Page 20 of Severe Husband Warning

The question sounds less like curiosity than the completion of a necessary courtesy.

“They’re...” I glance around once more, searching for a word that doesn't sound foolish. “More than I’m accustomed to.”

“I expected as much,” he replies, offering me the slate casually.

When I take it, faint lines of silver light ripple beneath my fingertips before resolving into neat columns of writing. An itinerary fills the slate.

Fascinating.

“I’ve never used one of these before,” I mutter, hesitantly brushing my fingers over the glowing script.

“The enchantment responds to touch.”

He says it with the detached patience of someone explaining that water is wet.

I push aside the irritation his tone stirs in me and study the slate instead.

Every day for the next several weeks has been carefully arranged. Audiences with minor houses are followed by temple observances, formal suppers at court, estate processions, and harvest tithe ceremonies, each commitment assigned a precise hour and location. There isn’t a blank space anywhere on the schedule.

The list stretches on with relentless efficiency, each appearance assigned a precise hour and location.

“I’ll be busy.”

He shakes his head.

“You will be visible,” he corrects. “Our marriage will be observed carefully. Every appearance serves a purpose.”

I lift my eyes from the slate to meet his.

“And what purpose do I serve?”

His expression remains composed, every line of his face controlled with practiced precision.

“You will be seen, but not familiar.”

The words are delivered with the same measured calm he used while negotiating my father’s future.

“Your opinions are not required,” he continues, pausing to ensure I heard him. “Your compliance is.”

I simply stare at him.

I’d stood in his garden and negotiated with one of the most powerful demons in Ti'lith as though we were merchants bargaining over the price of grain. Somewhere between that conversation and this room, he seems to have forgotten that I entered this arrangement by choice.

I grip the slate tighter, and I school my expression into something I hope resembles composure.

“So I’m to smile when required and stand where I’m placed.” My words leave me sounding far less like a question than I meant them to.

“If circumstances require it,” he replies, completely missing my point.

“And remain silent.”

“When appropriate,” he agrees.

A humorless scoff escapes me as my gaze drifts toward the silver-leafed plant waiting on its table.

I understand it a little too well.

“So I’m to become another one of your pretty, silent plants,” I say quietly, gesturing toward it. “I don’t believe that was part of our arrangement, my lord.”