Page 15 of His Bride

Questioning the Artifice is punishable by death.

I have served the Artifice for many long years. I have bled for it more than once. I carry scars that will follow me to the beyond in the service of the Artifice.

Perhaps this is its idea of a reward. Maybe it thinks the same way Lance does, that men want simple, unspoiled young women as wives.

Usually a match is a fairly obvious thing to interpret, a daughter and a son of warring houses joined in order to prevent further bloodshed, for instance. Or a female from a house sufferingfinancial embarrassment matched to one of greater riches. Arguably, that has happened here. Mila’s family has fallen on relatively hard times, but I have not received any requests for aid. They may still be in the offing, I suppose. Perhaps once I have deflowered the Angelish rose, there will be some kind of payment in kind.

“Go and enjoy your bride,” Lance prompts me. “The poor thing does not deserve to be deserted on her wedding night. Remember, you have an obligation to the Artifice to attempt procreation.”

His smile is broad and a little too lascivious for my liking. She is my wife, and he should not be speaking that way about her.

“I had not forgotten my obligation. I wanted to have a drink before I deflowered the sweet, simple wench out there.”

“Lucky brute,” Lance grunts.

I hear sobbing as I approach the bedroom.

When I enter it, I see her perched on the edge of the bed, her face in her hands. Her shoulders are shaking as she cries, though she immediately makes the effort to stop as soon as she is aware I am there.

“What is wrong?” I ask the question, feeling the inadequacy of it. I can imagine everything is wrong from her limited perspective. She is a young woman very far from her home and all she has known, ripped unprepared from the bosom of her family and sent to be at my mercy.

“I am sorry I do not please you,” she says, her eyes immediately re-filling with tears. “I know you expected someone more sophisticated and worldly. I must be quite a disappointment. I know that you are obligated to be married to me, but we do not need to make a big fuss of it.”

I approach her slowly, not wanting to spook her. There is something of a skittish wild thing about her.

“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. Darescorrectme. 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.”

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