Rising Storm
After Anna slipped away, I found myself drawn into the circle of women left behind. Most of them were already married, some even mothers like Lieselotte and me, though Elizabeth stood out, untouched by those ties.
“No, I don’t think I ever will. Ruby, most men can’t even take their brain out of their pants long enough to have a good talk with, so why should I ever marry any of these dull creatures.”
“But aren’t you here with one of these dull creatures—Charles or David or whatever?”
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I actually like him. Though he is rather good in bed; at least he tries hard. I’m not gonna lie.”
Heat crept up my cheeks at her words, and I glanced around the table, half-expecting to find a frown or a raised brow. But there was nothing—no hint of judgment, not even a wrinkle of disapproval. Instead, I caught the glimmer of agreement in more than one pair of eyes. Someone even leaned in, curiosity lighting her face as one asked,
“Really? Mmh, maybe could you set us up once you are bored with him? My last lover was quite the disappointment. A pretty face but nothing to back it up.”
“Wait, but wasn’t your previous lover the southern duke’s son, Liam Solaris?”
“Huh? I remember that we were all so jealous, but you didn’t say how it went”
“Huh, really? How can you say that he is so dreamy and cute? I almost can’t believe he is a guy. Was it really that bad?”
“No, you are right; bad doesn’t really put it. He couldn’t even get it up, the poor guy. He cried the whole night.”
“No way?”
I never imagined I’d hear such words from noble ladies, their laughter laced with stories of inattentive husbands, secret lovers, and dowries lost to cards and dice. For a moment, I clung to the hope that Lieselotte’s marriage was different, but even she joined in, half-jokingly asking Elizabeth to find her a lover. When I asked if her husband minded, she just sighed, telling me they’d only shared a single night together—the one that gave her a son, thank the gods. I sat there, stunned, doing my best to keep my face from betraying the swirl of thoughts inside.
“That guy only ever thinks of his next meal. He even told me as such many, many times. A scrawny thing like you who would ever like something like that? And so on.”
Maybe I was luckier than I realized to have found someone like Janus. I’d always known I was fortunate, but listening to these stories made me feel quietly blessed.
Listening to all this, I almost felt guilty for having been a man in my past life. But I couldn’t imagine ever treating someone I loved so carelessly. If I’d ever been lucky enough for a girl to love me back, I would have cherished her. Or at least, that’s what I wanted to believe. Still, I couldn’t really use myself as proof, so I reached for Janus’s name, hoping to defend men’s honor through him.
“Not all men are like this?”
A moment ago, the table had been alive with laughter and teasing, but now every gaze settled on me. I felt suddenly out of place, like a lone voice in a room full of doubters.
“Janus has never even looked another woman’s way since we met.”
“Oh? Really? Then he must have changed quite a lot since we last met.”
Her words left me uneasy, especially when I saw nearly everyone else nodding along. That couldn’t be true, could it? My voice came out smaller than I intended as I asked,
“What do you mean?”
Elizabeth and the others looked at me, surprised.
“Hasn’t he told you?”
“Told me what?”
“Sigh, I’m sorry to tell you this, but before you got married, Janus had quite a few women.”
“What? But I’ve never…”
“Then he truly must have changed, then. But I still remember him quite vividly myself. When he was here two years ago, a few other men and many of us attended quite an interesting party together, if you know what I mean. And he was really good, honestly, not to mention his huge package. I never had anything like it.”
Mortification washed over me. Had Janus really gone to something like a swinger party? The idea alone felt unreal, almost like a story from another world. And I wasn’t his first—of course I wasn’t. Suddenly, all those practiced touches and secret smiles made sense. I’d thought he was simply gifted, not that he’d learned it in the arms of others. It shouldn’t matter, I told myself, since it was all before we married. But as I looked around and saw more than half of the women nodding, my heart twisted. Had he truly been with this many? He’d once told me he never wanted to be like his father. Was that just another story?
My mood must have been written all over my face, because Elizabeth cleared her throat, suddenly awkward, and tried to smooth over the hurt she’d caused.
“It was just for sex, dear, nothing serious.”
That’s when the rest of the group chimed in to lift my mood.
“He never dated any of us, even when we begged.”
“It had just been a bit of mutual fun.”
“He wasn’t the only one; almost all the noblemen his age, including his brothers, attended.”
“We were all wearing masks and costumes, so he didn’t even know who most of us were.”
But their words did little to help. I’d only ever known him, while he’d lived a life so much larger than mine. How could I ever compare? I felt small beside him, like a clumsy fawn tripping over my own feet, hopelessly inexperienced next to all he must have seen and done. I loved the nights we shared, but did he too? Was it as good as what he had before? I knew comparison was the thief of joy, yet I couldn’t help but compare myself to the other woman present, and in my paranoia, I found myself lacking. I was short and frail, with skin so pale a sheet of paper had more color. I looked sickly and unnatural; if not for my beautiful face, would he even look my way?
Seeing that my mood didn’t change after their attempts, Lieselotte changed the subject.
“Enough about men. Tell us of your kids; I heard you have twins?”
The other women glanced at Lieselotte with silent thanks, and soon the table filled with stories of their little devils’ latest mischief—splattered ink, skirts lifted, muddy footprints, broken toys, and teachers at their wits’ end. I joined in, and though my heart still felt heavy, the laughter slowly began to lift the weight.
Laughter bubbled up again, warm and bright, until one woman drew out a Moon necklace her fiancé had made for her. It was beautiful—a tiny, lifelike painting of the moon behind a pane of clear glass, diamonds sparkling around the edge, and hidden beneath it all, a miniature portrait of her beloved. The glass and the art seemed ordinary to me, but in this world, such clarity and skill were still rare treasures. I watched as envy flickered in the eyes around the table.
Their gazes turned to me, expectant and bright, and it took a moment before I understood. I didn’t have a moon necklace for our engagement—only for the wedding. The realization hit me like a wave, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Months ago, Janus and I had promised to sort it out once we reached the capital, but I’d let it slip from my mind. The women’s expectant stares grew heavier, and I found myself silently begging for rescue from anyone or anything. The longer their eyes lingered, the more my panic grew, curling tight in my chest.
It seemed the gods—or whoever might be listening—had a strange sense of humor, because a high, guttural scream answered my silent plea, echoing from the forest, unaturally cut off before it could finish as suddenly as it began. The trees shuddered and rustled, as if a storm were tearing through their branches, and a swirling dust devil rose, towering into the sky. Men and animals alike burst from the woods, hunter and prey fleeing side by side. Deer, birds, hares, and all manner of creatures tore through the tents and crowds, chaos blooming in their wake.
The other women and I stared in stunned silence, none of us able to make sense of what we were seeing. The dust devil twisted and turned, plunging deeper into the forest, and with it came more sharp, broken screams that sent a chill crawling down my spine.