Page 168 of The Nightmare Bride
“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 dosomethingto 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. Iwantthis. You. So I choose aisle. Not door. But thanks.”
The assurances slid from my tongue, smooth as oil, because Ididwant this. I needed this fiend to take me to the marriage bed, not my sweet, defenseless friend.Iwould 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 similarindifference. 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 thannotbeing married.
“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant intoned.
