Chapter 2 #2
What I wanted to say was simpler: Does it satisfy the deepest needs of both partners?
Does it acknowledge that some souls are born to command and others to obey?
Does it honor the exquisite pleasure found in voluntary surrender?
Does it recognize that true dominance isn't about force, but about being worthy of complete trust?
"And who decides what those needs are?" Lysander pressed, but there was something different in his voice now. Something that made me look at him more closely, noting the color high in his cheeks, the way he'd gone very still under my attention.
"You know," I said quietly, stepping closer until he had to tilt his head back to meet my eyes. "The same way you know when you're hungry or tired or afraid. The body understands what the mind tries to deny."
The scriptorium had gone quieter around us, other conversations fading as scribes sensed the charged atmosphere building between us. I could feel their attention like weight against my skin, but I didn't look away from Lysander's face.
"When someone tells you to kneel," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper, "and your legs want to obey before your pride can object—that's your body recognizing truth.
When you hear authority in someone's voice and feel yourself wanting to please them, wanting to be good for them—that's not weakness. That's honesty."
Lysander's breath caught audibly. For a moment, something raw and desperate flickered in his eyes before he looked away, color flooding his face.
"That's not theological discussion," he managed. "That's..."
"Recognition," I finished. "The kind that makes you uncomfortable because you can't argue with it."
Myris stood abruptly, his chair scraping against stone with a finality that cut through the tension like a blade.
"Friends," he said, his voice carrying the authority that came with his position, "perhaps we might continue this discussion in a more private setting?
The scriptorium is meant for contemplation, not disputation. "
But as the other scribes reluctantly returned to their work and Lysander practically fled back to his desk with obvious relief, I caught Myris's eye and saw something there that surprised me. Not disapproval. Not shock at my unconventional approach to theological debate.
Recognition. The same kind I'd just described to Lysander—the soul acknowledging what it had been seeking without knowing how to name it.
"My study," he said quietly. "After midday prayers."
I nodded, already wondering what he wanted to discuss—and whether my passionate defense of natural dominance over artificial protocol had just revealed more about my own hungers than I'd intended.
Whether he'd seen through the scholarly language to the predator underneath, the part of me that had been waiting years for permission to stop hiding.
Myris's study was a scholar's dream made manifest—scrolls cascaded from shelves that climbed toward a vaulted ceiling, codices bound in leather of every conceivable hue lined the walls like silent sentinels, and the air itself seemed thick with accumulated wisdom.
But as I settled into the chair he indicated, my mind wasn't on the impressive collection surrounding us.
Instead, I found myself cataloguing details that suggested power, control, command.
The way Myris moved with unconscious authority, never asking permission for space or attention—simply taking it because it belonged to him.
The precise arrangement of his workspace that spoke to a mind that demanded order from its environment and received it without question.
Even the worn cushion beneath me, shaped by countless hours of academic discourse, suggested the kind of steady dominance that came from being consistently sought for guidance, wisdom, resolution.
Was this what I was becoming? What I'd always been without recognizing it?
"Your debate with Lysander this morning was.
.. illuminating," Myris began, pouring tea from a delicate ceramic pot into two matching cups.
The steam carried hints of jasmine and something earthier—perhaps root extract from the temple's own gardens.
His movements were precise, unhurried, confident in a way that made me think of commanders who'd never doubted their right to give orders.
"I hope I didn't overstep." Though even as I spoke the words, I knew I didn't entirely mean them.
Some truths demanded vigorous defense, regardless of diplomatic consequences.
And some hungers demanded acknowledgment, regardless of how inappropriate they might be for a scholar dedicated to intellectual pursuit.
"On the contrary." He handed me the cup, his fingers brushing mine for just a moment longer than necessary.
The contact sent heat racing up my arm that had nothing to do with the warm ceramic.
"You articulated something I've been thinking about for months.
The gap between theoretical understanding and practical application in sacred partnerships.
Between what we read and what we actually need. "
I waited, sensing this conversation was moving toward territory I hadn't anticipated. Territory that made my pulse quicken with possibilities I barely dared consider.
"Tell me," Myris continued, settling into his own chair with the graceful economy of movement that marked all his gestures, "what do you know about cross-Order bonding practices?"
The question sent heat spiraling through my chest like liquid fire.
Cross-Order bonding meant stepping outside the safe, egalitarian partnerships of scholarly tradition.
It meant engaging with Orders whose members were trained for combat, for physical discipline, for the kind of intense experiences that existed only in my most secret fantasies.
Warriors who understood hierarchy, who'd been conditioned to follow orders, who might know instinctively how to surrender completely to someone worthy of their trust.
"Limited examples in the historical record," I replied, though my academic training felt suddenly inadequate for what we were really discussing. "Usually diplomatic arrangements between temples, designed to strengthen alliances or resolve theological disputes."
What I didn't say was that I'd studied those examples far more thoroughly than scholarly interest warranted.
I'd memorized descriptions of scholar-militant partnerships, the way intellectual guidance balanced physical strength, how naturally dominance and submission could emerge when partners came from different traditions of power.
How a trained warrior's discipline could be channeled into something far more intimate than battlefield obedience.
"Precisely. And within our own Order?"
"Scholar-acolytes typically bond with other scholars for research collaboration.
The partnerships are intellectually stimulating but rarely.
.." I paused, heat climbing my throat as I realized what I'd been about to admit.
Rarely passionate. Rarely the stuff of fevered midnight fantasies.
Rarely involving the kind of raw, honest need that I dreamed of commanding and fulfilling.
"More like extended academic fellowships with intimate components," I finished lamely.
Myris set down his cup with deliberate precision, the small sound echoing in the quiet study.
"Because the Temple of Korrath has made an unusual request. They want to bond one of their militants with an Aerius scholar—specifically, someone with expertise in partnership dynamics and historical precedent. "
The words hit me like lightning striking bone.
I felt my pulse quicken, my skin flush, every nerve suddenly alive with possibility.
A militant. Someone trained for combat, disciplined in ways I could barely imagine, accustomed to following orders and obeying authority.
Someone who might understand instinctively what I'd only dreamed of—the exquisite dance of command and submission, protection and surrender, the moment when strength chose to kneel not from weakness but from recognition.
"They're looking for someone to validate their traditional approaches?" I asked, though my voice came out rougher than intended.
"Quite the opposite." Myris leaned forward, his expression growing more intense, more focused. "They want someone who will challenge those approaches. Your future bonded partner has been bonded before. Unsuccessfully, is my understanding."
I stared at him, pieces of an unexpected puzzle beginning to arrange themselves in my mind.
This wasn't just an academic opportunity.
This was a chance to explore everything I'd fantasized about but never dared pursue.
A chance to discover whether my instincts toward dominance were merely intellectual arrogance or something deeper, more essential.
Whether the hunger that had been building in me for years could finally find its proper outlet.
Fluid power dynamics. Natural dominance.
The phrases sent heat coursing through me as I imagined what such concepts might look like in practice.
Would a militant partner respond to scholarly guidance?
Would they trust me to lead them through uncharted territory, to show them pleasures they'd never dared imagine?
The thought of strong hands yielding to my direction, of disciplined strength placed entirely at my disposal, made my breath catch.
"Who is the militant?" I asked, proud that my voice remained steady despite the fire building under my skin.