The Gender Game by Bella Forrest (motivational novels .TXT) 📕

to get a little too comfortable around Viggo already in assuming that he wouldn't report me.

"What would be required in order to launch an investigation," he went on, "would be for a man to witness the noises. Then something could possibly be done about it."

I sighed heavily. "Okay."

I felt his eyes on me as I looked down at my feet. Then he said, "Hop on," apparently choosing to turn a blind eye to my disobedient wandering after all.

I climbed on to the bike behind him and this time didn't bother gripping the handle beneath my seat for support. Instead I held Viggo as I'd done for the first time the day before, since it was more comfortable.

"Could we just drive past there now?" I ventured. "Number thirty-two. Maybe the cries will have started again."

"Okay." We pulled out of the driveway and took a right, further up the mountain.

We stopped outside the house and waited beneath the shade of a willow tree… But nothing happened. After five minutes of waiting in silence, Viggo started the engine again and we rode back down the mountain.

"So what if a woman witnessed a murder?" I posed, mulling over this particularly absurd rule. Men had a lot of disadvantages in Matrus, some arguably worse than the women in Patrus. But this particular law grated on my nerves. "If she actually witnessed, for example, one man attacking another man. Hacking his head off. Are you telling me she wouldn't be able to testify in court? That nobody would take her seriously?"

"She would need to have gained solid evidence somehow," Viggo said. "Like a videotape or an audio recording. But you are correct, her word alone would not be enough."

I exhaled in frustration. "Why?"

"You could ask that question about a lot of things," Viggo muttered.

He was right. I was asking the question more out of frustration than anything else. Not only would a male have to witness the noises, but he'd also have to be willing to testify. The idea that whatever was happening behind that door could continue happening indefinitely disturbed me to no end. I had been half-tempted to barge in there myself while in my costume—or rather, knock on the door—if only to disrupt whatever suffering that woman was going through.

But I guessed that this was just another thing that was best not to think about. Trying to make sense of rules that didn't make sense was rather a losing proposition.

That didn't stop me wondering whether things might change someday. Whether some queen and king might eventually ascend to the two nations' thrones and put an end to rules like this. Though I knew it was a dream. We had lived like this for centuries and it seemed that, as the years passed, both governments were only coming up with more enforcements to keep us ingrained in our ways. I didn't see why anything would change.

At least not in my lifetime.

Viggo parked outside Head Office. I followed him as he swept up the granite stairs, through the steel-gray reception room, and headed directly for an elevator. He punched the button for the sixth—and highest—floor. The doors shuddered and pulled closed. The cables creaked as we ascended and we listened to the sound of each other's breathing until the doors dinged open.

Viggo stepped out into an empty corridor and led me down to a room at the very end of it, a large room with windows that spanned the length of an entire wall. Drawn to the windows, I stared out at the view of Crescent River, the city on one side and the palace on the other. We still weren't high enough for me to be able to see beyond the walls of the palace, though it was the closest I'd ever gotten to the building. I gazed at the windows, and spotted the occasional shadow moving behind them.

I remained standing while Viggo took a seat behind his table and began sifting through a pile of papers. I gazed outside a while longer before joining him. Pulling up a chair opposite him, I took a seat.

I picked up a shiny black pen from a holder and tapped it against the table surface while my feet fidgeted.

"Anything I can help with?" I wondered.

"Nope," he said, not looking up.

I leaned back in my chair, stretching out my arms. Then I took another turn about the room.

"What sort of money do you get paid as a warden… assuming you were getting paid?"

He glanced up at me, raising a brow.

"What?" I asked.

He shook his head and returned his eyes to the papers. "That's not a question you should make a habit of asking around here," he said. "It's not considered appropriate for a woman to ask a man about his earnings."

I narrowed my eyes on him. "So you're not going to tell me?"

The shadow of a smile crossed his lips. Viggo's rebel smile. "If you really want to know, it works out to about four ounces of gold per month."

"And that's considered, like, good pay?" I asked.

"It's, uh, about the highest pay you can expect to receive as a warden."

"I see…" Admittedly, his answer didn't mean a lot to me. I’d never really had a chance to earn income. I'd been locked away too early in my youth. I just remembered getting the occasional silver piece thrown my way by Ms. Connolly when I'd done chores around the orphanage. I'd stored it in a tin box I hid beneath my bed. I wasn't even sure where that was now.

"So you earn double that as a fighter," I went on, leaning against the desk and gazing down at his papers.

"Yeah."

"Hm." I sank back into my chair. Removing my shoes, I lifted my legs and laid my feet to rest on the table.

Viggo looked up again.

"What?" I asked, feigning innocence. "Is this not considered ladylike either?"

At this he chuckled, shaking his head in mild disdain.

Well, I was comfortable like this, and Viggo didn't actually mind, so I kept