Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
A rthur
“You bastard, Arthur!”
Duchess Emmaline Carpenter is in my office and she is caught up in an absolute fury. Her anger blinds her to the danger she is in as she parades back and forth in front of me, waving a fan in front of her face to attempt to cool herself. She is wearing an iridescent aquamarine gown that clings to her curves and trails behind her in what I am sure she regards as a glorious way. The glory is somewhat muted by the fact that the dress is crumpled in the back and slightly torn in the front, as if someone has sat and stood on it without regard for its finery. Her hair was put up in one of those very fancy styles, but parts of it have fallen from their pins and now drapes around her face and shoulders.
“That’s Archon-General Darken to you,” I say calmly.
“I had soldiers through my home like ants, searching for drugs!” Her voice reaches the level of a piercing shriek on the word drugs. “They handcuffed me and made me sit on the street !”
There are very few ways to humble and punish a woman like Emmaline, but public humiliation is one very effective method.
“You got my wife high,” I remind her. “Consider yourself fortunate to still have a house. If I ever hear of a single one of your cronies so much as coming near a molecule of Soma again, I’ll have you stripped of your land and titles and sent to the colonies.”
She rounds on me, drawing herself erect, her face a picture of pure female venom. “You wouldn’t dare! We are the backbone of society. You are making an enemy out of me, Arthur.”
She’s a proud woman, but in this case, a stupid one. I am not in the mood to be threatened, and the word enemy has a very particular meaning to an old soldier.
“An apology would have been a better course of action,” I say mildly. “Put her in irons,” I order the guard.
“What? No! What?” She starts to panic, her bodice heaving from outrage.
“You just threatened an Archon-General because you couldn’t swallow your pride and apologize. I have given you more chances than you deserve, and you have not shown me the slightest respect. You will learn some in the colonies.”
“You cannot send me there.”
“Of course I can. They take single women of any age there, even ones past breeding. They need cooks and cleaners to keep the miners healthy and happy. It will be good for you, Emmaline. You will be useful for the first time in your life.”
“Arthur, please!” She insists on using my first name even though I commanded her not to.
I wave a hand, and she is dragged away in dramatic hysterics.
I am left wondering why any person in New Boston would be so foolish as to consider one of my threats idle. My reputation usually precedes me. Then again, some are so arrogant as to consider themselves above the law.
Mila
I woke to yelling and screaming. I tiptoed around the house, until I found the little stairway that goes up to the portrait in Arthur’s office. I have just watched him have Emmaline Carpenter taken away by soldiers. If his threat is to be carried out—and I have no doubt it will be—she has just lost everything for giving me that dose of Soma.
Arthur has had one person killed for disrespecting me, and sent another to the colonies for trying to corrupt me. It is obvious that he is protective to an extreme degree. Anybody who harms me in any way will suffer, that’s the message.
I can only imagine what he will do to me for having partaken in the drug he so loathes. A tremor enters my hands. I feel quite ill, actually.
“Lydia!” I hear him call the guard. She steps into his office. I feel a pang of something. Not quite jealousy. Or maybe it is jealousy, but not of the romantic kind. I am jealous of the way he trusts her, and how much faith he puts in her. She is older than I am, and has clearly proven herself in battle. Whereas I have done nothing but make a repeated fool of myself. I must start to earn his respect.
“You called?”
“Yes, please wake Mila. It’s late and she should have breakfasted by now. The last thing I want is for her to become one of these indolent ladies who indulges in parties all evening and sleeps all day.”
I do not like hearing that, either. He is sending Lydia to me as if she is my nursemaid. I watch her go, feeling very cross indeed—all the way up until I realize that I won’t be in bed when she goes to get me, because I’m here. She’s going to tell him that I’m missing.
“She’s missing from the bed, sir.”
“What?” Arthur rises from behind his desk. I can imagine how furious he will be. He’s already in a bad mood, and I don’t want to get deported.
“I’m not missing! I’m here!”
I try to open the portrait, but the latch is sticky and in the dark I’m still not entirely sure how it works. The culmination of all these factors is that I once again end up tumbling into Arthur’s office, head over heels in the nightgown he must have put on me last night. An abundance of sheer lace does not make this any less of an embarrassing moment as I find myself at the feet of my husband and my bodyguard. It is quite the contest as to which one of them looks more annoyed.
Arthur scoops me up and stands me on my feet. “What are you doing, Mila?”
“I heard Emmaline, and I wanted to know what was happening, so I sneaked up here.”
“At least you are honest,” he sighs. “But you cannot keep sneaking up to hide and watch the goings-on in my office.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, not making the mistake Emmaline did. Arthur wants submission, and I am happy to give him that. At least, as much as I can. I keep making mistakes, but I want him to know I’m not going out of my way to be bad.
“Never mind,” he says, showing me a forgiveness he has certainly not extended to others. There is warmth in his tone that makes me think maybe I am at least a little special to him. I am sure that if anybody else spied on him he would be beyond furious.
A glance in Lydia’s direction confirms that. I see the same thing in her eyes that I recently felt. Jealousy. She is jealous of me because I am adored by him. I do not think she has romantic designs on my husband, but I think she wants to be special to him. Arthur has that kind of charisma to him. He is a natural leader. I am very lucky to be his wife.
“How are you feeling?” He asks me the question kindly.
“Good,” I lie. I feel heavy. My limbs seem to be weighted. My thoughts feel like they are coming at half the speed they usually would. I wonder if I am feeling worse than usual, or if this is just what it feels like when I don’t take Soma.
I know what would tell me which of those things is true. Just a tiny little pinch of Soma.
“Coffee?”
He takes me by the hand and leads me to the dining room. It is a very formal place, but that suits him, and I suppose it suits me. My mother and father sit at opposite ends of the long table at home. Sometimes, when they are silly, they throw ornate teaspoons at one another. I can’t imagine doing that to Arthur. Well, I can. But I can imagine what would happen afterward too. I would be very sore and sorry.
Arthur does not sit at the opposite end of the table. He sits at the head, and I sit next to him on his right-hand side. The servants set the table smoothly, bringing us everything we need. I am quite lucky, really. I imagine what it would be for all of this to go away. What if what happened to Emmaline today happened to me tomorrow? What if I was sent to the far-off dusty colonies to serve miners?
I don’t think he would do that to me. Would he? No. I’m his bride, and I’m going to be the mother to his babies.
Arthur looks extraordinarily handsome today. His strong jaw, scarred face, and powerful gaze are all very appealing to me. He is a picture of strength and stability, and I know that if I was to say so much as a word about Soma, he would deeply disapprove.
He pours me a cup of coffee and I sip it. It is bitter, but it does make me feel slightly better. My mind clears a little. I notice that Lydia is now in the room. She must have come in with the flurry of servants. She is standing with her back to the wall somewhere behind me. I catch her out of the corner of my eye when I turn my head. She almost blends into the decor in that uniform, but I can feel her judgmental gaze on me.
“Could we perhaps breakfast privately?” I ask the question as politely as I can. “There are discussions that cannot take place in the presence of others.”
“We are breakfasting privately,” he says.
I look around the room. Lydia is here, but she is not the only one. There is a male guard stationed at the main door too.
“There are four people in this room,” I point out. “Which one of them would be most interested in what I have to say about our bedroom activities, do you think?”
Arthur raises a brow at me and shakes his head ever so slightly. Don’t try it, little girl , he says without saying anything. Apparently I am misbehaving. But at least the first time we woke up together and had breakfast in bed, we didn’t do it with a small horde of armed people in the room.
I feel the urge to say something scandalous. Something that would force him to send the guards out of the room. My mood is not as good as it could be. I am sure I am going to be approaching the time of my monthly soon, though who knows what the stress of travel will do to that.
“Eat your breakfast,” Arthur says. “You and I will speak more privately soon.”
“Why not now? Do we need supervision with our cereal?”
Both of his brows go up now. Apparently I am not supposed to question him. He probably doesn’t like being challenged in front of the guards. My mother never liked it when we spoke back to her in front of the maids. Same thing, probably. I can only imagine the gossip unfolding in the lower levels. My arrival has sent ripples through society here.
I fall silent, knowing he has already been pushed today, and knowing that I should not risk pushing him anymore. He might not send me to the mines, but he could easily bend me over the table and thrash me in front of Lydia and the others.
“You’re in a mood,” he says. “That’s what doing drugs will get you.”
I take a polite bite of the corner of some buttered toast, and I try not to say anything that is going to get me into trouble. I feel very observed here, and not just by the guards. Arthur is observing me very intensely. I have to change the subject a little. Take the attention off me and put it on someone else.
“How did they get those drugs?” I ask. “I thought you said Soma was illegal, and only used by reprobates and rebels, and it was your job to stamp it out…”
“The rules are always different for the aristocracy. Emmaline is, was ,” he corrects himself, “a law unto herself. I did not think she would so brazenly expose you to such a dangerous substance.”
Do I dare tell him that I quite liked it? No. He looks thunderous enough as it is, and currently he thinks it is not my fault. He’s right in that respect. I didn’t know what I was taking. I didn’t actually know I was taking anything.
But I do very much want to have the experience again. I don’t think it changed my views on the Artifice at all, and if it’s a simple matter of economics, then there’s no reason why the Artifice couldn’t sell it. Legalizing the entire thing seems like a much more sensible option.
Oh, my gosh.
I suddenly realize it is happening. I am starting to have independent thoughts, and disagreeing with the Artifice’s decisions. That happened so swiftly and so naturally I would not have noticed had I not caught myself in this very moment wondering how the Artifice might be convinced to let me get high again.
“Have some more coffee,” he says. “And enjoy the rest of your breakfast. I have meetings to take today. You will be left to your own devices. Lydia will take you anywhere you want to go.”
I groan inwardly. I don’t want to be taken anywhere by Lydia. I want to go to bed with Arthur, and maybe have a little pinch of Soma.
“Have a nice day,” I smile, knowing that saying anything I want to say will only get me into trouble.
“Good girl,” he praises me. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I will.”