Page 9 of The Nightmare Bride

I couldn’t breathe.

I tried to tell myself it was because Amryssa’s wedding dress squeezed me so tightly my ribs knitted together, but the fact that Prince Kyven was coming definitely didn’t help.

His bootheels clacked against the great hall’s parquet, audible even through the library door. Each footfall stung my ears like a whipcrack. Clack. Clack.

This man—this monster—was about to become my husband.

I stole a glance at Amryssa. She waited, head bowed, her knuckles white around the loop of my keychain. After her nap, she’d fought my plan all over again, but I’d reminded her she’d agreed to this.

Now here we were.

Clack. Clack . My nerves sizzled like live coals. Across the library, the officiant contemplated his pocket watch, then cast a glance around.

I tried to calm my jittery nerves by imagining what he saw.

Despite years of neglect, the library still commanded awe, a wonderland of crown molding and floor-to-ceiling windows.

Gilt-trimmed books lined the walls, their spines gleaming with all the jewel tones of a beetle’s carapace.

Plush velvet armchairs dotted the room, their shabbiness softened by the lamplight.

Given that, this man probably assumed what everyone else in Oceansgate did—that Olivian was still rich. That the seneschal had abandoned them to the nightmares. That we’d shut ourselves up here willingly, with our full coffers and icy hearts for company.

But in truth, we simply had no means to help them anymore. We barely had the means to help ourselves. We were destitute.

Clack. Clack.

The doorknob turned. Shit. No matter what I’d told myself, I wasn’t ready.

But there was no stopping what came next. Prince Kyven strode in, resplendent in shades of white and gold, and if I’d had trouble breathing before, now I was drowning.

In full, royal regalia, he overwhelmed me. I swore he glowed, his tailcoat as crisp as if the sartor had delivered it this morning, his russet hair threaded with fire by the lamplight. He came at me like an aimed javelin, his arctic eyes fastened on mine.

My lungs failed, but I couldn’t blame it on the dress this time.

Sweet Zephyrine, but he was beautiful. And absolutely poisonous.

And really, how fucking dare he? Monsters like him should have the decency to wear their crimes on their faces, not show up looking like some unsuspecting woman’s wet dream of an arranged husband.

Kyven’s attendants strode in on his heels. Vick cataloged the library with methodical precision while Lunk gaped at the towering walls of books. I swore I caught a flash of appreciation in the giant’s eyes.

“Why, my Lady Amryssa.” Kyven’s gaze swept over me. “I knew bacon had the power to restore you, but...just how much did you eat? You look ferocious.”

“Ferocious?” My thready question barely put a dent in the quiet.

“Mmm. Like a dark lioness. Like you might tear me limb from limb, then pick your teeth with my bones, afterward.”

My skin prickled. Was he telling me what he planned to do to me? Was this some kind of game to him?

“I like it,” he purred. “Very much.”

I shuddered, lamenting the way my skirts kept me from reaching for the dagger strapped to my thigh. Without access to my weapon, I felt naked, and stripped even barer by the malignant appreciation in Kyven’s eyes.

He glanced around, granting my thrashing pulse a reprieve. “But what about your father? Where is he?”

“Not coming. He’s sick,” I said, then cursed myself. Amryssa would’ve said “taken ill.” All those years spent under Eliana’s tutelage had molded her diction into that worthy of a future seneschal.

But the prince didn’t seem to notice my slip. He surveyed the waning grandeur, a smile playing around his mouth. “I can’t say I pictured my wedding this way. I imagine you didn’t, either.”

“I...” I gave a weak cough. “What?”

“Well, neither of us chose this, did we? We’re only here at the behest of other people. So I don’t expect you to take this at all seriously. You can’t possibly relish the prospect of tying your life to a stranger’s.”

I frowned, then reminded myself that for one of us, that life would prove very short, indeed. “It...probably won’t be as bad as it sounds.”

“One can certainly hope.” Kyven smirked, then produced a bouquet of peonies seemingly from nowhere.

I frowned. “What’s this?”

“I figured I ought to do something to brighten the occasion. An empty library seems a rather dismal stage for a royal wedding, does it not?”

A disbelieving laugh lodged in my throat. Some “royal wedding.” This farce amounted to nothing more than Hightower tucking its cruelest monster into Elara’s most forgotten pocket. No amount of offered flowers would change that.

“But you should know,” Kyven continued, “that if you’d rather walk out that door than down this aisle, I won’t stop you.”

I paused. “You’re...giving me an out?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

I studied him. He looked earnest enough, but...why bother? Was he hoping to dodge this marriage and pin the blame on me? Or maybe he felt some shiver of foreboding when he looked at me. Did he gaze into my eyes and see his end reflected there?

Well, whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. If I didn’t marry this snake, Olivian would only repeat this blasphemy tomorrow night, with Amryssa in my place.

The thought steeled my spine, and I took the flowers from Kyven, my fingers grazing his. His warmth both repulsed and steadied me.

“Look.” I raised my chin. “This match might’ve been Ol...er, my father’s doing, but I’m here for my own reasons, now.”

A slow smile claimed his face. “Oh?”

“Yes. I want this. You. So I choose aisle. Not door. But thanks.”

The assurances slid from my tongue, smooth as oil, because I did want this. I needed this fiend to take me to the marriage bed, not my sweet, defenseless friend. I would be the one to see his fangs unveiled, to open his throat and watch him drown in his own blood.

He grinned. “Very well then, my lioness. Perhaps you’re susceptible to my charms, after all.”

I committed a series of mental gymnastics in order to keep from sneering. Wow. Arrogant, much?

“Shall we go get married, then?” he said.

Something fiery snapped inside me. “Let’s.”

The officiant pointedly cleared his throat, and Kyven broke from our tete-a-tete to face forward. I clasped the flowers, awaiting some kind of signal, but we wouldn’t have any music, so after a beat of awkward silence, I simply started walking.

The prince matched my strides. “I can’t imagine this matrimony business should be all that difficult, anyway,” he said from the side of his mouth. “From what I’ve gathered, all it takes is trust, fidelity, and a healthy dose of selective hearing.”

I cut him a startled glance.

“Oh, don’t make that face, I’m only joking.” He winked. “Fidelity is the last thing I’d expect.”

I nearly stumbled. Goddess, if there was anything worse than marrying a gorgeous psychopath, it was marrying a gorgeous psychopath who thought he was clever.

“Glad to know you’re taking your vows seriously,” I choked out.

“I’ve never taken a vow seriously in my life,” he said lightly. “I don’t plan to start now.”

Before I could respond, we reached the officiant, who instructed us to face each other. I obeyed, the peonies already limp in my grasp.

Thankfully, the man made short work of the ceremony.

He clearly had somewhere more important to be, and our vows passed in a blur—something about growing alongside each other, our roots entwined like goddess-blessed oaks.

It all felt ridiculously outdated, considering the swamp no longer served as anyone’s temple and hadn’t in years, but I forced myself to parrot the empty oaths.

Kyven breezed through his with similar indifference.

Not even his cultured Hightower lilt could lend the promises any weight.

The officiant clearly didn’t care. With palpable disinterest, he crowned us with traditional marriage wreaths, both woven from the delicate moss that dripped from the trees—though I couldn’t imagine where anyone had sourced the unruined silver stuff rather than the toxic purple kind that surrounded the manor.

Then he bound our wrists with a length of cypress vine and pronounced us man and wife.

That was it. I squared my shoulders, bracing for some invisible weight to descend, but apparently being married—even to a monster—felt no different than not being married.

“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant intoned.

That prompted a response. Every muscle in my body locked up, because I hadn’t considered the kiss. Why had I not considered the kiss?

Kyven scanned my face. I swore he clocked the dread writhing in my stomach, because he smiled knowingly and turned to the officiant. “I think we’ll save that for later. For when we don’t have a pair of beady little eyes hungering for a free performance.”

The man huffed. “Look, I don’t care what you do, so long as I get my fee. I’ve done my bit, so Olivian’d better cough up some of those coins he’s hoarding. Now, why don’t you two run along and have yourselves a nice life? Shouldn’t be hard, living here all comfy-like.”

He stalked from the room before I could correct him.

Vick trailed the man as far as the doors. His vulpine features conveyed an impatience to get on with his evening, whatever that consisted of. Amryssa hovered at his elbow, silent.

“Well,” Kyven said. “That was rather anticlimactic.”

I hesitated. The doorway resembled the maw of some ravenous beast, ready to swallow me up.

Once I passed through, everything would change. Upstairs lay long halls and closed doors and privacy, and once I had the prince sequestered in my room, his mask would fall away. Then I’d find out just how deep the water I’d jumped into ran.

Many, many fathoms, I suspected.

Kyven—oh goddess, my husband , what the fuck?—offered his arm. I swallowed my revulsion and took it, then forced my feet to move, though it felt distinctly like being dragged.

Halfway to the door, Lunk astonished me by crushing Kyven into a hug.

I hung back, taking the opportunity to toss my peonies away beneath a chair.

Kyven’s attendant clung to him, and if I hadn’t known better, I would’ve suspected true warmth existed between these men.

Tears streaked the giant’s face as he beamed a broken-toothed smile over Kyven’s shoulder.

I echoed the gesture, then wondered why I’d bothered, but Lunk seemed so overjoyed that I couldn’t regret it too much.

When the big man finally let go, the vine at my wrist went taut, giving me no choice but to follow my new husband toward the door.

Vick nodded as we passed. “It’s done, then. On to the next step.”

The pronouncement gave me pause. What the hell did that mean, the next step? And why did Vick’s Hightower accent sound so...different than Kyven’s? It was stiffer, more hesitant. As if he’d pondered each syllable beforehand.

I squinted, but Vick’s expression revealed nothing. I hurried onward, disconcerted.

In the great hall, Kyven mounted the staircase. Amryssa trailed after us, her eyes downcast. Apparently she’d taken my earlier warnings to heart.

Say nothing . Don’t even look at anyone.

On the second floor, we threaded up the narrow staircase to the tower. While we climbed, Eliana’s words spread like a stain on my mind, a black rot I couldn’t scrape away.

As Kyven grew, he left behind a trail of little deaths, and later, some not-so-little deaths.

All too soon, we reached Amryssa’s door. She finally met my gaze, abject terror in her eyes.

Oddly enough, her fear granted me courage like nothing else could. After all, I’d done this for her. Now only one last hurdle remained. Then she’d be free of this. Of him.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered, pulling her into a hug. “Just...try to ignore the screaming, all right?”

She stiffened. “Harlowe. No. What if he?—”

I snatched my keyring from her grip, then shooed her into her bedroom and locked the door. Thankfully, she didn’t scream. Didn’t fight.

She never did.

That done, I drew a tattered breath and turned to the man I’d married.

Time to invite him in. Time for us to be alone.