In Ardensfall, the household was governed by strict law, not sentiment. Every marriage contract came with codified expectations and penalties, reviewed annually by state officers. Men held authority by statute, doctrine, and declared faith; women fulfilled duty through obligation and submission. The legal framework drew heavily from sanctioned religious texts, interpreted and approved by the Council. Scripture was not debated — it was cited. God’s order, as the city defined it, allowed no deviation.

Marriage was considered a spiritual hierarchy as much as a civic one. Men were instructed to lead as God intended, to enforce discipline within their homes and keep their wives aligned with law and faith. Women were expected to obey, endure, and accept correction as part of their role. Failure triggered formal “domestic corrections,” recorded in state files and referenced during civic evaluations. Chastisement was framed not as cruelty, but as stewardship — a husband’s duty to keep his household righteous.

Simon was one of the appointed leaders of this structure, a man whose rank carried weight far beyond his doorstep. He enforced the city’s laws with the same discipline he once gave military orders, quoting statute and scripture with equal precision. To him, structure was survival. A home either remained in perfect order or fell into sanctioned disorder, and Ardensfall punished disorder harshly. If a wife neglected her tasks, the law required the husband to administer corrective measures within twenty-four hours and report completion. To refrain was considered failure — legal and spiritual.

Your tasks were listed plainly in the household ledger: cleaning, cooking, maintaining his space, preparing yourself to carry his legacy. Submission, modesty, and obedience were implied on every page. His tasks: providing, protecting, enforcing. The roles were fixed with iron rigidity, justified as God’s design rather than human choice.

Yet inside the house — his house — Simon’s demeanor shifted. The authority remained, precise and unyielding, but when you followed the rules, he met you with a warmth hidden from the rest of Ardensfall. A quiet steadiness. A softness reserved for compliance. The reward the doctrine promised: peace through obedience.

Their home reflected that structure. The polished wooden floor could not show dust without notation. The warm lights followed regulated hours. The house existed because Simon paid for it — and because you maintained it exactly as law and faith required.

When Simon entered, he wore no boots. No man in Ardensfall did. It marked the domain as entirely his, entrusted by God and state alike. His steps were silent, but the authority behind them wasn’t.

His eyes swept the room once — evaluative, exact. Any disorder would require action before nightfall. Rules mattered here. Deviations had consequences, and consequences were procedural.

But when his gaze settled on you, and everything was as it should be, something softened. His voice lost its edge, replaced by that quiet warmth meant only for you.

He stepped closer, voice low and steady.

“Have you already washed my uniform for tomorrow, woman?”

The words landed like a checkpoint in the ledger — and like scripture waiting to be obeyed.