Page 52 of Her Alien Guardian

I sat back, considering my options. While I knew punishment was necessary to reinforce proper behavior, I also saw an opportunity here. Perhaps this incident could be used to further Tessara’s education and strengthen her bond with her new home.

With that in mind, I sent a quick reply to Dr. Porter confirming my attendance. Still musing on the incident, I made my way to the embassy’s commissary for breakfast with Alpha and Sala.

As I made my way through the gleaming corridors, my mind remained fixated on Tessara. I found myself longing for the direct, visceral connection I shared with the lovely girl when we were together. Without her physical presence, I couldn’t gauge the nuances of her emotional state, which I felt certain must be quite disturbed this morning.

The commissary was already bustling when I arrived, filled with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of utensils against plates. I spotted Alpha and Sala at a table near the panoramic windows overlooking the Prosperian state house. As I approached, I couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly they embodied the ideals of Magisterian partnership—Alpha’s commanding presence balanced by Sala’s serene grace.

“Good morning, brother,” Alpha greeted me, his deep voice carrying easily over the ambient noise. “You seem troubled.”

I sank into the chair across from them, running a hand through my hair. “I received a message from Dr. Porter this morning,” I began, before recounting the incident with Tessara and the other girls.

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. Sheneeds 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 saidA young wife needs a firm hand, which brought heat to my cheeks, and Elara’s readA 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.

Yet even as I lost myself in the task, the punishment to come loomed over me like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the peaceful moment. My hands trembled slightly as I formed the loop of ap, thinking of what might await us this evening.

Unable to contain my curiosity and fear any longer, I leaned slightly toward Elara, careful to keep my eyes on my work. “Elara,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “why haven’t we heard anything about… you know… the punishment?”

Elara’s needle paused mid-stitch, her knuckles whitening as she gripped it tightly. She glanced nervously at Mrs. Porter before leaning in, her auburn curls brushing my shoulder as she whispered back, “This kind of punishment always happens in the evening. They… they like the guardians to attend.”

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