Page 20 of The Nightmare Bride

I shifted on my stool, trying to get comfortable. All around, laughter mingled with the clink of glassware and the pungent tang of sweat. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes. Your company was actually tolerable, for once.”

“Careful.” His mouth hitched. “Compliments like that are guaranteed to go to my head.”

I scoffed and guzzled my ale. “ Everything goes to your head. Compliments, insults, doesn’t even matter.”

“Hmm. You may have a point.”

Great. There he went with the hmm s again. I’d learned to be wary of them, because Kyven usually chased them into meatier territory, drawing me into a conversation that sounded light on the surface, but wasn’t.

Sure enough, he leaned in, his elbows planted on the table. “There’s nothing quite like it, is there? The theatre. It’s possibility in its rawest form.”

I grimaced. A philosophical discussion was the last thing I needed right now. “I have no idea what that means.”

His knife circumnavigated the apple. “It means that inside that auditorium, there’re no rules.

I'm not a prince. You’re not a keymistress.

The curtain goes up and we’re free to become pirates, if we like.

Or rivals, or lovers, or friends. In there, we can be whatever we want. Write any story we wish.”

My skin tingled. Shit. I hated that this angle interested me. “And you...enjoy that? That freedom?”

“Freedom, yes.” His face lit up. “That’s the word. Theatre isn’t just possibility, it’s freedom, in its purest form. Because every time I go, I’m reminded that I can reinvent myself, just like those players do on stage.”

I pondered that. Huh. “And what would you like to become, exactly?”

“Well.” His smile took on a mysterious edge. “That depends on the day. On my mood. Which changes rather frequently, if you hadn’t noticed.”

I drained my ale to give myself time to think. I wouldn’t argue his capriciousness—he habitually flitted from one thing to the next. But his flightiness had a...steady quality, almost. He was predictably unpredictable, and always cheerful, always upbeat.

Which, all this time, I’d assumed was manufactured. But his expression, inside that theatre...

“And you, lioness? Who would you be, if you could reinvent yourself?”

My musings evaporated as his question made my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth.

Funny—in some ways, I could reinvent myself, but the dagger’s gifts ended at the surface.

That was the irony, I supposed. I could alter my face all I liked, but no amount of magic changed what lay beneath.

None of my adjustments made me less... me .

Now words flooded my throat. Honest ones. Goddess, I shouldn’t have drained that mug so quickly.

Maybe another drink would reinstate my sanity. I waved the waitress down.

But when the second mug arrived, sipping from it only lubricated my thoughts. “If I could’ve been anyone,” I said slowly, “...I think I would’ve liked to be good, like Amryssa. Worthy.”

A crease formed between Kyven’s brows. “Worthy? Why in Hyperion’s name would you think you aren’t?”

“Well, it’s like you said. Most people are selfish. Me included.”

His knife paused mid-swipe. The now-lengthy peel trailed onto the table, its ruby richness lurid in his hands. “Would you like to know what I see, when I look at you?”

I leaned in. “No.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m going to tell you anyway, you stubborn woman.

Because someone needs to inform you you’re absolutely worthy.

Of course you are. You’re ferocious, in fact.

Most people shy away from that side of themselves, but you?

You’re tyrannical and not the least bit sorry about it.

Not when it comes to the seneschal’s daughter, and not when it comes to your loyalty.

Which means you take a hangnail more seriously than I take a knife to the throat, but that single-mindedness is your greatest strength.

It means you can be trusted. Relied upon.

You don’t change your mind along with your clothes.

You’re ironclad, and if that’s not the single rarest and most precious quality a person can have, I don’t know what is. ”

My blood thundered in my ears, loud enough to drown out the surrounding din.

What.

The.

Fuck.

I’d been unfailingly short with him. Cruel, even. And he came back with this? This... gift of an interpretation?

I buried my face in my mug, desperate to soothe the erratic leap of my pulse.

Kyven resumed his peeling, apparently unbothered by my silence. “Now, what I’d like to know is what the Lady Amryssa did to inspire your devotion in the first place.”

His words were airier than dandelion seeds catching on an updraft, but they brought me to a standstill, anyway.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re not a woman who trusts easily. Yet you stuck your neck into the marital noose in order to spare hers. She must have done something to earn that from you.”

I stared. Kyven’s knife scritch-scritched, depriving the apple of its armor, exposing the soft core beneath.

How had he guessed that? Especially when Merron had assumed the opposite?

Then again, the two men had nothing in common.

While Merron took everything personally, Kyven seemed immune to my opinions.

Trying to insult him was like trying to injure a well by throwing a dart into the water—all I earned was a ripple of amusement, and once it faded, the surface adopted the same configuration as before, utterly unperturbed by what had just happened.

He wasn’t the kind of man I could hurt. Not by accident, probably not even on purpose. Which was...oddly freeing, now that I thought about it.

“Amryssa saved my life once,” I heard myself say. “When I was eighteen.”

“Nine years ago.” He dropped his eyes, slicing the apple into sections, now. “The same age as the nightmares. Interesting. What happened?”

I hesitated, but either the heat or the ale or the way he studied his apple—as if intentionally granting me a reprieve—pried my tongue loose.

“It was after... Well, I didn’t have any family, then.

I didn’t even have a home, just a shanty I’d pieced together in the swamp.

I used to dig for mussels out there. Bring a bag to town each week, barter it for bread and soap and matches.

” My words grew halting as I stumbled over the memories.

“But everyone in Oceansgate avoided me, even back then. They called me names. Swamp-girl. Bog-wraith. Seemed like they came up with something new every week.”

And later, once Olivian had given me the dagger, the whispers had inevitably included the word witch . People had taken to crossing their fingers when I passed, attempting to ward off whatever evil spirits I must have appealed to in order to alter my face and hair.

But I left that part out.

“They never welcomed me. It didn’t matter that my parents had taken me into the swamp and just...left me. The townspeople saw a raggedy, penniless girl, and they shunned me. Everyone except Amryssa.”

Kyven’s gaze didn’t lift. As if he knew. As if he understood I hadn’t spoken of this in years, that the words were too raw and fledgling to survive direct observation.

“I don’t want your pity,” I rushed out.

“I don’t recall offering it.” He sounded like he was commenting on the weather.

I breathed. Guzzled more ale. Kyven betrayed no hint of impatience, and that, more than anything else, prompted me to continue. I’d started this, for Zephyrine knew what reason. I might as well finish it.

“Anyway,” I said, “one week on my way to town, I ran into an alligator. A nasty one. He wanted my mussels, and I didn’t want him to have them, and by the time we’d finished arguing about it, he’d laid my leg open from hip to heel.

I was bleeding so badly I couldn’t find a clean patch of clothing to staunch the flow with. ”

Alarm flickered across Kyven’s features.

Hesitation sank steel-tipped claws into my windpipe, but I swallowed it down. No sense stopping now. I would get this story out. Drop my past into his lap, if only to see whether maybe, just maybe, he had a heart that beat, after all.

“I staggered into town, trying to get to the surgery, and Amryssa was passing in the street. I remember she was wearing a white dress that day. I’ll never forget, actually, because I’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

So angelic. And I couldn’t believe it when she helped drag me inside.

She let me bleed all over her perfect dress, and when the physician said I’d lost too much blood to survive, she volunteered to give me some of hers. ”

Kyven’s knife pierced the apple’s heart and stayed there.

Another gulp of ale. Another breath. “I don’t remember much else, because I kept losing consciousness.

It’s just...flashes. Cut-up bits of memory.

But I remember the surgeon opening my vein and hooking some kind of tube from Amryssa’s arm to mine.

Supposedly there wasn’t much chance of it working.

Something about one person’s blood not usually agreeing with another’s.

But in our case, it did. The physician sewed up my leg, and Amryssa gave me so much blood that she passed out, and afterward, she needed weeks to recover.

Olivian was so pissed. But here I am. Still alive, because of her.

Because she refused to turn her back on me, even though she could have. Even though she probably should have.”

Kyven’s throat bobbed, as if he were fishing for his next words somewhere deep within. “But she asked something of you in return, did she not? For you to become her keymistress?”

“No, no.” Denial pitched my words low. “That was a gift, too. The storms had just started, and her mother had just died. Back then, the nightmares weren’t as bad as what we get now, but they could still kill, and Amryssa needed someone to look after her.

So she gave me a choice. A chance to get out of the swamp.

The truth is, I haven’t done a thing to deserve it.

If it weren’t for her charity, I’d still be out in the marsh. Alone.”

Kyven let go of the apple, letting the slices unfurl like petals. He raised his eyes.

My head seemed to come unstuck from my body. For all the many looks he’d given me, none had laid me bare the way this one did. It was like he was looking through me. Into me.

“You’re very much...not what I expected, when we met,” he said. “I’ve known that for weeks now, but I don’t think I realized the full extent until this moment.”

My throat tightened. I had no answer for that.

“Perhaps the Lady Amryssa isn’t, either. Perhaps...I’ve underestimated her.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.” I fiddled with my mug, if only to give myself something to do.

“Everyone treats her like she’s made of eggshells.

Even me, to be honest. But her kindness is.

..fierce. She might seem soft on the outside, but inside, she’s strong.

Strong enough to weather any bullshit life throws at her. ”

“Bullshit?” Kyven’s trademark smile tickled to life. “My poor, virgin ears.”

“Sorry,” I said, not really thinking. Mostly, I was just profoundly, grotesquely relieved to have moved on to another subject.

“Are you?”

I considered. “No. I’m absolutely fucking not.”

His smile stretched. “Ah, well. In truth, my ears aren’t any more virginal than the rest of me.”

At that, a memory arose—a deft tongue, tracing shivering lines against my throat. No, he wasn’t virginal in the slightest. That I knew.

A fiery arrow glided down my spine. Gods, would my mind never cease to revisit that place? Whenever Kyven got too close, too attentive , my thoughts went careening downhill.

I relived our wedding night way more often than I wanted to.

To distract myself, I plucked an orange from the fruit plate and dug my nails into the peel.

When I looked up again, Kyven’s eyes glittered—whether because he’d divined the direction of my musings or drawn that story out of me, I couldn’t say.

But he looked like a man who’d labored over a jigsaw puzzle for weeks, then found the last piece lodged beneath the carpet.

“I want you to call me Ky,” he said, apropos of nothing.

Itchiness tightened my skin, a warning prickle, like I’d looked around and realized I’d strayed too close to an open flame. Next thing I knew, it would burn me, and I’d have no one to blame but myself. “I’m not doing that.”

“Why not? Afraid you’ll like it?”

“No.” The word was hardly more than a scoff. “Nicknames are just way too...familiar.”

“Well, they do say familiarity breeds contempt. So, seeing as how you’re so intent on hating me, perhaps you ought to let your guard down a little. It might help your cause.”

My head swam with the circularity of his argument. I had no idea how he came up with things like that on the fly. “What? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

“It doesn’t. And you’re infuriating for even saying it.”

“You like that I infuriate you.”

“I don’t.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Perhaps you’ll even believe it, someday. Because I certainly don’t.” He grinned and popped an apple slice into his mouth. I hadn’t known a person could chew smugly , but he managed.

Ugh.

“Hungry?” He offered a piece of fruit.

I set aside my mangled orange and snatched at the apple, if only to get Kyven to stop looking at me like that. Like he’d unearthed some private shard of me and tucked it into his pocket.

The fruit exploded between my teeth. As I chewed, a new sound joined the hubbub—the wheeze and whine of tuning instruments.

Thank goddess. A distraction. In the corner, a fiddler, a percussionist, and a banjo player were setting up.

“It’s about to get loud in here,” I said. “We should probably go.”

“Go?” Kyven downed his ale in one throat-bobbing swallow, then plunked down the empty mug. “Absolutely not. We’re just getting started, and I’m very much looking forward to this next part.”

My stomach did a slow capsize. I’d heard him say that before, hadn’t I? “Next part? What next part?”

Those blue eyes glinted with their own internal light. “The part where I convince you to dance with me.”