Isabella hummed a brief note, her amusement plain with her lighthearted attitude. Such a place sounded quite farfetched to her, living under the eye of a man almost her entire life. Granted. often these eyes were not of her fathers or her brothers, but of men who saw her as a pretty object glinting in their memory briefly enough to give her their attentions before passing on to the next pretty thing to wake by with a sway in her hips. For some, they would consider this world oppressive and difficult, where woman were clearly not valued, and the strongest women dominated over everyone but were killed the moment weakness was visible. No, the smartest played the background and wove across the tapestry of the world, plucking at threads and then fleeing. A woman that knew how to handle someone discretely, be it through backhanded means or persuasion was another true power to be reckoned with.
But where women truly ruled over men? Too good to be true. "That seems hard to believe, madam," she said truthfully, suddenly snapping her hands as the slave broke off a bit of bark that was protruding. Isabella barked at him to be more cautious and he grunted in reply as he began to roll the large stump toward her home. Isabella huffed at him, then turned back to Siv. "But there are plenty of things a woman can do, even if a man thinks he's the only one in charge. They may think they are the head but we are the neck that turns them, if we want to be, of course." Isabella bobbed her head almost modestly, but her smug grin ruined the effect entirely. "I wonder what your home would say to our Roi?" she asked the woman in all honesty. She herself was still unsure of what to make of their poisonous king.
Photo courtesy of john curley. Table by Kitty.
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