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)
“My dear, being married to you will always be something worth making a fuss about.”
She blushes and smiles shyly. “Surely you can’t possibly mean those words.”
“I mean every single one of them.”
She deserves to feel loved, even if I am not actually capable of loving her. I know how to play a role, and I intend to do so with my young wife. I will be the perfect partner to her, an absolute gentleman. She will never know that I am unable to feel that which a man is supposed to feel.
The marriages of the Artifice are not always known to be love matches, of course, but this young woman seems to be of a romantic bent. I know the sorts of things that women her age and temperament like to hear.
“You are a beautiful creature,” I tell her, clasping her hand in mine. “And you deserve a beautiful life.”
She looks at me and pulls her hand away gently, but firmly. “I do not need to be lied to, thank you.”
“Lied to?”
“Please don’t make this worse by pretending you don’t know what I mean,” she says. “There is no need for pretense. I saw your opinion of me in your eyes when we met not an hour ago. You are not a capricious man, so I know you must still be in the throes of disappointment. I am not what you expected, or what you wanted. You would have much preferred my sister. I am sorry it was my name on that tablet.”
She’s intelligent.
That is a surprise, though I suppose it is to my shame that it is. Women can be just as intelligent as men. They simply rarely have any chance to express it in my world. The military is dominated by men, and of course, the Artifice makes the most significant of decisions. We are a patriarchy under a mechanical intellect.
There is something rude about the way she has expressed herself, but the underlying accuracy does make me hesitate. I do not like being called a liar. I have not lied. She is beautiful, and she does deserve an equivalent life. There is no reason for her to be broken by me.
“I am not accustomed to being spoken to that way,” I explain. “You may be my match, but…”
“I am your wife.”
There is a little hint of steel in her tone.
Again, I am surprised. She dares interrupt me. Dares correct me. I cannot remember the last time anybody had the nerve to do that.
“Is your wife not permitted to speak the truth to you? I can adjust my behavior if you like.”
My palm begins to itch. She speaks far too freely, and though she may be displaced and perhaps a little afraid of me, her natural impulse is clearly to speak her mind. It must be part and parcel of coming from the countryside and having lived with her family rather than having interacted with those outside her little world.
That habit will not serve her well in my world. She is going to have to interact with a great many people of power, and she will need to mind her words and hold her tongue from time to time.
I am going to have to teach her how to behave. She is my mate, and my wife. She will represent the House of Darken, and I cannot have her going around boldly stating simple facts this way. The entirety of society would collapse if we all did that.
“You, young lady, are about to find yourself over my knee.”
Mila
He seems displeased with me. I didn’t mean to offend him, but at the same time I did not want to play some game of pretend because he thought I needed it. Obviously he does not find me beautiful. Maraline always made it very clear that she was the beautiful one, and I the plainer sister.
I am trying very hard to be polite, but every word I say seems to somehow make things worse. Perhaps it is some kind of cultural difference. Or maybe it’s just that I lack the airs and graces that my sister had.
He is looking at me expectantly, as if there is supposed to be some kind of response.
I am not sure what to say. I know that this is our wedding night, sort of, and I know, from the whispered comments between my mother and sister, that something called sex occurs on this evening. The word itself was always uttered with a mixture of excitement and horror. I’ve long wondered what it means precisely, though again, the procedure at the Artifice office gave me something of a hint.
I decide to reference it, so I sound more worldly. Maybe that will impress him.
“Is that a sex thing?”
My husband stares at me, his eyes widening slightly, the muscle in his cheek twitching.