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)
“Sleep well, Viola,” Morandra murmured softly, her own breathing beginning to deepen.
“You too,” I breathed back, and then morning had come.
CHAPTER 22
Hendren
I watched from my study as the Academy pupils settled into their history lesson the next morning, my fascination growing as Mistress Orela guided them through a discussion of the social innovation that we—the Magisterian Federation—believed the most important factor in our success. The concept of the ‘egalitarian release valve’ had proven essential to maintaining stability across our expanding territories, and seeing Viola and her fellow students grapple with its implications promised to be illuminating.
Through the high-definition feed, I observed Viola’s face as she processed the information about Magisteria’s sister world Hippolyta, and the similar communities on several other planets whose cultures adhered to traditional gender norms. Her expression carried that mixture of intellectual curiosity and dawning comprehension that I had come to find so affecting. She was beginning to understand the true scope of what we had built—not merely a system of masculine dominance, but a carefully calibrated social mechanism that channeled dissent into constructive outlets.
Morandra and Palla exchanged glances that spoke of their own experiences with these havens for those who thought themselves unsuited to traditional gender roles. They had chosen what they believed to be escape routes, only to discover that even their rebellion had been anticipated and contained. The irony was exquisite—in seeking to avoid submission, they had merely selected a different form of it.
Young Reb’s confusion was particularly telling. Her home world had been so thoroughly conquered that its population remained ignorant of the alternatives we provided elsewhere. The Vionian nobility’s traditional concubine farms had left no room for such subtleties, which went some way toward explaining their ultimate downfall.
“The historians are already saying that the Vionian Empire fell because it didn’t have such a release valve,” Mistress Orela explained in didactic tones. I leaned forward in my chair with renewed interest. This was the crucial lesson—the one that would especially help Viola understand her place in the larger galactic order.
I activated my handheld’s recording function, wanting to preserve Viola’s reaction to what came next. Her political instincts would surely recognize the implications of Mistress Orela’s revelation about Solamo’s movement and their attempts to portray our egalitarian communities as mere propaganda.
Through the screen, I watched understanding dawn in Viola’s eyes with that familiar mixture of horror and resignation. She was realizing that her public submission the night before had been only the beginning—beginning to grasp why more would indeed be demanded of her, just as I had warned. The sinking feeling was perfectly visible in her posture, the slight slumping of her shoulders as she grasped how thoroughly she would have to comply, in order to demonstrate the authenticity of our methods.
My cock began to harden as I contemplated the exquisite irony of it all. Viola’s brilliant political mind, the very intelligence that had once made her a formidable planetary leader, now served primarily to deepen her own humiliation. She understood exactly how she would have to be deployed against the resistance movement that had backed Solamo, could see with crystal clarity how her willing submission could serve to validate the principles for which the Magisterian Federation stood.
I had pondered deep into the night how to bring about the conditions for the demonstration I must require of my lovely concubine. I had not reached a satisfactory conclusion. Ideally, Viola would take responsibility for Artemisia’s mistakes. In a certain sense, though, that had already happened—indeed I had hoped to quell anything like this Vionian remnant’s propaganda effort by taking possession of the former president. I thus bore some blame myself, which had spurred my offer the previous night to free Viola. Since Viola had refused, though—nearly making my heart burst with affection for her—I could see no way around putting her through the ordeal of a public punishment to which she would yield herself willingly.
“You yourselves are our best demonstration of the importance of the release valve,” Mistress Orela said to the women, a rare warmth coming into her voice. “By choosing the Academy over the egalitarian options available, and learning to serve your masters precisely as they desire, your choice to enter training becomes a statement, a declaration to the galaxy of the Good Way’s goodness.”
Viola
The words struck me like a physical blow, and I felt my breath catch as their implications sank in. Our choice. The phrase echoed in my mind with bitter irony, yet I couldn’t deny the grain of truth it contained. However coerced the circumstances, however manipulated the options, I had indeed chosen to kneel before Prince Hendren last night rather than accept his offer of freedom.
Around me, my classmates shifted uncomfortably in their seats, each processing Mistress Orela’s words through the lens of their own experiences. Palla’s face had gone white, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she stared at the polished desk surface. Morandra’s scholarly composure seemed strained, her usual confidence replaced by something approaching bewilderment.