Delilah
“Shit.”
I look up from the concrete floor I’ve spent countless hours staring at over the years. “What is it?”
I can hear Seven’s deep inhale through her nose, followed by the quick exhale through her mouth, like she’s made peace with her fate.
“What do you think it is?” The toilet flushes as I wait near the sink, and my best friend emerges from the stall to wash her hands.
Her underwear is wadded tightly in her palm, but even so, I can see the dark red stain on the gusset.
“Maybe we can hide it,” I suggest, dread taking hold in my gut.
Seven glares at me. “You and I both know that won’t work. The mistresses are too attentive.”
I grimace. “It won’t be right away. The next ceremony isn’t until spring.”
Seven washes her hands, scrubbing frantically. “I know.”
“Sev,” I say, placing my hand on her arm, but she just keeps washing, her skin turning pink and raw from the harsh soap and hot water. “Sev, it will be fine.”
“How do you know?” Her voice pitches high as panic seems to claw at her throat.
I turn the water off, handing her some paper towels. “Because, Headmistress says so. She’s always taken care of us, why would that change just because we get married?”
Seven hangs her head for a brief moment before raising her eyes to mine and offering me a small smile. “You’re right. I’m sure my husband will be charming and handsome and have a huge di—”
I clap my hand over her mouth, muffling her cackle. Even though I’m not one for crude humor, her joke broke the tension, and we both breathe a little easier.
The last five years at the Institute have been rather monotonous, if I’m being honest with myself.
We’ve mastered how to garden, cook, clean, and sew, along with several other skills that will help us be good wives and mothers.
The only thing that changes is the girls; once they start their period, a husband is selected for them from the pool of eligible lords.
Every three months or so, they arrive here, a group wedding is performed, and the girls leave as wives to start their new lives.
Shortly after, new girls come in, and the cycle starts all over again.
Seven has been by my side since that first day we arrived.
We’ve seen countless others come and go—some of them our dear friends—but we’ve always had each other.
Until now, that is. We both knew this day would come, it was only a matter of who would start first. Even with that knowledge, thinking about parting with her makes me feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest.
Seven is my opposite in every way that matters. I’m plain, she’s unique. I’m a peacekeeper, she’s a firecracker. I’m self-conscious, she’s confident. And while her boldness has occasionally gotten her—and by default, me—into trouble, there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side.
My friend notices I’ve retreated into my mind, as I often do, and loops her arm through mine. “Let’s go, Tenny. Time to bite the bullet.”
We walk together toward the Headmistress’s office, both of us in the mood to reminisce now that we know she’ll be leaving soon. “You still owe me, by the way.”
She places her hand over her heart, whipping out her terrible foreign accent. “Whatever for, darling?”
“Oh, I don’t know, that time I covered for you so you could sneak away to make out with that cute guard?” I bump my hip into hers.
“Mmm,” she hums. “He was a great kisser.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, I was caught out of bed after curfew and had to muck out the barn for two weeks, so you’re welcome.”
She smiles deviously. “Thank you.”
I groan. “Or what about the time you stole wine from the cellar and got so drunk you could barely walk?”
She shivers at the memory. “That wine was awful.”
“I carried your drunk ass all the way across the grounds. My legs were sore for a week,” I grumble.
She pulls me into her side and hugs me so tight it hurts my ribs. “You love me.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” I tickle her side so she’ll let me go, and sure enough, she squeals and releases her grip.
Our playful mood ebbs the closer we draw to our destination, like a flame suffocated under a jar.
As much as I don’t want her to leave, Seven’s right; girls have tried to hide their periods from the mistresses before, but they always find out.
We’ve witnessed—and endured—countless punishments over the years, all of them varying in severity depending on the offense.
This particular act will get you ten lashes with a leather strap to your naked backside in front of everyone. Painful and humiliating.
Minor infringements warrant minor penalties, while more severe offenses warrant less-forgiving consequences.
The worst one I’ve seen was shortly after we arrived.
One of the girls tried to escape in the middle of the night, and she was sent to solitary confinement for a week and then had to sleep in a straight-jacket for a month.
Needless to say, she never tried to run away again.
She never was quite the same after that…
We’ve heard rumors from other Institutes that some of the worst-behaved girls have had their mouths sewn shut. It’s just hearsay, of course. The mistresses probably started those rumors as a way to scare us.
We stop outside the office, and I give my friend a quick hug. “You’re gonna be an amazing wife.”
Seven smiles, but the usual light in her eyes is dimmed. “Not as good as you, that’s for sure. But I do have a great pair of tits.”
I roll my eyes again, knowing she uses humor to mask her discomfort. “I’m sure your future husband will appreciate those.”
“He’d better.” She winks at me. “I’ll see you later, Tenny.”
She knocks on the door and enters a moment later at the Headmistress’s beckon, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I walk back to the main hall and sit on my bed—the same one I’ve had since I arrived—and retrieve my knitting needles and yarn from the basket underneath, letting the repetitive motion soothe me.
At fifteen, Seven and I are among the last of the girls from the same raid to be married off.
Most seemed to start their period around thirteen or fourteen and were married and sent away that same year.
I shift on the bed, ignoring the discomfort in my lower stomach.
My fingers move quicker and quicker until they start to cramp, but it’s a welcome distraction.
While Seven’s always been comfortable talking about all the things that make me squirm, I know I’ll need to move past my uneasiness sooner rather than later.
Headmistress made it very clear what would be expected of us as wives, but I can’t say I’m exactly excited about the physical part of the relationship…
Being a lord’s wife is the greatest honor one could hope for, Headmistress had said. One of your most important duties will be to pleasure him, for tenet number five says…
A woman’s body is not her own, we repeated in unison.
Exactly. She revealed a detailed chart of male and female anatomy.
Giving a man pleasure is rather straightforward, but the most important thing to remember is to submit to his desires.
Your husband may ask you to do things beyond the necessary act of procreating, as is his prerogative.
She went on to explain the mechanics—for lack of a better term—of the physical act of sex, none of which sounded particularly enjoyable to me.
You may experience some discomfort or bleeding the first few times, but this is normal.
Eventually, your body will adjust to the act; you may even find your own pleasure, but that is secondary to your husband’s.
My stomach twinges painfully again, bringing me out of the memory. I chalk it up to nerves about Seven leaving in a few weeks and continue knitting.
Unfortunately, the stomach cramps worsen until I go to the bathroom, hoping it will help alleviate the pain.
To my surprise, the toilet paper comes away stained a light pink.
An odd mixture of emotions fills me; nervousness, excitement, hope that Seven and I might be sent to the same region and could remain friends.
I practically run through the halls to the Headmistress’s office to tell her the news.
Only when she calls me in do I realize several hours have passed since I last saw my friend.
Headmistress is delighted, as I knew she would be, but when I inquire about Seven, her features tighten.
“Several lords were interested in acquiring Seven as their wife. In these rare cases, we cannot afford to wait for the next ceremony to take place.”
My brows furrow. “So, where is she?”
Headmistress gives me a pitying look. “She’s gone, Ten. Her husband flew in to claim her an hour ago.”
I nod, but my brain hasn’t quite caught up with my body. She’s gone. My best friend, my confidant, my anchor in this life—gone. I swallow, only managing to croak out one word. “Where?”
“I am not at liberty to disclose that information.” The older woman crosses her arms and raises her chin, and for the first time, I can’t help but wonder if she even knows where us girls end up after we’re married.
“I understand,” I say, even though it feels like the earth itself is crumbing beneath my feet.
I turn to leave, but Headmistress’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Have you been excused, Ten?”
I turn back toward her, trying to keep my breathing controlled. The panic episodes have lessened over the years, and I can usually stop them before they escalate to a full-blown attack, but right now I feel like I’m losing that battle.
When I remain silent, Headmistress’s tone becomes less gentle. “I have some wonderful news. Your future husband is also rather eager to wed, it would seem. I will call him with news of your womanhood, and I’m sure he will be here within the week.”
My fingernails bite into my palms as I try to stay grounded. Every breath I pull into my lungs becomes more and more labored, and my heart starts to pound so hard I can feel it all the way in my toes. I hear the thwack of a hand hitting flesh before I register the pain blooming on my cheek.
I’m speechless as I meet her unforgiving gaze. “You stop that at once, young lady. There is no room for self-pity as a wife. You have been afforded a great privilege, and you will act as such.”
“Yes, Headmistress.” The words leave my mouth of their own accord; a programmed, automatic response.
“Good.” She gestures toward the chair on the opposite side of her desk, and I take a seat, though my fingers still feel numb.
“There are a few things we need to discuss in regards to your new role. Firstly, you will address your husband and other married men as lord or sir, whichever they prefer. Only married men are afforded the title of lord, so you may call other men brother. Your husband is the only one who may call you by your given name. You may address other wives as sister, followed by their husband’s name, and unmarried women by their title. Do you have any questions?”
I shake my head no.
She continues her speech, one she’s likely given dozens of times by now.
“You will keep track of your menstrual cycle with the intention of copulating during your fertile window each month, until you fall pregnant. Should you not become pregnant within the first year of your marriage, you will undergo fertility testing to ensure nothing is amiss.”
“Yes, Headmistress.”
She sighs quietly, and her tone softens. “You have been one of my best students, Ten. I know you can apply yourself in your new role just as you have done here.”
I nod, keeping my eyes on my interlaced fingers in my lap. “I will try my best.”
“Atta girl,” she praises. Normally, I live for verbal affirmation. Right now, her words do nothing to ease my worries.
I don’t sleep a wink that night.