Page 19 of The Nightmare Bride
So I knelt and helped him with his boots, then resisted when he tried to grab at my waist. This whole thing had been a mistake. I’d let my selfish desires overcome my good sense, and I hated myself for it.
“You should forget me,” I said as he went to the door. “I’m no good for you, Merron. I never will be.”
His jagged expression made it clear I’d just eviscerated him.
Still, I soldiered onward, for his sake, if not my own. “You should escape, like you said. Leave Oceansgate and don’t look back. Go marry some woman who never gets angry and has birthing hips and wants nothing more than to make you armfuls of babies. Someone who actually deserves you.”
He scowled. “Youhave birthing hips.”
A downward glance confirmed my unsettling new narrowness. “Not at the moment.”
“Well,” he said. “Those, you should definitely put back.”
“I will. But right now, you should go lie down. Get some sleep. You’ll feel better afterward, I promise.”
“I’m not giving up, you know,” he said. “Not until you leave Oceansgate without me. Or marry someone else.”
I masked my sudden bolt of unease by rewrapping the blanket. He had no idea how soon that day would come. That it already had. “You should go. And...I’m sorry. Really.”
“Well, I’m not.” He cast me a long look, then retreated. His boots thudded against the hallway carpet and faded.
I shut my door harder than necessary and rested my forehead against the carven whorls. What the hell had I just done? I’d gouged a canyon into him a mile wide, and I would do so much worse before the day ended.
I clenched my jaw until it ached, then whirled and plumbed the pocket of my crumpled dress until I found Eliana’s letter. The sheets rasped as I unfolded them.
As ever, the words opened a cold black space inside me.
My dearest Harlowe,
I pray this letter reaches you ahead of its subject, though I regret not writing with better news.
I’ve arrived safely in the capital, which is as beautiful as everyone says. Hightower City is like nothing I’ve ever seen, full of bright white spires and marble avenues wide enough to get lost in. But I won’t bore you with the particulars. They’re not important, not in the face of what I’ve learned.
As you asked, I’ve devoted my time here to chasing news of Prince Kyven. I was even lucky enough to finagle a meeting with the man himself. My sister has a son who frequents the same gentleman’s club as the prince, and she was kind enough to arrange a “chance” encounter in the street out front.
At first blush, Kyven impressed me. He kissed my hand, and I was immediately taken in by his impeccable manners and bright blue eyes. When he smiled, heads turned across the street. And I hoped, then. I wanted to believe Olivian had found a proper match for our Amryssa. Someone who might make her happy.
But my joy soon turned to horror. On his way into the club, the prince brushed shoulders with an emerging gentleman, and an unmistakable look of revulsion came over this stranger’s face. Of course, I pursued the man and asked what he knew. At first, he tried to brush me off, but when I explained my purpose, he opened up, albeit reluctantly.
His story is too awful to relate in its entirety, but I’ll paint it in broad strokes, because I know you need to know.
Prince Kyven is a monster. This man told me they’d been childhood friends, until the prince developed a...fascination, we’ll call it, with pain. Namely with inflicting it. As Kyven grew, he left behind a trail of little deaths—defenseless creatures who met their ends at the point of a carving knife—and later, some not-so-little deaths.
The gentleman refused to go into detail about those. Forgive an old woman, but I’m grateful for it.
As he spoke, my heart slid out through a hole in the bottom of my stomach. Afterward, I wandered back to my sister’s house in a daze, wondering if I’d unwittingly ensnared myself in some kind of gentleman’s spat. But that evening, when I asked my nephew about the prince, his whole countenance changed, and I knew the accusations had merit.
Her son wouldn’t go into specifics, except to say he’d once seen the prince leave a ball with a well-known seneschal’s daughter. The girl went missing that same night. Days later, she turned up in an old, sealed-up boardinghouse across the city, with all manner of cuts and bruises she refused to explain.
No charges were filed.
No charges have ever been filed, despite the trail of crimes the prince has left across Hightower City.
You see, everyone is afraid. No one will risk saying anything about Kyven where royal ears might hear, so people turn a blind eye. As such, the prince has never answered for his crimes. Nor will he ever, I expect.
What unsettles me is how very charming he was. When I met Kyven in Burdock Street, he struck me as warm and charismatic. He looked so poised, wearing his beautiful clothes, dazzling me with that auburn hair and the twinkle in his eye. To think he could then commit such evils under the cover of darkness can only lead me to believe he has no soul.
So there you have it. The results of my investigation, such as they are. Be forewarned, Harlowe, and be careful. The prince will fool even you. But you must do whatever necessary to keep our sweet girl unharmed. If anyone can protect her, it’s you.
