Page 35 of His Bride

“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.”

CHAPTER 6

Mila

“Youwillstay out of trouble,” Lydia says to me the moment Arthur is gone. “I’m not going to be blamed for your inability to keep yourself remotely safe. Fancy sniffing something because a complete stranger told you to.”

“Excuse me?” I look at her down my nose and hope she feels my disdain.

She clearly doesn’t. Or if she does, she doesn’t care about it.

“I don’t need to be told how to behave,” I tell her.

“Apparently you do. What you did last night was reckless and foolish. New Boston isn’t the Angelish countryside. People here can’t necessarily be trusted just because they are smiling at you.”

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