“I’ll tell!” Rissa warned him. “I’ll let everyone know what you’re doing and planning!”
He shrugged again.
“You can try, but I doubt anyone will listen to you. They’ll just call me and then I shall say that you’ve gone mad because of your Heat Cycle.” He made a dismayed face, with wide eyes and both hands to his cheeks. “Oh, dear—my poor angel ran out of the room, looking for the remote to remove that dreadful Chastity Device that cruel old woman put on her! We cannot find it anywhere and my sweet wife is losing her mind because her brain is boiling in her poor, precious skull!”
His words were so horribly cold and calculating that Rissa honestly thought for a moment she might be sick.
“You…I can’t believe you,” she whispered. “You are truly evil.”
“I suppose,” the Duke said coldly. “Now, do go on.” He made a flicking gesture with his fingers, as though to shoo her off like a troublesome fly. “Oh, and don’t bother to try and tell anyone my little secret.” He placed the wig firmly back on his head and suddenly he was Lord Shammington again. “No one will ever believe you—they’ll only think you mad.”
As Rissa left, she closed the door on the sound of his awful laughter.
52
Where can I go? What can I do?
Rissa wandered the halls of the palace like a ghost—which she soon would be if she couldn’t get her Heat slaked, she admitted to herself. But there was no chance of that now that the Duke had destroyed the only key that would open the awful Chastity Device she wore!
Should I tell someone? Should I ask the Steward’s guards to wake him and tell him about the Duke pretending to be Lord Shammington?
She was about to do just that…but then Duke Grabbington’s words came back to her. He had said that the Steward would rather have a man ruling the country and that was why he had waited too late to find a suitor for her dear Mama. Could that really be true?
Yes, it’s true.
Her internal voice spoke with cold certainty. It was a fact she had been hiding from all her life but she could hide from it no longer. The Steward hadn’t wanted her mother on the throne and he didn’t want her there, either.
He had deliberately given her three bad choices as suitors so that she would use up her three Rights of Refusal and then picked a man whom he believed had enough Royal blood to be King so that the planet would not be ruled by a Queen—by a female. If he found out that Lord Shammington was actually Duke Grabbington, he probably wouldn’t even care. As long as a man ruled, he would be satisfied.
No, she must not trust her fate to the Steward, that much was certain. For years she had thought of him as a kindly old uncle, but that time was past. Nor could she trust the likes of Lady Mildew, who would probably be quite happy to see her burn. Though actually, she herself was going to hang if the Duke had his way.
Rissa thought about telling her that—trying to get the older woman on her side. But no—Lady Mildew would never believe her. She would think Rissa was “making stories” as she called it and probably march her right back to the Duke’s bed chamber.
What am I to do? Rissa asked herself desperately. How could she get help when the people who were supposed to care for her and support her were against her? When everyone in power on the planet would be happy to see her burn, just so a man could rule Regalia Five instead of a woman?
Our society is so unequal—so unbalanced, she thought unhappily. If only we were more like the Kindred. James always told me that they believe men and women are equals. I am sure if we Regalians believed the same, I would not be in this desperate position right now.
The thought gave her an idea. If she couldn’t trust anyone on her home planet, then she would have to find someone outside of Regalia Five to trust. Naturally, she didn’t want to involve James—he had made it clear that he had no feelings for her and would be perfectly happy never to see her again. But she was certain that someone aboard the Kindred Mother Ship would sympathize with her plight.
Creeping down the corridor, she made her way to the Communications room. It was quite late and, as she had hoped, there was only one young officer on duty when she peeked in. He was a Private, judging by the stripes on his uniform sleeves. He was sitting in front of a large viewscreen and watching, with sleepy eyes, several monitors that were mounted to the right and left of him.