Page 34 of The Nightmare Bride
He sighed, irritated. “If she is, that hasn’t stopped her from expressing her displeasure at how I’ve handled things with our daughter.”
I frowned. “Isthatwhy you want to send Amryssa away, then? Because her mother’s ghost tells you to?”
He emitted a cold bark of laughter. “No. Just the opposite. She keeps asking me to turn Amryssa loose. Into the marsh.”
My gut lurched. “What? No. Don’t listen to her. She’s not real.”
“I know. It feels that way sometimes, but...” He picked at his leather blotter. “I know. It’s just a splinter of the nightmares, lodged in my brain. Mostly, I ignore her.”
I nodded, only halfway mollified. I’d never met the Lady Marche—she’d died before I’d been made keymistress, one of the nightmares’ earliest casualties. But Amryssa always spoke of her mother in reverent tones, and in Oceansgate, people whispered about how deeply the seneschal had loved his wife. Back then, they said, Olivian had governed fairly. Only after the Lady’s death had he descended into callousness and obstinacy.
“That was hers, you know.” He gestured to the dagger. “Before that was yours, it belonged to my wife.”
I startled. He’d never so much as hinted at the dagger’s provenance before. Briefly, I considered asking for more, then decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. The weapon wouldn’t belong to me for much longer.
Because... Shit. I’d left Amryssa alone with Kyven, hadn’t I? The very thing Olivian had asked me not to do. “Well, thanks for the chat.” I stood, itching to go.
“Harlowe.”
I paused.
“My daughter’s lucky to have you.” He grimaced, then swallowed, as if the sentiment had sliced his tongue on the way out and now required him to gulp down a mouthful of blood.
Probably not far from the truth. “Thanks,” I said, then smiled thinly and closed the door, leaving him to his darkness and ghosts.
On my way back upstairs, the magnitude of my mistake dragged at me like ballast. I’d been so sure that marrying Kyven equated to a masterstroke of strategy, but now I was sickened by what I’d done.
I’d jeopardized Amryssa’s welfare. Comethisclose to robbing my best friend of a future.
At least Olivian had gotten my head on straight. And, knowing what I did now, I could fix it. I could bide my time, unmask my new husband’s darkness for myself, and dispense with him when the time came.
I would clean up the awful mess I’d made, whatever it took.
9.
That afternoon, in the open-sided cupola on the roof, I sweltered over a basket of mending. Amryssa sat on the far bench, staring out over the marsh. Her lips moved, though her words failed to carry on the muggy air.
Kyven lounged beside me. In a concession to the heat, he’d foregone a waistcoat and rolled his sleeves to the elbow. Rather than expressing anger over my duplicity, he’d spent the day studying me with open interest.
And...shit. I was studying him back. Again. Who knew why, because I hated his face. Everything about it annoyed me, from the squared vee of his chin to the taper of his nose. Even his hair made me angry. It fell across his forehead as if he’d planned it that way, which he probably actually had, the narcissist. The longest, shiniest lock just kissed the arch of his brow, and I couldn’t help but notice the chestnut hues matched exactly, unlike most people, whose hair and eyebrows differed by a shade or two.
I forced my attention back to my mending. What entitled him to stare like that? Creep.
“For someone who just vaulted from lady’s maid to princess,” he said, “you look remarkably unhappy. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you find your new husband lacking.”
My mouth twisted as I jabbed the needle in with unnecessary force. “You’renotmy husband.”
“Oh, I beg to differ.” Amusement and that stupid, snobbish accent molded his words into a taunt. “I distinctly remember becoming so last night.”
“Fine. Maybe you are, for now. But you won’t stay my husband for long.”
I’d told him about the annulment the moment I’d found him—not in Amryssa’s room, as I’d dreaded, but at the breakfast table, working through an assembly line of piled-high plates with his attendants. Just before walking in, I could’ve sworn I’d caught hissed words in an Oceansgate accent, but Vick had given me a narrow-eyed look upon entry, and I’d paused. All three men were from Hightower, weren’t they?
I must have imagined it.
Now Kyven propped his elbows on his knees and gave me a casual once-over. We were effectively alone—his attendants had disappeared to Zephyrine-knew-where, and Amryssa may as well have ascended to another plane.
“How long will this annulment business take, again?” he said.
