Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“I saw so many stylish and elegant ladies when I left the airport yesterday. They weren’t wearing anything like this.”
“They were wearing street clothes. You are shopping for a formal occasion. The requirements are different.”
“But I’ve never been to a formal occasion here. And nobody I’ve encountered so far is any help.”
I am trying to keep my voice low, so as not to insult the saleslady, who is very excited by her bright pink cacophony of fabric.
“Thank you very much,” I say. “The dresses are all so lovely, I will have to think about which of them best suits.”
Her face falls. She knows what that means. It’s nice to know that some social cues remain the same across our societies.
“Thank you for gracing the store, Lady Darken,” she says.
Lydia leads me out of the place.
“I hope we can find something actually suitable,” I say. “I don’t know why you took me there.”
“I thought you’d look cute in that sort of attire, and you did, but you are right. You would clash with the Archon-General terribly.”
“Are you trying to set me up to fail, Lydia?”
“I’m trying to please you, Lady Darken. You’ve arrived here wearing a beige sack, more or less. I thought anything would be an improvement.”
She really can be quite snotty. Maraline would have a robust argument with her, I am sure. She wouldn’t take any of the snide jibes lying down. She’d probably say something in turn about Lydia’s uniform, or maybe if she was feeling very catty, her eyebrows.
I, on the other hand, have already seen a much more likely shop not a few doors down.
Dark Desires, the sign on the shop reads. The sign is black, and the text is red, and I assume that because it is near the frilly pink dress shop, it’s probably something similar, just with different colors.
“This sounds better,” I say, striding confidently in.
I immediately find myself surrounded by leather garments, which at first seem to have some kind of promise, until I realize that almost all of them have phallic shapes attached to them, some of them in the interior, which makes my mind perform all kinds of gymnastics. There are other accessories too, mostly in the form of handcuffs and clamps and chains.
“How can I help you, princess?” A very tall man with cropped dark hair and an abundance of dark eye makeup approaches me with a grin I can now identify as being lascivious.
“I’m looking for a dress,” I say. “But this… what… hmmm.”
I look over my shoulder for Lydia, but she seems to have evaporated somehow.
“We don’t have a lot of dresses. I do have a latex skirt that would fit you nicely. You have a tight ass and a nice rack.”
I am horrified that someone would speak to me so boldly.
“You want to get started on the Kings Corner, don’t you?” He asks the question in response to my stunned stare.
“What do you mean?”
“Fresh to the city, ready to earn some money selling what nature gave you? You’re pretty. And you look innocent. Don’t worry. You’ll be popular.”
My pre-existing sense of horror deepens. I have never heard of such a thing in all my life. I understand what he is suggesting, and it is disgusting. He is looking at me as though I am nothing more than a piece of meat to be traded.
“I am not for sale!” I say, haughty.
“Oh, are you not?”
“Certainly not! I am an Artifice bride.”
I’ve never used that phrase before, but that’s what I am. I am a woman elevated in status by being chosen by the Artifice itself. There are very few women who can claim that fact.
“So you were sold. You just weren’t paid,” he smirks. He’s unimpressed by my status, but that’s because he doesn’t know who I am. “But that body belongs to a man, doesn’t it?”
“Well, that’s… I don’t think. When you put it that way. I mean… how dare you.”
He laughs, thoroughly amused. He thinks this is funny because he doesn’t know I live inside an armory absolutely filled with soldiers.
“You’d be surprised what I dare, kitten,” he says, speaking far too familiarly.
“Not with me. I am a married, matched woman, and I am not the sort to wear whatever it is you are trying to sell here.”
“Your husband’s mistress will if you won’t,” the awful man says. He seems to enjoy taunting me, which must be very counterintuitive to making money. This is the worst sales pitch I have ever been subjected to.
“My husband is an honorable man! How dare you make such insinuations? I will make you pay for this insolence!”
He laughs at me. “You? With your country accent? How do you think you’ll make me pay?”
“I’ll tell my husband.”
“You go ahead and tell your husband, country mouse, and we’ll see what happens.”
“Yes, we will see what happens,” I say as he looms over me.