Morgan, age 19, Bejaden Countryside

A cool breeze flowed over Lori and me as we stood under the enormous tree beside the lake. Going to the south lawn for a picnic at Lori's family's estate had been a wonderful idea, one that I had readily accepted when invited. We watched the men's antics on the lake, ranging from quietly fishing to raucous racing the row boats. We, not wanting to get wet, had volunteered to oversee the setup of the picnic lunch.

"I'm telling you, that man is more dangerous than what he seems, Morgan," Lori insisted, speaking low, pulling me slightly away from the open ears of the servants as they unfolded the large blanket. "Travis says that his cousin is some sort of ruffian for the family business, and the two of them are close. Mark my words, Charles is not a man you want to fool with."

I rolled my eyes. It seemed lately, all people wanted to do was warn me off of pursuing Charles. Or, rather, allowing him to pursue me. Which he did. I found it immensely heady that a man from as powerful a family as Charles Duveau's was interested in me, and he seemed intent on allowing me to be my headstrong self.

That part of my personality seemed to tank all my relationships. I couldn't help that I had my own opinions and didn't mind speaking them. I was grateful that my parents seemed agreeable about me having a choice in marriage. It had saved me from the two previous suitors who tried to bully me into an arrangement. The men's families had been as brutish, but my parents had had none of it.

But, while that meant I could have some say, it also meant I was getting older with fewer and fewer options. I hadn't been invited on an outing in months until Charles came along.

Charles himself was a gentleman. In fact, I was almost convinced he was a submissive man, though I wasn't sure if he was ready to admit it. I'd been pushing subtly to test him, and every time, he'd acquiesced to my request cheerfully. Today, I'd demanded he wear my favorite color, red, in the face of the latest pastel fashions. He'd even brought a gift for me: a red enameled comb that sparkled in the sunlight against my coffee-colored hair. It matched the tie tack he'd chosen to wear.

So, to hear others degrade his character was getting old, and now Lori had joined them. "Charles has never made a violent movement toward me or my family, Lori. I don't know where you are getting the idea from."

"Of course he wouldn't do that, Morgan! Your family is wealthy, and marrying you would be a feather in the cap of many a man, not to mention gold in the purse. He's being careful. Just promise me that you will have a long engagement, should things go that way. See if you can get him to show his true nature before you marry him and can't get free."

I scowled as Lori and I watched the picnic being laid out. "And what if this is his true nature? Then I've wasted how long in an engagement that kept me from loving the man I want?"

"Loving the man you want? Morgan!" Lori stomped and placed her hands on her hips. "You've barely known him three months! How can you know what you want?"

I shrugged as I twirled my parasol over my shoulder. "I want what I want, Lori. Charles is the man I will marry."

Lori's mouth hung open. "So, he's proposed already?"

A smile tugged at my lips. "No, not yet. I was thinking of asking him myself."

The silence emanating from my friend made me look over. Lori was staring at me with narrowed eyes. "What?" I asked.

She leaned in to whisper. "Morgan, you can't! The King—the Church—they just declared..."

I dismissed her protest. What did I care about the proclamations of a woman's submission to a man? "I think Charles is submissive. I'm willing to take a chance to find out. After that, we can work out how to pretend to follow the King and Church outwardly but be who we are between the two of us."

She grabbed my hand. "Morgan." Her stare was unnerving, and the creases in her forehead showed her concern for me. "Morgan, don't do this. I swear to you, he is not what he seems. More than that, I am forbidden to say. Please."

My jaw tightened, and I pulled my hand away. "Forbidden by whom? Travis? He's had you under his thumb from day one."

She gasped. "I love Travis! I want to be supportive of him. He doesn't make me do anything I don't want to do!"

"Oh, so you want to keep information from me? Tell me what you know so that I can judge for myself, Lori."

Lori bit her lip and drew us further away to ensure we were alone. "Okay, but you cannot tell anyone where you got this information. Travis was asked to join the Guild." She looked at me knowingly, willing me to understand, but I didn't.

"Yes, the Merchant's Guild. Congratulations! I don't understand what this has to do with Charles."

"No, Morgan, not the Merchant's Guild. The Guild. The secret one we always hear about but don't ever dare admit exists."

"Travis was asked to join that misogynistic trash group?" I bit my tongue before I said anything further to insult my friend and her husband.

"See? That's why I want you to be careful. Travis is sure Charles sat next to him at the meeting." Lori glanced up to see Travis waving at us. We smiled and waved back, motioning them to shore.

"Don't they wear masks or hoods or something?" I whispered. "How does he know it was Charles?"

"I don't know, but he was sure enough that he told me about it."

I cocked my head at my friend. "What was Travis doing at a meeting of a group you're now warning me about? If Charles was there, so what? It seems that dear Travis was, too."

Her lips pursed. "Travis was forced to go by his grandfather. You know how terrible that old man is."

I did, indeed. The man was in tight with the Archbishop, and that crowed and extremely vocal about a "woman's place" and other such nonsense. I looked out to the men in the rowboats, watching Charles' sure strokes bringing him closer. He was such a sweet man to me. Surely, he wouldn't be involved in such a group.

According to rumor, the Guild was known for their male supremacist beliefs, and their current influence was rising. Some said they even had the ear of the King and Archbishop. Given the recent declarations from those two factions, I had to admit that seemed to be true.

New members were supposedly required to show their worthiness in some way, ways that were said to range from being physically violent to deviously malevolent. According to gossip, the maliciousness of the act dictated how far and how fast a man rose in the ranks. I wondered what percentage of the recent attacks on women in the city resulted from these initiation requirements.

But, surely, my Charles was not among those men. No, he listened to me and took my opinions seriously. He catered to my every desire. He wanted to make me happy and had done everything I'd asked of him. He'd never even said a harsh word to me, much less raised a hand to me. He was smart, sexy, and gregarious. The perfect gentleman. Travis had to be wrong about his involvement.

~~~

"What do you think about the recent declarations from the King and Church, Morgan?" Charles asked me over lunch. Travis and Lori shared a glance.

I smiled and tried to be diplomatic. "Personally, I would like to see what is chosen privately between a husband and his wife to remain just that: private between them. I don't understand why the King or Church would care what they would do, as long as it was consensual and hurt no one."

"Yes, but now we have orders from on high, so to speak, about the behavior of a woman to her spouse. Do you think we should ignore them and go on about our business?" Charles asked.

I thought for a moment, wanting to phrase my answer carefully. "I suppose that we have no recourse, except outright revolution, but to follow the edicts, at least on the face of things. But who knows what people do behind closed doors? I don't think this will change people; it will only force them even further underground."

"Indeed," Charles replied before Travis changed the subject to the latest hunt club activities. We spoke no more about it until the two of us walked along the lake's edge sometime later. He carried his hat in his hand to share the shade of my parasol with me.

We'd been walking in silence for some time. I could tell Charles wanted to say something, so I kept quiet, hoping he'd speak up. Finally, he did. "Morgan, can I ask you a question outright? Will you be honest with me?"

I flashed him a grin. "I will be as honest as I know how, Charles. You know that."

His brow softened as he returned my smile. "I will simply be blunt. Are you a dominant woman?"

I was shocked to silence. It was extremely forward of him to ask, especially in such a political climate as our current state. But hadn't I just told Lori that I was going to propose? I took a breath. "In all honesty, I don't know completely, Charles. I think so, but I'm not... well versed in all areas if you understand my meaning."

"I believe I understand you quite well." He lapsed into silence again.

"Charles—"

"Morgan—"

We both began simultaneously and laughed. He insisted I proceed.

I stopped and turned to him, reaching for his hand. We stood close, not because of the shade, but because we were drawn to each other. "Charles, I think that we fit together very well. I know that, if I am not a dominant outright, I am very headstrong, and you have taken that in stride. If you are amicable, I would like to propose a more permanent arrangement."

His eyebrows shot up before his features melted into a broad smile. "Morgan, my dear, are you asking me to marry you?"

I stood a little straighter and gazed deep into his eyes. "Yes."

I had thought his grin couldn't get any wider, but I was wrong. "Good. I accept. Only, I think we should keep this between ourselves and let me go about it in a more proper way. I need to speak with your father..."

I locked my arm into his and tugged him back into walking. "My father will say yes. He adores you. Better yet, he sees that I adore you, too."

"And I, you."

My heart thrilled at the admission between us. He slowed, brought us to a stop, and turned to me. When his gaze dropped to my lips, I smiled yet again.

"Kiss me," I ordered in a whisper. He cupped my cheek and brushed his lips across mine. My pulse raced at the touch. "Again," I told him.

He needed no further encouragement, moving to grasp the back of my head and press his mouth on me, tongue searching. I met him move for move, not backing down or giving way. He groaned slightly, and I dug my fingers into his arm a little deeper. His desire for me was plain, and I returned the sentiment fully. When the kiss broke, we were breathless.

He rested his forehead on mine. "I can't tell you how long I have wanted to do that."

I giggled. "What were you waiting for?"

He pulled back and gazed into my eyes. "Permission, of course."

My heart melted. No, this Charles could never be a member of The Guild. I was sure of it.