Page 135 of Reign

“That’s just the order of things,” I said, popping the chunk into my mouth while reflecting on how expectations differed greatly between women and men.

Growing up with Finn made those differences all the more evident—he was raised for independence, while I was taught to be the dutiful wife.

“Besides,” I continued, “I’m already my father’s property—I’m in no hurry to be handed over and owned by a different man.”

From the far end of the table, Regina cleared her throat. Instantly, all eyes were drawn to her.

“We are very alike, Niamh,” she said, her violet irises shining with sympathy.

“That’s why I’ll never wed—I have my own lover to satisfy me, just as any man would.” She placed her hand on Wolver’s paw. “But until a queen outranks a king, I’ll never marry a man.”

A gentle kick tapped my shin and snatched my attention. I looked ahead to see Fitzroy staring at me.

“If you’re uninterested in marriage, why protect your chastity?” he mused, arching a skeptical brow. “I thought you were the rebel.”

I shook my head—he didn’t understand—how could he? He was a man.

Fitzroy took a moment, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth as he studied me.

“I never took you for someone who’d simply accept things. In Cambas, I don’t think you did much else but fight for what you believed to be right—even when you were wrong,” he muttered into his goblet. “And usually, you were wrong.”

His head shook, as if my submission to womanhood was disappointing.

It had been a while since Fitzroy had truly irritated me, but it was easy to slip back into old habits.

“That was Smith,” I bit back. “A soldier and craftsman whose only role was to defend the kingdom. This is Niamh—just a woman, destined to become a wife, upholding her values and virtues because that’s what’s expected,” I said with a reverent glance upward.

For a fleeting moment, I thought Fitzroy might understand. After all, he had been arranged to wed a woman he didn’t wish to marry.

But then, he chuckled.

“The gods are too busy sorting the saints from the sinners to care whether your legs have been parted or not,” he quipped, tapping a finger against the stem of his goblet in an irritating rhythm.

Of course he didn’t understand. Even if he’d married Avice, their union wouldn’t have changed his life. He still could have been a commander with a condescending tongue, free to bed whoever he pleased.

Mabina caught my eye from the far side of the table, concern pinching her brow.

“You don’t wish to share your life with someone?” she asked, glancing to Isobel, then back to me.

Though she was a woman, she couldn’t understand either.

Here on the Isle, they were free.

I shrugged. “I know no man I’d wish to marry—”

“What if the carpenter sought to make an honest woman of you?” Fitzroy cut in.

I reached for my necklace—the gift from Bash.

“He’s uninterested,” I muttered, clutching the locket as if it held my aching heart.

“Then he’s a fool,” Fitzroy said. “If he saw you tonight, he’d mistake you for the fairest of all.” His voice was low, almost lost in the clanging of cutlery as Wolver devoured another plateful of meat.

I held Fitzroy’s smoldering gaze, feeling a spark—like little embers in the pit of my stomach, pulsing brighter with each breath.

But before the flame could bloom, he opened his mouth again.

“Of all the commoners, obviously,” he added, smirking like my lowly status was humorous.