“Do the men always serve the women?” he asks, his gaze trailing a man placing a steaming dish before his wife.
“Sometimes,” I say, “when they want to show their devotion and respect.” I study his eyes—blue and haunted—and wonder what he’s thinking. “How are the women shown respect in Perinya?”
He slowly backs away from the window, his eyes lost and faraway. Then he focuses them on me. “They’re taken care of.”
“What do you mean by ‘taken care of’?” I cross my arms over my chest.
He matches my stance, resting his weight heavily on the heels of his boots. “A man will marry and take care of a woman. Provide for her. A woman seeks to be married as soon as possible in Perinya.” He laughs. “I mean, why would anyone marry otherwise if not to be taken care of?”
Anger slices through me, and I feel the mercury flowing like lava through my veins. “How do you know women can’t take care of themselves? Look around you.” I open my arms wide. “Do any of the women of Cavan seem incapable?”
He shakes his head. “It’s different there. In Perinya, women don’t want to work as a man does. They enjoy being doted on and only looking after their children.”
“I don’t believe any woman would not want the right to choose her own profession,” I say, my voice low, angry. “It’s proven that a woman’s mind works differently than a man’s—”
“Oh—” He chuckles. “I have no doubt about that.”
“As I was saying.” I adjust the hilt of my sword, reminding him that he carries no weapon. “Women think faster. It’s a fact that the white matter of the brain is responsible for decision making, and neurons are packed more tightly in a woman’s, making us the more logical choice to be in a position to govern and make decisions. I don’t believe for a moment that the women there have chosen to b
e the weaker sex.”
Prince Caben shakes his head again. “You sound like a scientific broadcast. Or a brainwashed cult leader.”
I take a step forward but he raises his hands. “I’m not trying to start a war here,” he says. Then lowering his hands, he steps closer to me. “I’ve no doubt that women succeed in areas where men falter. But men are stronger physically. It simply makes sense that the stronger sex should be placed in power. To defend and rule.” His blue eyes penetrate mine. “You still have men in your army?”
“Yes . . .”
“And if you didn’t?” He raises his eyebrows. “Do you feel you could defeat an enemy with an army of women only?”
“That’s a ridiculous question. It has no merit for what we’re discussing.”
“Doesn’t it?”
I huff. “You’re only trying to upset me—unhinge me for your own enjoyment.” I scowl. “I won’t give in to your stupidity.”
He smiles, his full lips crooking into a knowing grin. He twists the silver ring—that I now notice holds a red and silver crest—around his finger. “Horses?”
“What?”
“Let’s go see the court horses.” He turns and starts toward the palace. “I assume you at least stable your horses equally. Or are only female horses thought of as good enough for the court?”
Walking up beside him, I smile. “Oh no, Your Highness. They’re all stallions.” I slant my eyes his way. “We think males are only good for mounting.”
Warm, musty air circulates as the cogs of the giant, embedded wall fan begin to turn, pushing cooler air past its blades. The smell of hay and meal cling to the burgundy and silver tapestries hanging between the stalls. They flap in the makeshift wind, and the scent wafts through the palace stable, reminding me of home—the smell of the marketplace near our apartment.
My fingers tap at the illuminated buttons of the fan’s control panel, adjusting settings so the horses aren’t suffering in this heat. Then I lean against a wooden beam and wait as the prince takes his time changing into his nondescript clothing in a stall.
I check my transmitter to make sure I haven’t missed an important message. Digging the toe of my boot into the hay, I scan through my communications. Nothing since Lilly last contacted me. I assume the Nactue are with the empress, learning vital information about the Otherworlders’ situation while I’m stuck here tending to a pampered prince. I should be with them now. I should be made aware of what orders are being given, if the empress is in any danger, what is happening at our borders.
I should not be here.
Aggravated, I stalk toward the stall. “Are you quite done yet, Your Highness?”
He grunts. “Almost.” Then he exits wrapped in the cream-colored cloak with the matching uniform beneath. If it weren’t for his smooth, nearly flawless skin and the way he holds himself upright, as if he knows of his own importance, he could almost pass for a commoner.
“Well,” I say, motioning toward the horses in the stalls. “You may have your pick of any one of them.”
“I give you some credit. At least you don’t castrate them.” He smirks.