Page 39 of The Nightmare Bride
“Come, now. I’m not forgoing my rights to a lavish breakfast. I just mean that everyone acted so doom-and-gloom after the nightmare yesterday. So why not just leave? Go elsewhere?”
“And do what?” I crossed my arms. “Beg someone to take us in? No, thanks.”
“You wouldn’t have to beg. You’re rich.”
Oh, great. He was no different than the rest of them. “We’re not, actually. Everything we had is gone. Everything but what you see here.”
Kyven cut me a glance. That had surprised him, clearly, and I belatedly wondered if I’d misstepped. Maybe he’d come here believing Amryssa would make him wealthy. That he would inherit a territory whose coffers he could tap at will.
“So what you’re telling me,” he said slowly, “is that I should eat less bacon?”
I blinked. Or not. “I’m saying we have nowhere to go. No income. Oceansgate lost its tax collectors when we lost our lawmen. Life has only gotten harder, and at this point, we’re hanging on by our fingernails. Olivian’s only real hope is for Zephyrine to wake up.”
“So you stay,” he said, half-question, half-statement. “Nightmare after nightmare. Youendure.”
“I didn’t say I liked it.” My lips dragged down at the corners. “I hate it, actually. I hate how the nightmares make me feel so...”
He arced a brow and crossed his arms, one boot propped casually over the other. “So...what?”
My jaw hardened. What was I doing? “Nothing. I don’t talk about feelings, remember?”
He chuckled. “You brought it up.”
“I didn’t. And if you’re so damn curious, how’d the nightmare makeyoufeel? And how’d you show up to breakfast yesterday looking as fresh as a daisy?”
“I’m special.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I thought I’d already made that abundantly clear.”
I threw my hands up. Ugh. Served me right for trying to have an actual conversation with this jerk.
“Do they need help down there?” he said abruptly.
I eyed him. Here came the subject changes again. He was like a moth, flitting from one shiny candleflame to the next. It was a wonder he ever concentrated long enough to secretly torture people the way he did. “Who, the stewards?”
“I don’t see anyone else digging trenches, do you?”
I made a face. “It isn’t a suitable pastime for royalty, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s hot and dirty and sweaty and miserable.”
“I hope you’re not questioning my ability to wield a shovel. And besides, I’m bored. You can’t expect me to just...sit around and wilt all day, like your esteemed charge over there.” He waved toward Amryssa.
“You’re not going downstairs.”
“Well, I’m not going to sit still all afternoon. Idleness is one of the few talents I wasn’t blessed with.”
I glared. “Olivian wants me to keep an eye on you.”
“So do it from here.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already in motion, blurring past me, descending the stairs to the attic.
“Hey!” I called. “Come back!”
No reply.
I started to follow, then paused to consider Amryssa. Before I could decide, Kyven appeared below. He strode across the lawn, shedding his shirt on the way, then grabbed a shovel and joined the efforts.
Merron and the stewards exchanged glances. A scowl pinched my ex-lover’s face, but he grudgingly went to work beside Kyven, who catapulted soil from the trench with startling proficiency. The prince bent and flexed, bent and flexed. Muscle bunched and smoothed, his rhythm unflagging.
My jaw went slack as I watched. Huh. Maybe it wasn’t hatefulness that had roughened his palms and honed the cut-crystal lines of his body. Maybe it was...hard work.
