Page 51 of Under His Rule

“Noah!” My father’s loud voice can be heard from all the way down the hall as he barges into the main entrance area. “What did you do?”

“What?” I mutter, shrugging.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he says, pointing at me. “You know what I’m talking about. The woman.”

“Oh … she’s upstairs resting now.”

“I don’t care. What is she doing here in the temple?” he barks. “She was supposed to be a fresh womb for the people, not for you!”

“I chose a wife. That’s our tradition,” I reply.

“No, I choose a wife for you. That’s the tradition, and it has been that way for years. You know that.” He throws the book he was carrying onto a dresser near the door. “I don’t swear, but you make me want to.”

“Go ahead. I won’t tattle,” I say, tucking my hands into my pockets.

He narrows his eyes at me, as though he intends to instill fear in me. “The patriarchal father chooses a wife for the son. That’s how it has always gone. Why did you have to go against the rules?”

“Because I was tired of waiting.” I shrug.

“That’s all? Really?” he says. “How did the president agree to this?”

“I … haven’t discussed it with him yet. But I’ll deal with the fallout.”

“Oh, really?” he scoffs, cocking his head. “I’m sure that’ll go over well. If he doesn’t kill you on the spot for not telling him beforehand you were going to pull that stunt in front of the entire community.”

Threatening with violence is just the thing I expected him to do, but I’m not scared. Nothing will happen to me, and he knows it.

“You are betrothed, Noah.” He smashes his fist against the wall.

I suck in a breath and wait before I reply. I don’t want him drawing more attention to himself and making the other patriarchs discover us. This is not a conversation for them to hear.

“Were,” I say. “Things change. I’ve changed.”

“No, you haven’t, and stop lying to me. When did you stop caring about the rules?” he asks. “I didn’t raise you this way.”

“No, you raised me to care about our community, and I care. I care so much, I want to give God more children, just as I’m supposed to.”

He frowns. “That’s what this is all about?”

I sigh. “I’m getting old, Father.”

He laughs. “Old? As old as my ass.” He sits down on a chair near the door to the dining area and shakes his head. “To think my own son would stoop to this level. And with an outsider nonetheless.”

“She’s not an outsider … not anymore.” I fold my arms. “She’s been trained. Her initiation is over.”

“That doesn’t make her any better of a choice for a man of your stature,” he says.

“She’s perfect, and she’s going to be my wife,” I say.

He stares at me, and I stare straight back at him.

I’m not backing down. Not on this one.

“This conversation isn’t over. We’ll see what the president thinks of your silly idea,” he says as he gets up from his chair and leaves.

My eyes follow his every step until he’s gone from my sight.

But my father will never leave my mind … that he’ll make sure of.

Natalie

A few days later

I haven’t left this room for days. I’m not allowed. There are guards by the door, and I’m sure if I tried to escape they’d push me right back in again.

I’ve been getting meals from that same elder wife who took my measurements, Agatha. She doesn’t speak, but I’m not sure she’s allowed to, even if she wanted to.

The women are treated like objects here. I thought the temple would be better than the huts below, but now I’m starting to question that thought.

I’m starting to question everything, even my own mind.

Being isolated like this with nothing to do but read books and failing at trying to learn how to knit because you don’t have any help is even more boring than staying in the huts. At least there, I had jobs, menial jobs, but things to do nonetheless. It was something. Now, I have nothing but time, and I’m wasting it. I’m wasting away in here.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. Agatha steps inside with a long deep red and black dress in her hands.

“Time to get dressed,” she says, and she places the velvety dress on the small table across from my bed. I get up from my seat and put my book down.

She marches toward me, curls her fingers around the fabric of my bathrobe and peels it away, leaving me naked once again. She puts it into a laundry basket near the door, and I peer through to see if anyone’s watching.

“C’mon, dear,” she says, beckoning me to come close.

I do what she asks, and she puts me in the new dress in a few seconds. It’s almost as if she’s done this before.

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