Chapter Nine
1767 Words
Did I want to know the precise biochemical response that makes someone a submissive?
I thought I already did.
I was so sure I’d read all the right things.
I thought I understood what floods a submissive’s mind the first time they kneel.
Was I curious what it does to someone to be seen—really seen—by a Dom with that look?
I didn’t have to guess anymore. Not after Gabriella.
She didn’t just teach with words. She taught with silence. With presence. With the way she walked through the halls of House Raven like she carried its weight on her collar—and did so gladly.
We were walking that morning. No destination, just movement. Sometimes she’d do that—lead me through the House not to go anywhere, but to see something.
We passed a pair of submissives folding linens in a side corridor. One wore a pale blue collar. The other had a white emblem pinned to her chest. Gabriella slowed just enough for me to notice.
“Training tier?” I asked.
She nodded. “White means new. Untrained. They’re watched closely, not just by their Dom—but by the entire House.”
“And the blue?”
“Inexperienced, but stable. Still learning protocol.”
We kept walking.
At the far end of the hall, a young man passed us with a tray of medical supplies. His collar was green, sleek, almost clinical in design.
“Medic,” she said. “We have several. Most rotate between Houses under Raven’s banner.”
I hesitated before asking the next question.
“What about yours?”
She glanced at me sideways, as if making sure I was asking respectfully, not curiously.
“Dark blue,” she said finally. “It means I answer only to Lord Raven.”
I didn’t speak for a moment. I could feel the weight behind the statement.
As we moved past a repair bay, I saw another Dom—this one clearly older—wearing a simple maroon necklace with no collar.
“What’s maroon?” I asked.
“Security or escort detail,” Gabriella said. “Or sometimes probationary roles. Depends on the shade.”
“Like mine?”
She turned and looked at me then—really looked—and her answer was quieter than I expected.
“Yours is maroon, yes. But the sapphires? Those mean Lord Raven is watching.”
“Watching like… supervising?” I asked.
“No. Watching like trusting.”
We stopped near one of the central arches that overlooked the inner courtyard. She leaned her forearms on the railing and let out a slow breath.
“There’s one more rank you haven’t seen,” she said.
I waited.
“It’s not a collar,” she added. “It’s a disc. Black.”
I didn’t have to ask what it meant.
“Exile?”
“Worse. Still inside the House, but stripped of credibility. Someone who violated trust. Someone whose word means nothing, whose service can’t be accepted without another watching.”
“Like a registered offender,” I murmured.
Gabriella didn’t respond immediately.
Finally, she said, “A Black Disc is obeyed by no one. Watched by everyone. Except the dogs out back. And if the dogs learned to give orders…” she gave a sad smile, “...the Disc would obey them, too.”
Later that afternoon, we passed through one of the garden corridors that smelled of jasmine and warmth. I saw two sentinels standing beside the main gate. The walls around the compound were higher than I remembered. Reinforced. Guarded.
Gabriella must’ve felt the question before I even asked.
“You think they’re here to keep the submissives in,” she said. “Most outsiders do.”
“Isn’t that what gates are for?”
She shook her head. “Every one of them could walk out today. Collars come off. No one would stop them.”
“And yet they stay.”
“They stay because they know what’s out there,” she said softly. “And because they know what’s in here.”
I leaned against the archway, arms crossed.
“What is in here, Gabriella?”
Her answer was immediate.
“Belonging.”
A few days later, she took me to the far wing—quiet, warm, lived-in. The smell of tea and worn leather lingered in the air.
“The elders’ wing,” she said simply.
They weren’t kneeling. They weren’t serving. Some were barely walking. But they all still wore their collars like medals—frayed, cracked, and beautiful.
One older woman sat in a cushioned chair, knitting. Her eyes were sharp. Her voice, sharper.
“You’re the new one,” she said, squinting at me. “The one Gabriella’s training.”
I nodded.
She pointed a finger, gnarled with age but steady as a blade.
“You listen to her. And you remember this.”
I did.
“A Dom who thinks he’s done learning is a danger. To himself, and to everyone who trusts him.”
Two weeks in, I was in physical training—and realizing how useless my gym fitness actually was…
Gabriella had just finished tightening the grip wrap on my training baton.
“Again,” she said, stepping back into position. “But this time, breathe before you move.”
I didn’t argue. I was sore. Tired. Slightly humiliated. But I obeyed.
We ran the form again—disarm, counter, pin. She blocked me clean on the second beat.
“Too slow,” she said. “You’re thinking like you still expect fairness.”
“I’m thinking like someone who doesn’t want to be impaled by a Vulkarin blade,” I muttered.
That made her smile.
We broke the sequence and sat near the mat edge, sharing a flask of electrolyte water.
“Vulkarin’s not just dangerous,” I said. “He’s personal. I embarrassed him.”
“You lived,” she replied. “That’s what embarrassed him.”
I looked down at the baton. The weight was starting to feel familiar in my hand.
“Teach me everything you can.”
Her answer was simple.
“I already am.”
A week later, I was assigned to work with Judy—a communications expert from the House of Ri’tal, one of Raven’s allied strongholds.
Judy was small, efficient, and had the unnerving habit of finishing your sentences before you started them. The comms room looked like a starship bridge merged with a hacker’s bunker—walls lined with screens, tactile panels, and surveillance logs in multiple dialects.
“Sit here,” she said, patting the seat beside her. “We’re trying to catch Vulkarin slipping.”
“Good luck,” I muttered.
“We don’t need luck,” she said cheerfully. “We have me.”
We were running a long-range sweep—trying to intercept anything from Vulkarin’s ship while he was inside in conference with Lord Raven. Officially, I wasn’t supposed to be seen. Raven didn’t want to provoke anything unnecessarily.
Vulkarin didn’t need provocation anyway.
The man walked around looking like he’d been fed gunpowder at birth and never quite recovered.
“He’s pumping gray sound again,” I said, checking the readings.
Judy nodded, fingers flying across her interface.
“Yeah, well. Gray sound’s only a problem if you don’t know how to sing louder.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And you do?”
She gave a wicked grin. “I know how to listen better.”
We couldn’t breach the bridge, but the crew chatter from lower decks was… enlightening.
We heard submissives talking in hushed, terrified tones. Junior Doms grumbling about orders. One submissive had been beaten badly—for nothing. Another had started tampering with her Master’s food.
“Biological tampering?” I asked, reading the data burst.
“She’s been sneezing in his soup,” Judy said brightly. “Repeatedly.”
I blinked. “That’s biological, all right.”
“She’s a hero,” Judy replied. “But she’ll get caught eventually.”
The alert went off as Vulkarin’s voice suddenly spiked through the system—yelling, distorted.
“Pull everything. Launch prep now. We’re leaving.”
I looked at Judy. “That’s not protocol.”
“No,” she agreed, already rising. “That’s rage.”
We made it down the corridor and into the docking bay just as the engines were warming.
Vulkarin was shouting over his shoulder, threatening his crew with every ancient curse known to Tal’Vel. Raven stood quietly at the conference entrance, arms folded, watching him depart with that same calm smile that said: You’ll be back.
The ramp was lifting. The ship ignited.
And then—
Movement.
A blur of red hair and grease-streaked limbs sprinted across the tarmac.
“s**t,” I muttered.
She was headed straight for the comm tower—but the engines were already firing. The blast would tear through her.
“Shield—there—go!” I yelled, pointing.
She dove behind one of the emergency blast barriers just as the ship’s burn hit. The roar shook the entire platform. Then the ship was gone—streaking into the sky like a broken vow.
We ran.
Judy reached the shield first. I saw her crouch, whisper something.
The girl peeked out.
She was filthy. Soot-covered. Hair tangled. Crying.
She was Beautiful to me. Even in fear, she never lost her grace.
When she looked up and saw me—specifically the emblem at my throat—her whole body shifted. Her hands went flat against the shield wall. Her voice shook, but it didn’t break.
“Master, a humble submissive begs the right of protection and shelter.”
Time stopped.
Something in my chest seized—tight and ancient.
Not fear. Not pride.
Recognition.
This was the moment Gabriella had trained me for without ever naming it.
Not drills. Not theory.
This.
My mind scrambled for a rule, a protocol, some guidance that would make it easy. There wasn’t one. Only honor. Only choice.
She was terrified. Dirty. Alone. And she had just entrusted her life to mine.
Not because I had earned it.
But because the emblem at my throat said I might.
I turned to Judy. My voice was quieter than I expected.
“Judy… what am I supposed to do?”
She didn’t hesitate. She smiled.
“I know what I’m going to do, Sir.”
I blinked. “What’s that?”
“I’m going to be thankful that I’m a submissive, Sir.”
And then the guards arrived.
- Writer
