Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 87050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Sala’s expression softened with understanding as I spoke. “Oh, the poor dear,” she murmured. “It must be so confusing for her, trying to navigate these new expectations.”
Alpha nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowed. “Indeed. The transition from Vionian captive to Prosperian lady-in-training is no small feat.”
I sighed, absently stirring the cup of steaming kava that a server had placed before me. The rich, earthy aroma usually brought comfort, but today it did little to soothe my troubled mind.
“I find myself questioning whether I made the right decision in sending her to the academy,” I admitted, my voice low. “Perhaps it’s too much, too soon. Maybe I should bring her back to the embassy, where I can oversee her training personally.”
Alpha and Sala exchanged a meaningful glance, a silent communication born of their years together. It was Sala who spoke first, her melodic voice gentle but firm.
“Gamma,” she said, reaching across the table to place her hand on mine, “I understand your concern. But I believe the academy is exactly where Tessara needs to be right now.”
I looked up, meeting her eyes. “How can you be so sure?”
Sala smiled, a knowing glint in her eye. “Because, my dear Gamma, Tessara needs more than just your guidance. She needs to learn how to interact with her peers, how to navigate the intricacies of Prosperian society. The academy provides a structured environment for her to do just that.”
Alpha nodded in agreement. “Sala’s right,” he added. “Think about it, Gamma. Last night’s incident only proves that, I believe.”
Sala smiled at her husband. “I have a feeling,” she said, “that when you attend Tessara’s correction you’ll see that your first instincts were right. A few weeks at the academy and I think Tessara will make a lovely, blushing, proper Prosperian bride.”
Tessara
In the morning, after a silent, blushing breakfast during which none of us could meet one another’s eyes, I followed Elara and Lydia to the parlor, where Mrs. Porter awaited us.
I held the delicate needle between my fingers, marveling at its slender elegance. The synth-linen Mrs. Porter had given me seemed strangely rough, but a glance over at my schoolmates’ samplers showed that it must be so in order to cover it with the sort of lovely stitching Lydia and Elara had done. Mrs. Porter’s stern gaze swept over us as we settled into our chairs, my posture ramrod straight despite the lingering soreness from the plug Mrs. Porter had removed when she had come to wake us.
“Now, Miss Tessara,” Mrs. Porter said, her voice crisp, “your sampler will say, A good girl learns to please. Let’s get you started.”
My cheeks burned as I read the words on the slip of paper Mrs. Porter handed me, memories of the previous night’s transgressions flooding back. I couldn’t help but wonder if Mrs. Porter had chosen this particular phrase as a pointed reminder of my misbehavior.
A glance over at Lydia’s and Elara’s samplers made me think I could well be right: Lydia’s said A young wife needs a firm hand, which brought heat to my cheeks, and Elara’s read A husband leads and a wife follows, which provoked an even more complicated reaction in me as I pictured Gamma’s stern-but-kind blue face as he heard about my transgression.
With gentle but firm guidance, Mrs. Porter showed me how to thread the needle and make my first stitches. The work was delicate and precise, requiring a level of focus I found both challenging and oddly soothing. As I carefully formed each letter, I felt a strange sense of pride beginning to bloom within me.
Lydia and Elara worked silently beside me, their needles moving with practiced ease. The only sounds in the room were the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional quiet instruction from Mrs. Porter. The tension from the morning’s awkward breakfast slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a shared concentration on our task.
As I stitched, I couldn’t help but reflect on the words taking shape beneath my fingers. A good girl learns to please. The phrase echoed in my mind, stirring all the usual mixed emotions. Part of me bristled at the idea of existing solely to please others, a remnant of the defiance that had helped me survive my time with the Vionians. But another part—a part that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day on Prosperia—found comfort in the clarity of purpose those words offered.
I glanced up, catching Lydia’s eye. She offered a small, hesitant smile, and I felt a rush of warmth. Despite the trouble we’d gotten into, I was grateful for the connection we’d formed. Elara, too, seemed less tense than she had at breakfast, her shoulders relaxing as she focused on her needlework.
I continued to embroider, surprised at the enjoyment I found in the intricate work. The rhythm of the needle passing through the fabric felt almost meditative, and a sense of accomplishment grew in me as the words slowly took shape. The deep burgundy thread stood out beautifully against the cream-colored linen, each stitch seeming a tiny work of art.