New Rome

35. Little Wife

Julia drank alcohol from the bottle, not bothering with a glass. Her frosty stare rested on a security guard standing on veranda above. He was surveying the gardens, and keeping a subtle eye on her. Julia's lips curled angrily. She wasn't being guarded for her own security any more- she was being guarded against escaping. Were the orders to keep her sealed up from her grandfather or her husband? She didn't know. But she heartily despised them both.

Setting down the bottle, her attention settled briefly on her large wedding ring. Its hefty diamond weighted down her finger. She remembered when Daviad had wedged the gawdy bauble over her knuckle.

             "It's done." She'd murmured, too softly for any of the applauding guests to hear. Daviad had smirked, smug with satisfaction.

"Nearly," he'd replied before leaning down and planting a wet kiss on her mouth. It had been her first kiss. She'd pulled back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, disgusted. But Daviad hadn't noticed. He'd already turned to accept the Imperial family's congratulations. 

Julia had smiled for the crowd, determined that she wouldn't humiliate herself by crying. The press had snapped continuous pictures of them and Julia had preened for them.

"How do you feel?" A reporter had asked her.

"Incredibly happy and in love." Julia had replied. And everyone had played along. Her family had played along. The guests had. The media had. Nobody had laughed out loud at the joke of it all, a fourteen-year-old marrying a man old enough to be her father because they were 'hopelessly besotted'...

               A maid approached where Julia sat reclining. 

"The chef wonders what my lady should desire to eat this evening?" The girl spoke timidly.

"Poison," was Julia's dry response. She looked away from her ring and took another swig from the bottle. The girl shuffled awkwardly. "Tell me, have you ever lain with a man or woman?"

The girl shook her head. "Then you have yet to be touched by your first. I envy you. My first was a miserable thing."

            Daviad hadn't wanted to wait. It had been the evening of their wedding, the day of her first kiss and he'd been all keyed up and eager.

"Come along, little wife," he'd urged – leading her to their bedroom. The complex was Daviad's and hadn't yet been tweaked to accommodate a wife. Everything in the bedroom were his belongings. No space had been made in the wardrobe for her, no drawers had been cleared out for her use. The colour scheme was dark red and black. A complete contrast to the pink flowery bedspread she'd had back at the academy.

"I'm tired..." Julia had murmured, feeling queasy.

"Fret not. I have knowledge of these things. I can please you. You are going to beg me to bed you again and again."

Julia had been tense and mute as he'd undressed her. She hadn't known what to say or do. So, she'd gone along with what he'd seemed to want. When he'd guided her to lay down, she'd done so – limp as a fish. Daviad hadn't seemed to notice. He'd slobbered over her neck and breasts – infinitely happy with his young and pretty bride.

                 "More wine." Julia commanded the serving girl, snapping out of her reverie. "I do not require food."