24. Cats in a Bag
Caspian
Four women who have all been declared the crème de la crème of our clan sit primly around my table, and yet, I only see one.
Annalise hasn’t made eye contact with me once since entering the dining hall, which serves as proof that, even after a week, she’s still freezing me out. I could’ve forced my way into her presence days ago, but I had a hunch that would only put me further outside her good graces. So, I took the high road, choosing patience, resisting the urge to push, but damn have I been tempted.
The wait staff enters and pours a second round of wine. Their presence in the room draws attention to the uncomfortable silence. Aside from greeting the Consort Elects when they first arrived on the premises and were escorted into the dining hall, I’ve barely said two words to them. Mostly because I have no interest in bonding with them. As it stands, their role here in the estate will be singular and uncomplicated.
To bear children.
At the thought, Aunt Pen’s voice echoes inside my head, reminding me of the recently discovered loophole. One I’ve gone to bed thinking about every single night. One that haunts me with fantasies of acting out of selfishness, forsaking the greater good of the clan to have what I want.
To have the woman I want.
“More wine, sir?”
Startled from my thoughts, I glance to my left when a server angles a decanter toward my glass.
“No, thank you.” I offer a polite smile, but it fades the moment the young man sequesters himself to the outskirts of the room. Then, my gaze returns to Annalise.
There she sits, beautiful as ever in a yellow, floral-print dress. It strikes me as being noticeably casual for the occasion—lacking the frills, lace, and crystals that adorn the other ladies’ gowns—but she’s still the most gorgeous woman in the room.
Her hair is different, too. Typically piled high in some arrangement of curls and jewels, it rests on her shoulders tonight, the simplicity of the style complimenting the light dusting of makeup on her face. Truthfully, she doesn’t need any of it, and I prefer this version of her over any other.
From what I’ve heard, she’s had a rather eventful week. Lady Radcliffe sought me out quite dutifully two days ago, distraught by Annalise’s ‘rebellious behavior’. At first, I was concerned she’d tried to make good on her threat to run away, but what actually took place calmed my fears. Which was the opposite effect it had on Lady Radcliffe.
News that Annalise had taken the initiative to start a garden, to bring life to an otherwise dead area of the courtyard, was a welcomed surprise. Establishing a garden is quite literally proof that she’s putting down roots here. Not to mention the claim that Annalise ‘barked in anger’ about how Lady Radcliffe works for her, and not the other way around. While some of the staff might interpret this incident as an act of defiance, I see it quite differently.
I see the lady of the house finally stepping into her rightful place, and… it gives me hope.
“Pardon me. Alpha?”
I shift toward the sound of the brassy voice that’s just called out to me, only to find Wilhemena grinning from ear to ear. I hadn’t paid her much attention before, but since Dimitri and Creed pointed out the rivalry between her and Annalise, I’ve been more alert tonight. And, sure enough, I’ve noticed the sideways glances my brother mentioned.
“Yes?” I finally answer, finishing the last sip of wine in my glass to hide a scowl.
“I’ve heard mention that you enjoy hunting,” Wilhemena says, straightening her posture as her smile grows. “My grandfather, Supreme Arbiter Emory,” she adds proudly, “owns a cabin near Lunar Lake. He says that’s a prime spot for big game. I’d love to visit with you one weekend. Perhaps you can even teach me a thing or two while we’re there. About hunting or… whatever you’d like me to learn.”
I don’t miss the inuendo, and I’m guessing no one else has either.
“I’m sure your grandfather’s cabin is quite nice, Wilhemena. Thank you for the invitation.”
I attempt to take another swig from my glass, only to realize I’ve emptied it. Luckily, the young server I’d refused a moment ago is still nearby and tops me off. I drink half before scanning the room, only to find Annalise visibly angered by Wilhemena’s antics.
Damn it. Damn it all to fucking hell.
I picture Aunt Pen again, but this time, she’s waving the incomplete contract in my face, reminding me that this could all be over so quickly if I’d just forsake my morals. She made it all sound so easy, but that would only be true for a man who lacked any sense of duty or honor. Hence the reason I must keep my focus.
“Ladies,” I say with a deep sigh, trying my best to make my interest in them seem authentic. “I’ve heard that you’ve each got some rather unique hidden talents. I’d love to hear more about that.”
The lie burns leaving my mouth, so I sip more wine. I could actually go my entire life without listening to any of them speak again.
Ever.
“I sing,” Arabella blurts out first. “I was formally trained by the most famous opera singer among all of Clan Centauri, Madam Ellenore Goolsby. My great aunt has known her for years. So, she arranged for six months of private lessons at the start of last spring.”
“How interesting,” Clementine says, offering Arabella a catty smile that doesn’t go unnoticed.
“And what might your talent be,” Arabella asks, curling her lip as she holds Clementine’s gaze.
“Actually, I’m a licensed pilot,” Clementine reveals. “I’ve practically flown all over the world. It’s been quite the adventure.”
Arabella is rendered silent, but Wilhemena’s wheels appear to be turning as her lips part.
“Unaccompanied?” Wilhemena asks. “Because I can only imagine what sort of trouble a woman like yourself might get into when left unattended. Tell us, Clementine, did you do much mingling with the locals during your travels?”
“Just what are you implying?”
Wilhemena’s initial response to Clementine’s question is an innocent shrug. “I haven’t implied anything at all. I simply asked if you and the locals were… friendly. ”
Clementine crosses her arms with a huff. “I was accompanied by my father the entire time, and he never let me out of his sight. So, to answer your ridiculous question, there was no ‘mingling’ with the locals whatsoever. The purpose of my adventures was simply to explore. Nothing more.”
Wearing a wicked smirk, Wilhemena feigns innocence again. “How exciting that must have been for you.”
“Quite,” Clementine snaps back. “So, why don’t you tell us of your talent, Wilhemena. We’re all dying to hear.”
That slick grin on Wilhemena’s face grows, and I tug my collar, feeling confined all of a sudden. It isn’t until Archibald taps my shoulder, offering me a handkerchief, that I realize I’ve broken a sweat. The stress of this dinner, the ruthlessness of the women surrounding me, has caused a spike in my anxiety.
If this is a snapshot of what’s to come, I shall surely have no peace.
“Well, since you asked, I possess many talents,” Wilhemena boasts. “Like Arabella, I’m gifted in song, but I also have original paintings hanging in several galleries throughout New Eden. I’ve also been the recipient of the Zenith Masterpiece Award for ballet several years in a row. However,” she beams, shifting her gaze to me, “I’m certain I have yet to discover the many other ways I’m gifted to perform.”
I stare in utter shock, put off by her brazen display this evening. I’ve never heard a woman speak so crassly in the presence of others. I’m not a prude by any stretch of the word, but I can’t help but wonder if she speaks this freely in the presence of all men.
What the fuck am I doing?
The question flits into my thoughts, and I can’t answer it. Because, in truth, the line between what the clan needs and what I need has become such a blur. Three of the four women at this table mean absolutely nothing to me. Yet, I’ve committed myself to a lifetime with them by my side, listening to them argue over petty incidentals while we dine, only to surely complain even more when the others are no longer in earshot.
Maybe I’ve been na?ve to think that four women could possibly share a home without succumbing to chaos. And as I think on it deeper, I’m not sure four men would survive those circumstances either. Now, as I sit here today, drowning out the potshots and petty chatter of the Consort Elects, I have an epiphany. One that’s grown from the seed Aunt Pen planted days ago, only to blossom to full maturity today, after having endured the verbal torment of three surprisingly classless women.
For the first time since this process began, I’m questioning things.
And the first and most pressing question of all is… am I still certain I can go through with this?