Politics lesson I

Senator Decima Aurelius entered the classroom like a blade sliding into a sheath, smooth, inevitable, deadly.

She was taller than Cassia had imagined, though that seemed impossible given her reputation. The senator stood at least six and a half feet, her lean, muscular frame moving with a predator's economy of motion. Her toga was imperial black, a stark contrast to the white of her students, and gold jewelry gleamed at her throat, her wrists, her ears. Her hair fell in flowing waves of molten gold, and her eyes, gods, her eyes, were the color of burning amber, sharp and mercilessly penetrating.

She was beautiful in the way that storms were beautiful. Terrible. Magnificent.

Decima reached the dais and turned to face the class, her gaze sweeping across the room with casual authority. When her eyes found Cassia, and they did find her, held her, pinned her like a specimen to a board, Cassia felt something hot and unfamiliar bloom in her chest. Not fear, exactly. Something closer to recognition. As if the senator had looked into her and already understood every weakness, every desire, every secret Cassia had tried to bury.

"Welcome," Decima said, her voice like honey poured over stone, "to your first lesson in Politics. I am Senator Decima Aurelius, Sextus of the Republic, holder of six wills, and for the duration of this course, your instructor."

She paused, letting the weight of her titles settle over the room. A few students shifted in their seats. No one spoke.

"I do not teach theory," Decima continued, beginning to pace along the dais with slow, deliberate steps. "I do not teach philosophy or ethics or the soft, comforting lies that reformers use to lull themselves to sleep at night. I teach power. I teach reality. I teach what is, not what sentimental fools wish could be."

Her lips curved into a smile, thin, cold, dazzling. "By the end of this semester, some of you will understand what I mean. The rest of you will become betas. That is not a threat. It is fact. The Academy separates wheat from chaff, and I am the scythe."

Cassia's jaw tightened. Chaff. She had not left the safety of her family’s villa and fought to control her own treacherous body, just to be dismissed as chaff. She straightened in her seat, her brown eyes fixed on the senator with an intensity she did not bother to hide.

Decima noticed. Of course she noticed.

"Ah," the senator said, stopping her pacing directly in front of Cassia's row. "Cassia Longwood. Daughter of my fellow Senator, Demetria Longwood."

The name hung in the air like a challenge. Other students turned to look at Cassia, some with curiosity, others with barely concealed jealousy. She felt their attention like a weight on her shoulders, but she refused to look away from Decima's golden gaze.

"Yes, Senator," she said. Her voice came out steady. She was grateful for that.

"Your mother speaks highly of you," Decima stated. "She tells me you are... determined. Ambitious. That you wish to our noble alpha peerage?"

"I do."

"Commendable." Decima tilted her head, studying Cassia the way one might study a horse at market, assessing, calculating. "And yet you are an omega. A Unus. You hold only your own will, and that will is untrained, untested, unproven. Tell me, Longwood, what makes you think you deserve a place in this room?"

The question landed like a slap. Cassia felt heat rise to her cheeks, felt her pulse quicken, felt that familiar ache begin to stir between her thighs, her body's traitorous response to any show of dominance. She suppressed it ruthlessly.

"I'm not here because I deserve anything, Senator," she said carefully. "I'm here because I intend to earn it."

Decima's smile widened. "Pretty answer. Carefully rehearsed, I imagine. But pretty answers don't win will duels, and they don't hold wills. Do you know what does?"

"Power?" Cassia guessed based on what she knew of Decima from her sire mother.

"Domination," Decima corrected. She began to pace again, her sandals clicking against the dais. "The art of making others submit. The science of breaking wills so thoroughly that the idea of resistance never even occurs. You want to be an alpha? Then you must learn to dominate. Not just bodies, any strong enough futa can dominate a body. You must learn to dominate minds. To make betas want to serve you. To make them thank you for the privilege of kneeling."

She stopped at the edge of the dais, close enough that Cassia could smell her perfume, something sweet and expensive, designed to arouse.

"Stand up," Decima said.

Cassia hesitated for only a fraction of a second before rising to her feet. She was tall for an omega, her mother Demetria's height, inherited along with her olive skin and her pride, but Decima still towered over her, looking down at her with those burning amber eyes.

"Your mother believes in reform," Decima said, loud enough for the entire class to hear. "She believes betas deserve rights. Representation. A voice in the Senate. She believes that power and comion can coexist." The senator's lip curled. "She is wrong. Comion is a weakness. Kindness is a disease. The strong rule, and the weak serve, that is the natural order. That is the only order. Everything else is delusion."

Cassia's hands curled into fists at her sides. "My mother freed her beta from a cruel master. She gave my womb mother a life of dignity and love. Is that weakness?"

The room went very quiet.

Decima's eyes glittered. "You have your mother's fire. I wondered if you would." She stepped closer, close enough that her breath ghosted across Cassia's cheek. "But fire can be extinguished, little omega. Or it can be... redirected. Shaped. Made to serve a greater purpose."

Cassia refused to step back. Every instinct screamed at her to retreat, to lower her gaze, to submit, but she was her mother's daughter, and she had made herself a promise.

"With respect, Senator," she said, "I didn't come here to be shaped. I came here to learn."

"And you will." Decima reached out and brushed a strand of blonde hair from Cassia's face, her fingers lingering against her cheek. The touch was feather-light, almost tender, and yet it sent a spark of electricity through Cassia. "You will learn so much, Cassia Longwood. About power. About yourself. About the limits of your precious will."

She withdrew her hand and returned to the dais.

"Sit down," Decima said mildly.

Cassia sat.

The next hour ed in a blur of lecture and discussion, though Cassia absorbed little of it. Her mind kept circling back to that moment, the brush of fingers against her cheek, the way her own body had responded so eagerly, so shamefully, to the senator's proximity.

She hated herself for it. She hated her latent beta side, that pathetic, needy part of her that craved domination, that wanted to be filled, that whispered give in, give in, give in whenever a powerful alpha looked at her with anything other than indifference.

No, she told herself fiercely. I am not a beta. I will never be a beta. My will belongs to me.

But her body did not listen. Her body ed her sire mother Demetria's hands on her hips, ed the stretch and burn of being filled, ed the helpless, ecstatic surrender of her primacy day. And now her body was adding Decima Aurelius to that gallery of tormentors.

When the lecture ended, Cassia gathered her things quickly, escaping before the senator could single her out again.