Page 2 of The Nightmare Bride
“But what if he gets caught out in the nightmare?” Amryssa said.
My fingers paused on the shutter-latch as a spark of hope flared beneath my ribs. “Then Zephyrine will have answered her first prayer in nine years.”
That was the thing about living in the only territory in Elara whose patron deity had fallen asleep—no divine ears heard our pleas. No godly caretaker granted our most fervent wishes. Here in Oceansgate, we were on our own.
But since our slumbering goddess, Zephyrine, also dreamed these nightmares into existence, the prince getting overtaken by one might actually count as divine intervention.Unintentionaldivine intervention, but whatever.
I’d take what I could get.
“Whose prayer?” Amryssa’s voice shrank. “You haven’t wished my fiancé dead, have you?”
I snorted. “I’ve wished lots of people dead.Especiallyhateful princes who marry seneschal’s daughters against their will.” Irammed the shutter-bolt home, then locked it with the keyring from my skirt pocket. There. If Amryssa somehow got loose during the nightmare, she wouldn’t be able to swan dive from the tower window.
When I turned, she regarded me with stricken eyes. Their color was so unearthly—not quite green, not quite gray, but some pale in-between, like tidepool water captured in two porcelain bowls. That look seemed to demand something of me—to be softer, maybe? Kinder, like other women?
Well, she’d have to hold her breath on that one.
“We don’tknowthat Kyven’s hateful,” Amryssa said. “Not when we haven’t met him.”
A retort swelled in my throat, quickly smothered.Iknew precisely how awful he was, though I hadn’t shared that with her just yet. Maybe I’d never have to. With any luck, the nightmare would catch the prince on the road. He was coming from Elara’s distant capital, miles and miles away, and had probably never been to our swampy, out-of-the-way backwater before. The tiny territory of Oceansgate dangled into the sea from the toe of the continent, so even if Prince Kyven had heard of our unique weather—discussed it from the safety of some palatial dining room in Hightower, maybe—he wouldn’t understand the true power of a nightmare.
Or how to survive one.
Which might just spare me from having to sink my blade into his heart. For weeks, I’d sifted through options, only to circle back to one conclusion.
Amryssa’s groom would have to die. The only question was when. Should I kill him before the vows? After, at the nuptial feast? Maybe in their chamber, before he coerced her in the marriage bed?
I hadn’t decided yet, but now a new possibility massed in the sky outside. One that might save me from spending my remaining years in a dank prison cell.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Amryssa blew out a breath, clearly having had her fill of my murderous intentions, and padded over to the four-poster. I freed her of her dress, then sheathed her insubstantial frame with the nightgown I’d laid out.
My attention snagged on a rip in the gown’s collar, but mending would have to wait. I’d stitch it tomorrow, once I recovered.
As Amryssa laid atop her threadbare sheets, as the nightmare boomed outside. I paused to breathe through the resulting dizziness, then hurried to her armoire, where the bottom drawer yielded at a touch—one of the only things in this rambling house that didn’t squeak or stick, the hinges having been oiled to perfection. I dug for Amryssa’s manacles. Metal clanked as I carried the restraints to the bed.
She offered her arm, and I snapped a cuff around one dainty wrist. Outside, the nightmare growled again, rattling the walls, probing for cracks in my composure. Its bellowing reminded me of a dying animal, overlaid with a rustle of dark wings, like that last, futile warning before sharpened talons pierced your flesh and sank into your heart.
Amryssa whimpered. “Maybe if you’d let me go outside, I?—”
“No.” Steel girded my voice.
“But—”
“No.” I snapped a manacle around her other wrist.
She averted her face in defeat.
My stomach soured. Normally, I never denied her, but whatever screws had come loose in Amryssa’s mind confused her. Unlike other people, she longed to fleeintothe arms of the approaching horror, not away.
As the house’s resident keymistress, I made sure she didn’t. That comprised my entire purpose here—a purpose that would soon fall to someone else, once the prince showed up. I only hoped Amryssa’s father would find someone worthy to bequeath my dagger to once I committed regicide and got myself taken away in irons.
But even if he didn’t, at least I’d go knowing Amryssa would never suffer Prince Kyven’s punishing touch.
I hurried around the bed, restraining her ankles, then unwinding her bedpost chains and clipping each one to a manacle. Once I’d fastened everything tight, I turned the crank to take the slack out of the chains.
When I finished, Amryssa lay spread-eagled but secure. She gazed at the shutters with longing, as if the storm-tossed marsh outside might offer more safety than this tattered haven of mahogany and silk. “If the princeisout there, might he make it through?”
