fishlike, while his face turned a mottled shade of purple.

Nor did I want to talk about how Amryssa, in an unprecedented show of initiative, had thrown herself into the fray. Olivian had shouted in her face, which had allowed the steward to scurry away, at least.

It was the only time I’d seen Amryssa defy her father, and unsurprisingly, she’d only done so for someone else’s sake.

But afterward, she’d been subdued for days.

And while she’d eventually forgotten the incident, I hadn’t.

I’d come away from that experience knowing the Lady Marche’s bedroom was something Olivian would kill over.

Now even I feared to set foot inside. And that was saying something.

Vick cared nothing for my reticence, though. “No one goes in there? Ever? Surely there’s a key somewhere?”

“There is,” I said grudgingly. “But only one, and it lives in Olivian’s pocket. The others were melted down, so you can forget about opening that door. He’ll murder you if you even try.”

“Will he.” Vick licked his lips. I could practically see the desire to chart this forbidden secret unfolding behind his eyes.

“Look,” I said. “You really don’t want to?—”

The library doors creaked. I whirled, fearing Kyven had escaped my supervision, but he hadn’t strayed from the corner. Instead, Althea hurried in, brightening at the sight of me.

“Harlowe.” She came close, her hands clasped. “I’ve been meaning to find you. And say thank you, for that nightmare a few weeks ago, when you...”

She trailed off with a glance at Vick and Kyven. “Well. For when you did what you did. I can’t lose my position here, not when my family needs me. So...thank you.”

Her earnestness warmed me. “It’s nothing. Really. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Not anyone,” she said.

“And what, pray tell, did Harlowe do during the last nightmare?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Gods among us, how had Kyven gotten across the room so quickly? Somehow, he stood at my elbow, appraising Althea with keen eyes.

Very keen eyes.

My heart turned over. Oh, no. Nope. Absolutely not. He would not be taking an interest in any of the housemaids, not if I had anything to say about it.

“Althea,” I said, “why don’t you go see if Olivian needs help?”

She hesitated, her attention shifting to Kyven.

He beamed a smile that probably would’ve disarmed a career mercenary. “Althea. How lovely to meet you. You have a family, you say? One that relies on your help? Tell me more. Do they live in town?”

She opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “Althea. Go. See Olivian. Or Miss Quist. Or literally anyone else. Now.”

She gave a surprised squeak at my tone, but hurried away, thank Zephyrine.

Kyven pouted. “Well. That was rather rude.”

“You questioning her was rude,” I said, hostile. “What business is it of yours where her family lives?”

He shrugged, which made my bones crawl. He’d probably wanted to know whether she would be...missed. Or something. Creep.

“Shouldn’t I get to know people?” he said.

“No. You should leave them alone. Especially innocent young housemaids.”

He raked his gaze over me, amusement kindling in his eyes. “Why, lioness. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

Whatever sliver of tolerance he’d earned from me over the past three weeks withered to ash. “Jealousy? Don’t be daft. That has nothing to do with it.”

“Mmm-hmm. If you say so.”

When he smirked, I clutched my dagger so hard my palm ached. If I didn’t put distance between us right the hell now, I couldn’t be held accountable for what happened next.

So I stalked away. By the time I reached the door, I’d wrestled my wrath into submission. Mostly.

Five more weeks, that was all. Then I could wash my hands of him. Literally.

“Come on,” I said. “Amryssa’s probably done with her bath by now. I need to go check on her.”

No answer. When I looked back, Kyven bent toward Vick, whispering. A look passed between them, heavy with meaning.

My gut clenched. What in Zephyrine’s name?

The prince straightened. He came sauntering toward me, that stupid half smile tilting his mouth, as if I hadn’t just caught him scheming with his attendant. “If Amryssa needs us, then by all means, lead the way.”

I slitted my eyes. What was he up to? Moreover, what was Vick up to, with all this sneaking around?

“You’re beautiful when you do that, by the way.” Kyven’s voice dropped to a velvety croon. “That look of yours...it makes me want to misbehave, if only so you’ll scold me, afterward.”

“Scold you?” I forced the words through clenched teeth. “I’ll do much worse than scold you. So don’t test me. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

He set a hand against the doorway, caging me in. “Ah, but that’s the thing, lioness. I rather think I do. I think I’ve had you figured out since that day on the roof.”

I tried to retreat, but the jamb prevented it. Kyven leaned so close his breath wafted across my skin, stirring a memory of that same heated exhale—those same lips—blazing a trail down my neck.

I shivered. “Get away from me.”

He chuckled. “If you insist.” He strolled away.

I stood there, my feet nailed to the floor, my chest heavy with outrage. Well, outrage and...something else. Some nagging awareness of my own heartbeat, one I had no explanation for. I swiped at my hair, smoothing the stray strands his breath had dislodged.

Thankfully, the phantom sensations faded when I glanced at Vick. He still sat in the armchair, watching me.

A smile curved across his mouth, but something about it brought to mind a scythe. It was a smile that said I had no secrets and never would, that this man had weighed me with a glance and found me wanting.

With a shudder, I hurried after Kyven, unable to decide which man unnerved me more.