Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Then you are simply blunt, which implies truthfulness—an admirable quality. I am pleased with this. As for your age, well, I suppose that will change with time. Where are your things?”
“I have none. There was a mistake…”
“Yes, your family decided not to check which sister had been selected. Not a detail one bothers with, I understand. I imagine one girl is very much like another,” he snorts. “What a ridiculous excuse. I would be offended by your presence if I did not have so much trust in the Artifice to make the proper decision at the proper time.”
I should bite my lip and avoid speaking to him. I should stand up and dust myself off with dignity. But I stay where I am and I say what is on my mind.
“You are sarcastic, and you are rude, and I do not like you.”
There is a snort from another part of the room. I look around to see that there is a man sitting in a wheelchair. He looks older than the Archon-General Arthur Darken by a decade at least, but he has some family resemblance to him. An uncle, maybe? Whatever he is, he is not adding anything to the situation whatsoever.
My husband reaches down and pulls me up to my feet. “Stand up, girl,” he says, speaking to me as if I am some troublesome adolescent and not his wife.
I realize nobody is going to stand up for me. That’s quite alright. I am used to having to defend myself against Maraline’s jibes and complaints, so I know how to speak up when need be.
“It is not my fault nobody was here to meet me when I arrived, nor is it my fault that I was left to my own devices in the effort to find someone. I had been led to believe that the House of Darken was powerful and noble, but it seems you lack basic courtesy, Lord Darken. Shame on you.”
There is a moment of communal silence in which nobody speaks. The room is frozen. I can see an expression of pure shock on Lydia’s face, as if she has just heard something she never expected to hear in her lifetime.
“Lydia. Lance. Leave us.”
Arthur snaps the orders without taking his eyes off me. The man in the wheelchair rolls out of the room, and Lydia follows. They shut the door behind them, leaving me in the company of my new husband.
The moment we are alone, he lets out a sigh and crosses the room to pour himself a drink. Amber liquid splashes into a crystal glass, and is quickly imbibed.
“Not how I planned on my wedding night going,” he muses to himself, downing the tumbler of whatever foul liquid it is. It smells like the substance the servants use to strip grease in the kitchen.
I stand my ground, trying to think desperately. What am I supposed to do in such a situation? He is a powerful man, and he is my husband. The Artifice has given me to him.
I cannot imagine a worse meeting. And I cannot imagine a worse man. He has shown no interest in me whatsoever. My mere presence apparently causes him to need to turn to drink immediately.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” he says, turning back to me.
“You certainly don’t know how to perform a basic greeting,” I reply.
He makes me very nervous, but I won’t be bullied. My father often told me, when he was speaking to me at all, that the blood of kings flows in our veins, that we may not be the richest family, or the most powerful, and fate may have been somewhat cruel to us in many respects, but we would always have our nobility. Then he would go shoot something, just to prove it to himself, I think. I will not be shooting anything, but I will be standing up for myself even when I am afraid. Perhaps especially when I am afraid.
His eyes narrow at me. “You have a mouth,” he says. “And not enough wisdom to know when to use it, and when to stay silent.”
Ironically, I have nothing to say to that. I am beginning to become very concerned, remembering what they did to me in the Artifice medical clearance. I was confused at the time, but it was obvious that there would be something like that between a man and his wife, otherwise why would they have done it?
“Where is my room?” I ask. “I would like to freshen up.”
“Our room, you mean.”
I stare, horrified. I assumed I would have my own room. My mother and father have their own wings. In a place this big, it seems very odd that there would not be space for me to have my own room.
“I am not expected to share a room, am I?”