Page 19 of The Nightmare Bride

I digested that. Despite having two attendants, Kyven mostly looked after himself, so I’d only spoken to Lunk a handful of times.

The giant always covered his mouth when he talked, as if a raised hand might conceal the lisped s ’s and bee-buzz th ’s his underbite produced.

Yet he’d struck me as intelligent and open-hearted, a man worthy of someone as sweet as Miss Quist.

Warmth fuzzed beneath my ribs, and I caught myself. Goddess. Charitable thoughts about two people in one fell stroke? I was losing my edge.

At least Kyven still made me want to stab something whenever he walked by.

“You should tell Lunk she’s not the type to judge on looks,” I said, in an attempt to regain my balance. “And that she reads even more romances than I do. They’re more scandalous, too. Maybe they could bond over that.”

Kyven arced an eyebrow, but he passed up the opportunity for a jibe, much to my surprise. “He won’t listen. Though I did ask him about his newfound passion while he and I were outside the kitchen yesterday.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Oh. So...you’re planning to trick him into confessing?”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t say I’m planning it.”

“Oh, no, of course not.” I sniffed. “Let me guess, you had some convoluted justification, didn’t you? What did you tell yourself, that you were creating an opportunity where none currently exists ?” I mimicked his stuck-up accent, my nose thrust into the air.

He laughed. “Gods, lioness. You’re adorable when you mock me. Truly.”

The compliment stole half the air from my lungs, and I scolded myself. Stupid. Stupid, pretentious, condescending prince. Stupid me for indulging in his bullshit. Stupid Olivian for burdening me with this man long enough that he was starting to feel familiar.

I faced forward, effectively closing the door on our repartee.

We’d almost reached town, and in the dim embrace of night, Oceansgate stood as a remnant of its former self.

Derelict houses sagged against one another.

Moonbeams striped the ragged cobblestones.

In the distance, the sea reflected starlight, and abandoned anchors rusted on the beach—vestiges of ships that no longer sailed these waters.

Once, this had been a bustling port town, the terminus of the trade route from the distant southern islands.

But with the advent of the nightmares, our harbor had fallen into disuse.

Now, instead of shipping goods along our overland route to Hightower, vessels sailed past us to Stormbow.

The harbor there was shallower and less protected, the waters plagued by the weather that had given the territory its name, but at least their squalls weren’t the suicide-inducing kind.

Kyven surveyed the ramshackle buildings. A breeze lifted, carrying the scent of saltwater and seaweed. “It’s charming.”

“It was . Now it’s just...faded. And I’m sure it has nothing on Hightower.”

“Oh, no place does. But this one looks lively enough, all things considered. Where’s the theatre?”

I pointed to a distant building, where torchlight caught on ivy-laden walls. Cracks split the stucco, stained black by the sea air.

We descended the last hill into town, and Kyven was right—a surprising number of people were out, rendering the streets lively. Women in bright skirts beckoned from crumbling doorways while men in faded tailcoats spouted ragged, drunken choruses.

A strange energy came over Kyven, almost as if he belonged in a place like this. He reached for my hand, his grip vibrating with excitement.

I started to pull away, then reconsidered. He was like a fox in a henhouse here—liable to duck down an alley and eat somebody. At least with our fingers linked, I could keep him on a leash. So I left my hand where it was.

Ugh. I’d have to send Olivian a bill, once this was over. One that included a hefty fee for my pain and suffering.

Within minutes, we joined the influx of theatregoers. Threadbare waistcoats and handheld paper fans gleamed in the torchlight. Kyven dropped a few coins into the ticket-seller’s hand before leading us to our red velvet seats.

I settled in to absorb the scene. The auditorium’s proscenium arch, once gilded, now bore a patina of neglect, but the chandelier made up for it, sparkling with a thousand dangling crystals.

Anticipation fizzed in the air. As we waited, someone tossed a pair of underwear onto the curtained stage, prompting ripples of laughter.

A few moments later, the curtain lifted. Kyven’s grip on my hand tightened.

Pirates swaggered onto the stage, accompanied by a creaking ship powered by ropes and pulleys. In the background, drums and cymbals clashed out a thunderstorm.

I leaned in. For the next half-hour, two rival pirate captains—a dark-skinned woman and a brown-haired man—tried to kill one another. When that failed, they grudgingly fell in love instead, culminating in a fiery love scene complete with a satin-draped bed and bare, heaving breasts.

They were beautiful together. Incendiary. So much that something fluttered in the base of my stomach, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over at Kyven.

He gazed back at me, his eyes like blazing blue stars. His expression crackled with lust, but also with something else—a glittering delight, a joy I’d previously glimpsed only in passing. Now it had found a new home in the sweep of his brows, in the imperial tilt of his nose.

“I love this,” he whispered. “The theatre. I love it more than anything in the world. I could come here every night and never tire of it.”

I searched his face. “Really? But...what happened to you not having feelings?”

“Oh, lioness.” His eyes softened. “Haven’t you figured it out? You shouldn’t take anything I say seriously. Only half of it has any basis in reality.”

I stared, caught up in him, somehow. The sheer delight pouring from him felt so...real. So authentic the plaster ceiling could have fallen in and I wouldn’t have looked away. “Does that mean...you wouldn’t have kept me up on our wedding night, then?”

The moment the words emerged, I clamped my lips together. What the hell? I could’ve said anything, and I’d said... that .

Kyven grinned. Not halfway this time, but full and white, as wide as a promise. “Ah, but that’s the fun part. Figuring out which half to believe.”

He held my eyes a moment longer, then returned to the play. And he really did look like a boy on Solsticetide Evening, breathless and radiant, eager to hang his lantern outside the door so Zephyrine could leave her gifts on the longest night of the year.

The play’s action rose, but failed to recapture my focus. Kyven was like a blue-and-red flame beside me, a bright, burning thing that tangled with thoughts of Eliana and Amryssa.

That wasn’t him . He didn’t do those things .

Seeing him like this, I could almost believe it. After all, Kyven had let me go, in the cellar. He’d protected me. And how could a man with a raw love for theatre, with a ready laugh and a zest for...well, everything , it seemed...delight in hurting people?

Possibilities threaded through my mind. I was missing something here. I could feel it.

The play ended. Cheers erupted, Kyven hollering louder than anyone else. When the curtain fell, we rode the crowd out into the sticky evening, where he reclaimed my hand and whisked me down a side street.

A block later, he paused before a rain-stained bulletin board. Ancient flyers advertised shows that had come and gone, while others detailed job postings that no longer existed.

Kyven tapped a Wanted poster. “What’s this?”

I scanned the yellowed parchment. The headline offered a reward for the leader of the swamp brigands, then listed the man’s crimes: robbery, highway banditry, tax evasion. The accompanying portrait was generic and washed-out, and could have been anyone.

The poster must have been years old, considering no lawmen remained to collect a reward from. “It’s about the outlaws living in the woods. The same group that woman in the cellar was from.”

Kyven ran a finger along the bottom of the poster, where someone had scrawled a handwritten addition. The true seneschal of Oceansgate . “And this?”

My mouth tightened. “I don’t know. They’re common thieves, but.

..their founder has become kind of a mythic figure, at this point.

People act like he’s the champion of the downtrodden.

The noble thief who helps the poor, that sort of thing.

Maybe because he gives away money. Or used to, when the nightmares first started.

And he’s made sure everyone in Oceansgate has a set of chains.

But calling him ‘the rightful seneschal’ is ridiculous.

I guess Olivian just hasn’t cultivated the people’s love, like this guy has. ”

Kyven tore the poster off the wall and folded it into the pocket of his tailcoat.

“What’re you doing?”

“Research.” He flashed a sunlit smile. “I want to know everything about my new home.”

I gave him a skeptical look, but he was already pulling me by the hand again. A brisk walk later, we veered through a doorway, and I found myself sitting at a wooden table in a crowded pub.

The place was wide open—high-ceilinged but dark, all warm black walls and gray stone floors. It was old, too, in a way that settled into my bones and gave weight to the air.

Amid all those shadows, Kyven gleamed, as fresh and bright as a copper penny.

He ordered two ales and a plate of fruit. The waitress set everything on his half of the table, leaning in so far her bosom nearly spilled into his face.

Not that he noticed. He pinned me with a look, then set to peeling an apple in one continuous spiral. I tracked the progress of his paring knife, wondering if I should have done something to keep him from having a blade.

But I didn’t actually feel threatened. Not with Kyven studying me like he was paying attention with his whole self. Like he could scorch away my layers with the frosty burn of his eyes.

“Did you enjoy the show?” he said.