Page 87 of The Beast Of Gloomenthrall

Moments later Alia stepped out onto the terrace, taking a deep breath of cleansing air. Gaze drinking in the spectacle below. The formal gardens were full of guests meandering along torchlit pathways, enjoying the spectacle of tumbling acrobats, musicians, poets, and several jugglers tossing various items, including several fireballs, back and forth to everyone’s delight.

Hesitating at the edge of the steps she allowed Talac to cradle her elbow and lead her down to the left, away from the wandering musicians. Good idea. She didn’t want to come face to face with Cadell. The bard’s ego was bruised that she had not chased him here to the Palace. He did nothing but sulk, scowl, and shoot petulant glares in Alia’s direction every time they crossed paths.

Twice now, she’d heard him sing songs that featured a foolish golden haired maiden who failed to recognise the worth of her true love and went on to meet a surprisingly gory end.

“Are they all like that?”

“Who?” Alia enquired, as they drifted down a gravel pathway that had no entertainers populating it and therefore had only sparse foot traffic.

“The bridal candidates. Are they all so catty?”

“I’m sure under less… fraught circumstances that Miss Jacquene is a lovely sweet woman.”

“You’re defending her?”

“Yes. Put yourself in her shoes. The entire fate of your family, retainers, everyone that works or has business with the Hail family, is resting on that woman’s shoulders. If she were to become Queen, then her family are set for life. Her siblings will make above par matches. The family business will flourish substantially. Everyone will benefit. Since the moment the invitation to attend was received, no doubt every one surrounding that poor woman has been giving her advice on how to conduct herself. What to say. How to dress. Her Mama whacks her on the leg every time her smile falters. She must be black and blue.”

“But merely by being here her father will conduct business, sign contracts, further the family cause. They’ll benefit just by attending the festivities.”

“Really? What of Miss Jacquene, rejected by the Prince of the Realm? Her siblings will all marry, but she’ll be tainted by her failure. The woman not good enough for the Prince.”

“I…”

“And this is your sixth year of conducting this little charade, correct? Have any of the previous bridal candidates gone on to form marriage alliance? I doubt it. They’ve been effectively shelved, thanks to you. You’re so busy dodging the marriage noose you have not once considered the feelings of the candidates, or the far reaching ramifications their failure here will have on their lives. Do they really even want to be here? Be Queen? Do they even like you?”

“I did not ask for any of this.”

“Nor have you done anything to stop it. For you, it’s a convenience. It allows you to go play master spy, and disguise yourself as an average man for a few months of the year. Escape the Palace and the mantle of acting the Prince.”

“You like the average man, the Captain of the Guard.”

“Much more so than the Prince, admittedly, he’s too blinkered and haughty for my liking.”

“Blinkered?”

“One day you’ll be King of the Realm. Half your subjects are female. That coup you fear bubbling away in the shadows, it won’t come from the aristos.”

“You’re telling me women will rise up?”

He sounded so incredulous, Alia wanted to kick him. “Imagine if you will, never being able to control your own money, own land, or a business. To have no legal redress to turn down an offer of marriage if your father or brothers insist upon it. Work, but never get paid for it. Grow old, and have to cross your fingers that your sons will support and shelter you. To have your husband die and have to depend upon the kindness or handouts from your in-laws, who effectively now own you. Like a horse. Or an armchair.”

“I’ll have you know I intend to appoint Master Kinnith to administer the Widows Annual Dividend Fund. And will assign him resources to help manage and enforce it.”

“Kudos to you. But that position wouldn’t be needed if women were allowed to inherit their own home and family business upon the death of their husband. Were allowed to work in exchange for money to support themselves and their dependents.” Alia noted they were on the farthest, darkest path that edged the densely wooded parklands that butted up against the formal gardens on this side of the Palace.

“Changing centuries old traditions is not done overnight, or, on a whim.”

“Please. When the scholars announced that more men died from drowning three years ago than old age for the previous twelve months, what happened the next day? The Palace announced that all male children under the age of twelve must attend mandatory swimming lessons. Not the girls, just the boys, mind you. And do you know why no one cared about the girls? Because the scholars didn’t even include women in their survey.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes. Society… men, don’t care how women manage to get by, they certainly don’t care how they die. The workhouses and church halls are full of desperate, starving women… and their children. It’s no better in the countryside. A woman can work a bit of land, grow vegetables, keep animals, but the moment a man comes along and sees its worth, he’s entitled to evict her and keep everything for himself.”

“And you expect me to do what exactly? My father and his cronies would not countenance widespread sweeping changes.”

“You could start by caring. Seeing women as your subjects, just as worthy of your time and respect as men.”

Talac chuckled under his breath.

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