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)
“No,” I say. “Because breaking the rules means disrespecting the one who gave you those rules, and disrespecting the Artifice by funding the Soma trade, and therefore the rebels who oppose it…”
“Why are all the fun things forbidden?”
“Not all of them are,” I remind her.
“Oh, yes,” she grins broadly, catching my meaning. “I suppose there are still one or two pleasures left in this world.”
I lead her back to the car. Once we start driving, she is almost instantly asleep. I feel myself relaxing knowing that she is safe. The Soma has worn off, and I will ensure she never encounters any of it ever again. Soma is insidious that way. Once you try it, you are compelled to try more. I still remember my experimental phase, though it was over twenty years ago now.
Mila is still asleep by the time we get home. I pick her up and carry her upstairs, over the threshold of both the fortress, and our apartment inside it. She is a joyful weight in my arms. She feels like solid responsibility and like sweet innocence. She feels like someone I intend to protect for the rest of my life.
I have not been in love in such a long time, and never this deeply. The connection I feel to this young woman is intense. It is the work of the Artifice, I believe. The machine knows what is best for all of us, including me. This is a good reminder of why I do what I do, and how I became who I am.
I settle her onto the bed, but before I go back and remove her dress and get her ready for bed, I check in with Lydia. She sleeps when Mila does, and I can see she is tired. But we need to be clear that she is responsible for all threats to my bride.
“Mila had never seen Soma before,” I say as she comes to attention.
I would usually tell her to stand at ease. This time, I do not.
“Presumably not, sir.” Lydia’s expression is well-schooled. She knows what I am about to say, but she waits for it to come.
“But you had,” I say. “Your job is to protect her from harm. Someone got close enough to dose my bride. It could have been anyone, with anything.”
Lydia stiffens. I know I am being hard on her, and probably unfair.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Permission granted.”
Lydia’s eyes meet mine. “Would you like me to hold onto your wife’s hand when she is at any public event, sir?” Lydia asks the question with an apparent sincerity, though we both know her words are dripping with sarcasm.
“That level of closeness might be unnecessary, but you understand my point.”
“I would have to be in immediate proximity to stop one of the ladies from offering her a pot to sniff. Should I have slapped it out of the Lady Emmaline’s hand? Or would you prefer I smacked your young wife, who has the self-preservation of the average stuffed animal, out of the way, sir?”
There are very few people in this world I would allow to speak to me that way. Lydia has earned the right of reply when it comes to me, but even so, she is pushing it with that response.
“Do what you need to do to ensure that does not happen again,” I say.
Lydia nods. “Understood, sir.”
“I am trusting you to keep a close eye on her, Lydia. Half an hour with Emmaline is enough to corrupt anybody. Tonight could very well have damaged her moral fiber.”
“Understood, sir,” Lydia repeats. “You could institute a urine analysis protocol in order to ensure that she is caught even if we somehow miss the signs.”
“We will not miss the signs. This is the most secure building in New Boston. I expect it to stay that way. It’s why you and thousands of other soldiers are here.”
“It is possible she will occasionally go outside, sir.”
Lydia has a way of delivering her points completely deadpan that is respectful while somehow sub-textually calling me an idiot.
“True.”
I wonder if there is some way of keeping her inside, before dismissing the thought as the insanity it is. I love her, but that does not mean keeping her prisoner. I’ll just have to make sure the world knows that causing her harm in any way leads to terrible consequences.
CHAPTER 5
Arthur
“You bastard, Arthur!”
Duchess Emmaline Carpenter is in my office and she is caught up in an absolute fury. Her anger blinds her to the danger she is in as she parades back and forth in front of me, waving a fan in front of her face to attempt to cool herself. She is wearing an iridescent aquamarine gown that clings to her curves and trails behind her in what I am sure she regards as a glorious way. The glory is somewhat muted by the fact that the dress is crumpled in the back and slightly torn in the front, as if someone has sat and stood on it without regard for its finery. Her hair was put up in one of those very fancy styles, but parts of it have fallen from their pins and now drapes around her face and shoulders.