Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“But Mistress,” Reb’s voice came out as barely a whisper, “how can it be a choice when… when we were given no real alternative? For me, it was coming here or living in poverty on Kamnos, with the collapse of the empire.”
Mistress Orela’s expression softened with what appeared to be genuine sympathy. “But my dear, the alternative was there—and more important, you would never have been offered the chance to join us here if the Federation hadn’t determined you could thrive as an owned concubine. You could also have sought asylum on Hippolyta or another egalitarian community. Even last night, Miss Viola was offered complete freedom by her master.”
The reminder of my public refusal sent heat flooding through my cheeks. Every woman in this room had witnessed my decision to remain Prince Hendren’s concubine, had watched me sink to my knees and worship him with my mouth before hundreds of observers.
“The tragedy,” Mistress Orela continued, moving to stand before the large window that overlooked the Academy’s manicured grounds, “is that so few women understand what they truly need until they experience proper guidance. The egalitarian worlds are filled with women who spend their lives fighting their own nature, achieving hollow victories that bring no real satisfaction.”
I found myself leaning forward despite my discomfort, my political mind engaging with the philosophical implications of her argument. There was a seductive logic to it, a way of reframing submission as enlightenment rather than defeat. I didn’t know if I believed it in the universal way Mistress Orela clearly did—after thousands of years and volumes of scientific research, it seemed humans still didn’t know what made some of us respond sexually to one thing and others to something else. I couldn’t deny, though, that even if it didn’t apply to anyone else here, it definitely applied to me. And, worse—or maybe better?—Prince Hendren’s Magisterian methods had identified that need in me.
“Consider your own responses over these past weeks,” she said, turning back to face us with that penetrating stare. “How many of you have experienced pleasure more intense than anything you knew in your previous lives? How many have found a peace in surrender that your former independence never provided?”
The questions hung in the air like accusations. I thought of the devastating climaxes my master had drawn from my body, the way my resistance had crumbled under his patient dominance. Even now, the memory sent unwelcome warmth spiraling through my core.
“That’s not fair,” Trellama burst out, her red hair seeming to flame with indignation. “You’re confusing physical responses with genuine choice. Our bodies were trained to respond this way!”
“Were they?” Mistress Orela asked mildly. “Or were they simply awakened to needs that had always existed? Miss Trellama, I have your psychological evaluations from before you arrived. The indicators were all there—your tendency to seek approval from authority figures, your pattern of romantic relationships with dominant partners, your admission during intake interviews that you fantasized about being controlled. The Academy didn’t create these needs. We simply recognized them and provided proper guidance.”
Trellama’s face crumpled as the truth of Mistress Orela’s words hit home. I could see the recognition in her eyes, the dawning understanding that her resistance had been as much self-deception as genuine opposition.
“The same is true for all of you,” Mistress Orela continued, her voice carrying that mixture of authority and maternal warmth that had become so familiar. “Miss Morandra’s academic achievements were a form of armor, protecting her from acknowledging her need to surrender intellectual control. Miss Palla sought out increasingly dangerous situations, unconsciously craving the moment when someone would take charge completely.”
Each assessment struck with surgical precision, and I watched my classmates’ faces as their psychological profiles were laid bare. The accuracy was devastating, and I found myself dreading what revelations might come about my own hidden needs.
“And you, Miss Viola,” Mistress Orela said, her attention focusing on me with laser intensity. “A planetary president who consistently chose advisors stronger than herself, who surrounded herself with military leaders and diplomatic experts whose authority she could defer to. Your political success came not from imposing your will, but from your extraordinary ability to synthesize and submit to the collective wisdom of those you trusted.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. She was right—terrifyingly, completely right. My greatest achievements as president had come when I’d assembled teams of experts and then yielded to their specialized knowledge. I had been most comfortable in the role of facilitator rather than dictator, finding satisfaction in creating consensus rather than imposing decisions. My failures had happened when I had tried to show my people and our enemies that I could be tough and warlike.
“Even your capture,” she continued relentlessly, “followed this pattern. You could have fled Artemisia when the Federation forces arrived. Your security detail begged you to evacuate. Instead, you chose to remain and negotiate, hoping to surrender yourself to spare your people greater suffering.”