Page 44 of The Nightmare Bride

S omeone murmured my name.

I cracked my eyes, expecting daylight, but shadows still swathed the bedroom. I rolled over and checked the bedside clock, which I could just make out in the sallow marshglow from the window.

Two in the morning.

I rubbed at sleep-heavy eyes, wondering what had woken me. Then a husky laugh warmed the quiet. I frowned, wondering what Ky could possibly find amusing at this hour, especially because he was clearly fast asleep, his head thrown to the side.

“Lioness,” he said. “Gods, yes.”

At that, my heart stilled, deliberating its next beat. Wait, was he...?

He made a sound—half chuckle, half moan, entirely sexual.

I sat up and shoved the coverlet aside. Oh, no. No, no, no. Him sleep-talking my name had been torture enough, but this ? Outright warfare. No way could I lay here while he dreamed his own pleasure, not if it was my face he saw in his mind.

“Ky,” I hissed.

He didn’t respond, too busy smiling at whatever sordid thing dream-me was doing to him. “Mmm.”

In desperation, I heaved astride him and clamped my hands around his shoulders. “Ky. Wake up .”

“For the love of Aerelis,” he said. “Yes, like that.”

That stopped me. Aerelis . What the hell? Wasn’t Aerelis the patron goddess of...

My mind spun, combing through the lessons I’d absorbed from Amryssa’s books. Aerelis. The patron goddess of...Windfell?

Yes, that was right, but Windfell was nothing. A territory even more insignificant than Oceansgate, a microscopic eastern peninsula populated by howling gales, barren cliffs, and a few unfortunate sheep.

Why would Ky invoke the patron goddess of Windfell?

“Fucking hell, lioness,” he crooned.

My thoughts slowed, his words digging into me like barbs. There was something different about the way he was talking. Something wrong.

Then it hit me. His accent. This wasn’t the rarefied lilt of Hightower, but something unfamiliar. No doubt one of the myriad dialects he had in his lexicon, but why would he dream in a different accent than the one he’d been born to?

Unless... Unless...

My blood slowed to an ice-water trickle. Oh. Oh, no. Oh, goddess. Oh, seven fucking hells.

The puzzle pieces finally came together like a hand had reached down from the sky and arranged them for me. I thought of Vick and Lunk—not royal attendants, but criminals. Brigands who, according to that Wanted poster, staged highway robberies along the Oceansgate road.

And the way Vick treated Ky as a resented superior, rather than a prince. Because who was Ky, really?

An actor. An impersonator. He’d said as much himself. He’d taunted me with the truth, only I hadn’t reached out and taken hold of the very thing he’d dangled in my face.

Not until this moment.

“Ky,” I shouted, shaking him.

He jerked, his lashes whipping apart. “What? What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Everything,” I hissed, hating the accent still coming out of his mouth. The Windfell one. The real one.

Because each one of those harsh-sided words told me Kyven Windermere had never made it to our doorstep at all.

No, the true prince had been waylaid by brigands, like everyone else who chanced that perilous road.

He’d been ambushed by Vick, Lunk, and the bandit chieftain lying beneath me. Who’d then dared to take his place.

That was why Kyven’s crimes had been so unfamiliar to him.

“Was I dreaming?” He blinked, clearing the haze of sleep. “I think I was. About you.”

Those barren syllables caved my chest in. Something must have shown on my face, because alarm brightened his eyes.

“Oh, no,” he said, transitioning smoothly back to Hightower. “This isn’t... Listen to me, lioness?—”

I made a sound of disgust and scrambled off him, retreating as far as the bathroom doorway. “Don’t you dare call me that. Don’t pretend to know me when I have no idea who the fuck you actually are. Other than someone who isn’t actually Kyven Windermere.”

He grimaced and struggled to his feet, one hand raised in entreaty. “That’s?—”

“True. Don’t even try to deny it.”

He swallowed. “All right. But I wasn’t keeping it from you. I tried to tell you yesterday.”

I glanced around for something to throw, but nothing lay within reach. This asshole. Every vowel, every swallowed r , was a lie.

His brows crooked. “And you know I would’ve told you this morning, if Merron hadn’t needed me. I even would’ve done it now, if you hadn’t been asleep when I came in.”

I flashed my teeth, hoping naked aggression would soothe the fury scouring my insides. What should I do? Scream? Run? Go tell the stewards we had an impostor in our midst?

Except... Shit. I fisted my hands in my hair. If anyone found out this man wasn’t Kyven, Amryssa’s wedding would be canceled. Then she’d be stuck here. Forever.

That was what Vick had in his arsenal, then—the power to destroy Amryssa’s future simply by telling the truth.

“Who are you, really?” I spat. “And don’t you dare lie. Because I swear to Zephyrine, if you spout one more line of bullshit, I’ll stab you like I wanted to that first night. Obviously it was a mistake not to.”

Ky—oh goddess, that wasn’t even his name, but what was?—padded toward me. “Bullshit? None of this has been bullshit.”

“It has. All of it. From the beginning. You liar .”

His expression darkened, going from contrite to indignant. “Liar? Hardly. I told you one lie over a breakfast table, months ago, before I even knew your name. Apart from that, I’ve been entirely truthful. I’ve been nothing short of authentic with you from the moment we met.”

“Authentic?” Stark fury colonized my insides. “Go to hell. You used me.”

That seemed to anger him, because a snarl scrunched the bridge of his nose. But his approach didn’t slow, even when I flung out a finger to stop it.

He simply walked into my hand, letting my finger stab into the thick muscle over his heart. He stared down at me, his eyes a glittering accusation.

“I have not,” he said, the words chiseled from ice, “nor will I ever, use you.”

“You pretended to be someone you’re not.” I shaped the accusation into a fiery whip. “Then married me, for Zephyrine’s sake.”

“Oh, is that a punishable offense, now? Because I seem to remember you doing exactly the same to me. I also seem to remember forgiving you for it. Without a moment’s hesitation.”

I opened my mouth, stumbled over a protest, then tried again. “That was different. I had a reason.”

“And you think I didn’t?”

“I don’t know! What could you possibly have to gain from impersonating a prince? When you’re nothing but a thief? A brigand?”

“I’m not a brigand .” His eyes flashed. “Why are you always using that word?”

“Because that’s what you call people who steal things!”

“I stole nothing,” he said, low and lethal.

“Except Kyven’s entire identity,” I sniped back.

His nostrils flared. “I may have played a role. But I’m no thief. I’m an actor, like I told you. And before that, a shepherd’s son. One nobody wanted. Also like I told you.”

“But you’re from Windfell,” I hissed.

“Yes.”

“Not Hightower.”

“No.”

I stabbed his chest again, doing my best to make it hurt. “Then every moment we’ve spent together has been a lie.”

His jaw hardened. “No. You know me, lioness. Inside and out. I’ve shown you every scar.

I’ve told you all about my past, my parents, how I left home when I was young.

About the play I saw in Gray’s Reach when I was nineteen.

Which not even Lunk has heard about. He’s known me for nearly a year, ever since I left my theatre troupe and came to conquer the nightmares, but I’ve never once shared with him what I have with you.

You might not have known me for long, but you do know me better than anyone on this earth. ”

I bit my lip, my eyes stinging. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make us sound close. Make us sound intimate.”

A sharp light blazed in his eyes. “We are intimate. You’re my wife, for Hyperion’s sake. What’s more, you understand me.”

“I don’t understand shit.” I pushed at him again, but it was like shoving against a steel wall. “I don’t even know why you’re here. Why you bothered to pretend.”

He hauled in a breath—once, twice, like he was shoring himself up. “Officially? Because we wanted into this house, and I knew I could pass as Kyven with ease.”

“Oh, right. Of course. Because you wanted to rob us, too. You and Vick, the oh-so-noble heroes.”

His eyes narrowed. “We help people, lioness, like it or not. We got Althea out, didn’t we? And her family. Lunk and I would’ve gotten Miss Quist out, too, if she’d actually wanted to go.”

I gaped. “You told Miss Quist about this?”

“I didn’t tell her I’m not Kyven. But that I’d smuggle her out of Oceansgate? Yes.”

I breathed and breathed and breathed, but no amount of indrawn air could lessen my rage. “So you knew where Althea was, that day we went searching? You knew this whole time ? Even though you told me you didn’t?”

His jaw worked. “I believe my exact words were, ‘I’m sure she’s far away, breathing a sigh of relief.’ Which I was, because she was.”

I bared my teeth. “That’s a technicality.”

“No, it was the truth. So were the reasons I gave you for coming here, that night in town.”

“Screw your reasons,” I spat. “It sounds like you wanted to just come in and steal everything.”

“ I didn’t.” His voice hardened to steel. “Vick might have imagined he’d raid this place and then return to the forest. Take up the reins I’d abandoned. But I came here to be a husband.”

“Oh, please. You expect me to believe you went to all this trouble just for some new role to play?”

His lips peeled back. “Not just that. If you must know, I also intended to do the Lady Amryssa a favor. I meant to satisfy my curiosity, then disappear. She could’ve had Kyven’s title without bothering with all the rest, because no woman deserves to be saddled with a husband she didn’t choose.

My sister suffered that fate, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. ”

Emotion rose up in me, thick and cloying. “You wanted to help Amryssa?”