Page 12 of His Bride

I made myself look as plain as possible for Maraline’s wedding. The problem is that now I look plain as possible as well as travel-weary. I need a nap. I need a hug.I need to go home.

He looks around, as if waiting for someone to provide an explanation. But there is nobody who cares to offer one right now. I am here on my own, so far away from where I come from that there is literally no way back. I am trapped by obligation, and so is this increasingly irritable-looking man.

“Lydia explained. I’m your bride,” I stammer.

“I know what she said,” he snarks. “But there must be some mistake. My bride should not look like an orphan from a Charles Dickens novel.”

He has a knowledge of ancient literature. That is interesting. He must be intelligent, as well as very annoyed.

“How did you come to end up behind that portrait?”

“I went into the bathroom and found the door,” I babble.

“You immediately found the secret door?”

“It’s not that well hidden.”

His brows head for his hairline at great speed. “Oh, is it not? How fascinating.”

“Well, obviously. I found it within minutes of getting here.” I am confused. How can he think it was well hidden if I found it so easily? It’s just logical.

“Why have you arrived in this…” his gaze runs up and down me, “…attire?” He says that word with a kind of derisive contempt for my clothing that cuts deep.

“I wore a simple dress because I was trying not to upstage my sister,” I explain. “We thought she had been selected to be your match. I wasn’t the one prepared to come today. It was never meant to be me.”

“Of course it was meant to be you,” he says impatiently. “The Artifice does not make mistakes.”

I do not reply to that. I know a verbal trap when I hear one. My sister caught me in them often enough, and I watched my very own mother fall into one just before I left. One cannot question the Artifice in any way, shape, or form.

“Do you not have anything to say?”

“I was taught not to speak back to my elders.”

He snorts with what must be laughter. “Sassy little thing, aren’t you.”

“Not that I have noticed, sir. It has never been remarked upon before.” I am still sitting on the floor, wondering if I should get up.

“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.”

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