Under His Rule (Dark Romance Suspense) (His Duet Book 1)
Under His Rule: Chapter 5

When the door cracks open, I’m prepared.

I no longer block my eyes. I’m not afraid of the light or the chance that it’ll blind me. I fear nothing except what lies behind me, the darkness I’ve been forced to endure. The light isn’t here to hurt me; it’s an invitation into their world.

When they come to get me, I stand proud and hold out my hand.

A new woman enters my cell. She looks much younger than the one who came before, but she has that same stern look on her face that could scare anyone into submission.

She comes toward me, and without any change in the emotion displayed on her face, she grabs my hand and pulls me outside. The moment my feet meet the grass again, I take a deep breath, soaking in the oxygen, the freedom.

The door of the cell I was in closes behind me. Two menacing guards standing beside it, almost as if to warn me not to try anything or they will throw me back in there. I gulp, and the woman lets go of my hand.

“Hello, dear. My name is Gertrude. Follow me,” she says.

I don’t know why I do what she says, but I do it anyway.

Is it the need to know what’s ahead? Or the fear of what will happen if I don’t comply?

I’m not sure. My emotions are a jumbled mess right now, and not even I can get through this tangled web of feelings bogged up inside my heart.

My mind is too occupied right now to even remotely consider the implications of me complacently walking along with her. It’s the first time since I came here that I’ve had a good look around. There are wooden houses everywhere; some so small they could fit maybe three people max and others so large they could house up to ten people. There are pebble stone paths throughout the grounds to connect each house to one another, with a few larger concrete buildings in between.

Around the houses, children play happily with dolls and wooden cars, and other home-made toys. Some men chop wood in sync or herd a bunch of sheep along the road while others converse around an open fire while having a drink. Women are tending to young babies hanging at their breasts while they fold laundry, others are sweeping the pebble path, or are washing up clothes, filling kegs with water, and there’s even one cooking a pot over an open fire in the outdoors.

None of them seems aware of my presence, of me watching their every move. It’s as if they’re blissfully unaware of the difference in their lives and my perception of it.

Because it’s as if I’ve been transported back in time about three hundred years or more.

Everywhere I look are old instruments, such as washing bins with the metal to scrub the clothes, bars of soap instead of chemicals, no electrical sockets or wires anywhere, or any modern clothes on any of the women and children. In fact, I can’t replace a single modern-day device. No phone, no tablet, no laptop. Nothing.

Do these people live in the Middle Ages?

“Come,” Gertrude says.

I stare at her with my mouth opened, momentarily frozen to the ground, shook by everything I see around me. She taps my arm, pulling me out of the haze.

“I won’t say it again,” she says.

I nod and follow her toward one of the larger huts in the middle of the grounds.

Is this going to be my next prison?

As we walk closer, people around us are starting to notice me. They stop doing their work and stare with narrowed eyes and furled brows as though I’m a stranger invading their land.

I wrap my arms around my waist while following Gertrude, but they still look at me as if I smell bad or like I’m less than.

I don’t like this feeling even though, in my mind, I know it shouldn’t bother me.

None of this should … except me being here.

I should run.

I should fight.

But they’d stop me if I tried. I can tell from their bold gazes and the way they clutch their tools. They mean business, and I’d better not try to disturb the status quo … whatever it is.

What in the world did I get caught up in?

Who are these people, and what do they want with me?

A part of me wants to scream and shout, to tell them to back off and ask what is wrong with them. Why they dared to take me as a prisoner. But another part of me knows that if I do this, I will be punished. And I don’t want to be in that cell anymore, in that darkness, naked, with nothing to do or see.

No matter how evil it is … I prefer this over what I had.

No one could convince me to give in, to submit … but that man could. With a single touch, he managed to persuade me to put on the clothes that I’d been resisting since my arrival. They formed the link between my prison and the outside world, freedom.

And now I’m wearing them … and they cling to my skin like a chain wrapped around my body. It’s only a different kind of prison after all.

“In here,” Gertrude says, glancing at me over her shoulder before opening the door to the hut. She points inside and waits beside the door. I swallow away the lump in my throat and step forward.

Inside, there are bunk beds to the side, a table with four chairs in the middle, and to the right is a small counter with a sink and a basket next to it, while long lights hang from the ceiling, illuminating the place.

Is this a house?

“This is your hut. You’ll be staying here along with the others.”

“Others?” I mutter as I turn around, but the door is closed on me before I receive an answer. The sound of the lock being turned makes my stomach churn.

I stand there for a second, taking in my surroundings and trying to get used to a different space. I’m no longer confined to the darkness, no longer naked and in pain.

But this is still a cage. An upgraded cage, but a cage nonetheless.

Still, I can’t help making use of the amenities, as I turn open the faucet and immediately stick my entire face under it. The cold water rushing over my cheeks and into my mouth is riveting and revitalizing, and I gobble up every last drop until my thirst is quenched.

I wipe my mouth on the white dress and walk toward the closet. Let’s see if there’s something else I can wear in here. I open it up and stare in disbelief. Only more of the same of what I’m already wearing; all white dresses and caps and black booties to match.

I sigh and shut the doors again, and I open each closet and cabinet I can replace until I replace something. An apple sits in the back of the kitchen cabinet, red and shiny. I have to stand on my toes to take it out. It looks so appetizing in my hands, and it makes my mouth water.

So I take a big, hearty bite.

The sourness and sweetness combine into an explosion of tastes that I’ve craved for so long.

In the cell, I was fed only bread and water, and now that I’ve finally had something else, I feel like I could cry. What one apple can do for a girl.

I swallow down the piece and stare at the markings on the apple, the shape of my teeth sunken into its flesh, and I suddenly wonder why there was a single apple lying in the top shelf.

If it was put there on purpose … another test.

My eyes widen. The apple falls out of my hand, drops onto the floor, and rolls underneath the table.

Right then, someone pries at the locked door again. In a panic, I grab a small tablecloth and throw it over the apple. I don’t know why I’m so desperate for them not to replace out. Why I’m so afraid of punishment. Maybe I’ve already been trained to submit without me realizing it.

The same woman from before, Gertrude, opens the door and steps inside. She takes a look at the room and narrows her eyes at the cloth, then at me. I swallow hard.

She walks to me and stares me down before bending over to grab the apple hiding underneath the cloth. She inspects it in a way that almost makes me feel violated just for taking a bite.

A tepid smile forms on her lips, and she tucks the apple into a bag that’s strapped to the side of her dress. “Come with me now.”

She turns around and walks off, but my eyes can’t help but land on the Taser right beside her bag and how it’s always a reminder that I’m not doing any of this because I want to, but because I have no choice.

I’m still their prisoner, whether they dress me or feed me, and I shouldn’t ever forget that.

We walk down the stone path to another building right in the middle of the camp. I don’t know if this is a camp or not, or what else to call it. The Holy Land, perhaps?

The people here flock around me, checking me out as though I’m livestock going on sale soon. It creeps me out and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Gertrude abruptly stops. “No dawdling.” She eyes me down and then points at a building up ahead. “Over there.”

I wait, but she does too, so I take a step and another one until I’m the one walking in front. The threat of her weapon is always looming in the background, reminding me of the fact that it’s impossible to get away.

As I get close to the door, it opens without me having to even touch it. A woman stands in the door opening, dressed in the same clothes as I am, and she says, “Welcome to school.”

School?

I haven’t been to school in ages, and I wasn’t planning to go back.

Gertrude pokes me in the back with a stick. “Go on.”

I reluctantly walk inside. There are benches everywhere, and in the back of the room, there’s a white cloth hanging from the wall, and an old projector sits in front of it.

Gertrude stops at the door and talks with the other woman. “This one is a handful, so take measures. But be gentle. Patriarch’s orders.”

“Of course, elder sister,” the woman says, and they nod at each other and then give each other two kisses on each cheek and a bow. Strange.

Another woman enters, and behind her is a girl with that same frown I saw before. I bet she’s like me.

A captured.

The women talk with each other, and then they direct their attention toward me. “Sit down,” one of them says.

I figure it’s easier to do what she says than to fight. Because through the window blinds, I can see several men standing guard outside the building. They’re prepared, of course. We’re a flight risk … and the more we try, the more skilled we get at trying to escape. Because a fawn desperate to get out will try any means necessary, any exit she can replace, even the unconventional ones. And they want to nip that in the bud before I even try. Smart.

“Sit,” barks the elder sister who’s left.

I sit down on one of the benches as instructed, and so does the other captured.

The elder sister turns on the slideshow and holds out a long stick which she uses to point at the screen.

“Education time,” she says. “For the purpose of assimilation, we will now explain the customs in our commune.”

Commune. Another word for cult, but of course she won’t ever use that word.

“You are now in the Holy Land, property of the Family. You will abide by our rules, set forth by the president. He is the anointed one, chosen by God to continue His Legacy.”

I don’t know what the heck she’s talking about, and I’m not sure I really want to know … but I have no other choice than to sit here, listen, and hope there’s an explanation for why they took me.

“You will be staying in huts. All houses are called huts here. Each family unit has their own hut. The one you’ve been staying at”—she eyes me now—“is the one you will be living in, so get used to it.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat. The question is not where … but how long?

“Do not under any circumstance try to enter any other hut except your own without explicit permission from an elder or his wife. Understand?”

When we don’t speak, she slaps my table with her stick so hard it almost snaps into two. I jolt up and down in my seat from the sharp sound.

“Answer me.”

“Yes …”

“Yes, what?” she sneers.

“Yes, sister?” I lift my shoulders, hoping it’s the right choice because I don’t want to get punished.

“Good.” A petty smile forms on her lips, and the mixed emotions it gives me makes me feel ill.

“First, the hierarchy. The patriarchs are our leaders, of whom the highest is our president. Patriarchs are not to be bothered with trivial matters, as they are watching over and caring for the entire family here at the commune.”

“What do they do?” the other girl asks.

The elder sister rubs her lips together, probably annoyed that she asked a question. “Raise your hand, captured.”

The girl slightly lifts her hand.

“They pray and offer blessings, and they watch over our rituals so that we may give the Lord more children. Furthermore, there are elders who look over our people. They make sure everyone abides by the rules set forth by the patriarchs.”

So they’re soldiers. Henchmen of the ones who trapped me here. Great.

“Helpers are those who do most of the working labor at this community. Our women here are our sisters, and our men are our brothers. A man will always look over his wife. A wife will always listen to her husband and do what she’s told.”

What kind of sexist shit is this?

“A husband can have multiple wives, but a wife can never have more than one husband. Wives are here to bear children for God. Husbands give the wives children to make them happy. A wife will care for the children while a husband toils and works during the day, and his efforts will always be rewarded with his wife’s attention.”

What the …?

“You must be wondering why I’m telling you all this,” the woman says with a smirk.

I sink back into my chair and watch her lips move slowly.

“Once you are finished with your initiation, you will become wives.”