Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(10)

“What are they like?” exclaimed Caroline.

“They look kind of like Sirminicans.” She blatantly stared at me again. “But not exactly the same. You’d know one if you saw one. And they dress so strangely—especially the women. Sometimes in pants.”

That elicited a few gasps. “Are they nomads like the Icori?” asked Sylvia, her eyes wide. “Do they wear kilts too?”

“No,” Florence admitted. “The Balanquans aren’t like that. I hear they have cities and books and laws . . . and other kinds of civilized things. But obviously, not like our civilized things. I’ve only ever seen a couple of Balanquans. They keep to themselves.”

“But there is always a need for more people, right?” asked Tamsin, steering us back. “It’s all still new. It needs to be built.”

“I suppose.” Florence seemed uncomfortable at such a serious topic. After several awkward moments, she brightened. “Would you girls like to hear about how amazing Abner is?”

She waxed on about how handsome her husband was, how he catered to her every whim. How he bought her anything she wanted. “Being married to a man like him has been more wonderful than I ever dreamed.”

“In all ways?” asked Ingrid. “Even in . . . intimate ways?”

Shock and giggles ran around the table. Florence’s cheeks turned a dusky pink, which somehow managed to make her look even prettier. “Well, it wouldn’t be proper to go into detail, but I will say it’s quite lovely most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” I asked pointedly.

Florence looked surprised I’d spoken. “Well . . . what I mean is, some days I’m just so tired, but it is a wife’s duty. Which I gladly do for him. And as I said—it really can be lovely. And, oh, the sweet things he always says afterward. Pouring out his emotions. Compliment after compliment. Telling me how much he adores me. He’s even recited poetry.”

I didn’t really find “lovely” to be a compelling endorsement, but her words brought more happy sighs from my housemates. It must have stuck with Adelaide too, because later that evening, while we were preparing for bed, she remarked, “I don’t remember poetry ever being mentioned in our Female Studies book.”

Our Female Studies class was meant to prepare a young lady for her wedding night and other matters not discussed in polite company. Adelaide was fascinated by the whole subject. Its textbook was the only one I ever saw her diligently studying.

“That book is nonsense,” Tamsin scoffed. “All cut-and-dried. Its whole focus is on making men happy without ever saying how it can be just as good for women.”

Adelaide and I exchanged glances behind Tamsin’s back. Neither of us was brave enough to ask how she could speak with such confidence on that matter.

Adelaide finished unbraiding her hair. “I don’t need poetry. I just want love. Someone I can look at and feel an instant connection to. Someone who’s meant for me, and me for him.”

With a wistful sigh, she pulled on a robe and disappeared out the door to go to the washroom. “I hope her expectations lower a little by the time we get there,” I said. “I don’t want to see her hurt when reality sets in.”

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine.” Tamsin ran a brush through her long hair. “Don’t write off her happiness just yet.”

“I’m not,” I protested. “I want her to be happy. But she’s such a romantic, and I don’t know if that’s realistic. I mean, we have two months to accept an offer. Do you really think we’re going to fall madly in love with someone in that time?”

“Stranger things have happened. I’d like to.” She nodded toward the Female Studies book lying on Adelaide’s bed. “It’ll make all that business a whole lot better.”

“Well, I’m not setting my sights on romance. And don’t look at me like that! You’ve never made any secret about your priorities either. You want the richest, most successful man you can find, and that’s what you’ll choose, whether love and attraction are involved or not. Me? I don’t need the richest. Someone who’s established—with a little to splurge—is all I want. That, and respect, of course. Those are my priorities. Maybe he’ll be handsome, and maybe I’ll like being in bed with him. If not, I’ll just deal with it. That’s being realistic.”

Shock filled Tamsin’s brown eyes, and she held the brush in midair, forgotten. “There’s realistic and there’s depressing, Mira. And that’s just . . . I don’t even know. Do you hear yourself? You make it sound like a household chore. I can’t believe you’ve already resigned yourself to a cold marriage.”

I shrugged. I couldn’t explain that I knew for a fact that it usually was pretty easy to turn off your feelings during unwanted advances. I’d done it plenty of times when my father had needed me to distract men for his missions. I’d flirted. I’d let them touch me and kiss me. And . . . I’d felt completely detached. It actually had been like another household chore.

“I just want to go to Adoria,” I said at last. Neither Tamsin nor Adelaide knew about Lonzo. I couldn’t breathe a word to anyone—not even my beloved roommates—that my brother was a wanted murderer in Osfro.

Tamsin made a face. “Well, I do too, and yes, you’re right that I’ll choose success over anything else, but I still hope I can snag some love and passion too. You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”