Rebellious Mind

"General Karteya Vall! Warden of the Northern Commandery! Master of the Imperial Chariots! Conqueror over the Barbarians! Custodian of the Fifth Wall!"

The herald's voice is clear and strong, but that doesn't stop it from sounding small as it echoes around the cavernous space. The innermost sanctum of the Imperial Palace had been built a thousand years ago, by men who were determined to make a building that matched the magnitude of all their worldly ambitions. A thousand years later it's still an unmatched architectural wonder, but the glory of the empire has far outstripped even their vision. Whoever rules here, rules over an unimaginable vastness of humanity and geography. It hosts diplomats and tributaries from lands its architects could not have imagined, and it's decorated with treasures they would have considered impossible miracles. Our empire is the greatest power this world has ever known.

This place is the beating heart of it all. Decisions made here touched countless lives and had the power to reshape seas and mountains. It is the center of the world. The pillar that holds up Heaven. It is also the embodiment of the empire and order I have devoted twenty hard years of soldiering to serving.

Once, it would have brought me immeasurable pride to hear my titles and my achievements announced here by the herald. As a girl, I was raised on dreams of being permitted to set foot in these hallowed halls, even as the lowliest servant. Once, but no longer - just as the jade carvings and scarlet silks of the palace had once been beautiful to me, but now seem like an affront. This regal beauty no longer belongs here. It's a remnant. A lie. For a spider has spun this place into Her web.

All the same, I rise from my seat and stand tall and proud as I answer:

"I am here!"

I was summoned, and so I am here. I may be one of the most powerful women in the empire, but that doesn't mean I can ignore a summons from the palace. And She does so love issuing summons. Her appetite for prostration and ceremony is that of a tyrant, not a true ruler.

"Your request for an audience has been granted! Approach the Lion Door!"

My request. This charade grates on me to no end. But I keep my face serene and approach the colossal door that bars the way to the throne.

"Halt!"

I do. This is expected.

"You must relinquish your blade in the presence of the empress!"

The demand chafes. I'm a soldier. My sword is my arm. But it's just as well. If I was allowed to carry it into the throne room, I'm not sure any force under Heaven could restrain my fury.

An unsheathing. A few sprinted steps. A single stroke. She has guards, of course. But it could be done.

When the usurper first seized the throne I was a thousand leagues distant, at my post on the frontier. The first I heard of the vile coup was news of its success, along with Her demand to come and bend the knee. I tore the scroll to pieces in my hands. My oath to the imperial dynasty was not some reed bending in the current. In the span of a heart heartbeat, I had decided to turn my armies inward and revenge myself upon the throne-stealer.

Only the calm heads of my advisors had saved the land from civil war. Though no less faithful than I, they had persuaded me that there was no undoing what had already been done. I had armies, but together the other generals had more, and they had already pledged new loyalties. If I raised my banner against the usurper, my vengeance would never find satisfaction.

Instead, they suggested, I could be a snake who hides her fangs. I could feign obedience and bide my time, and make my move only once every preparation had been made. Then, I could be successful - and all it would cost me is that I would have to go before Her and bow and scrape as She demanded, for a little while.

A bitter price. But one I had resolved to pay - although I might have decided differently if I'd known the usurper would call me back, time and time again, insisting on fresh oaths of loyalty.

Well. No matter. A thousand oaths couldn't stop me from avenging the dynasty I'd been sworn to.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

"Here." With the ease of long practice, I draw my sword and hand it to the perfumed servant who approaches. The way its weight surprises him makes me sneer. "If there's a single nick on this bronze," I warn him, "it will take your head."

He pales. As well he should.

The herald nods as I turn back to him. "You may enter."

With his words, the Lion Door begins to yawn open. Those carved gates are taller than any tree I've ever seen, and they move like twin glaciers. All the better to be awed by the space beyond. The throne room is even grander; taller, wider, more lavish. An impossible space. A humbling space. Once the gates come to a halt I begin to march, paraded on both sides by guards - an honor, supposedly, not a threat. The walk to the throne is long enough to make the legs of idle noblemen ache but I'm well used to worse, and I can spend the time contemplating the object of my loathing.

The usurper. Our empress.

The Pearl Throne is well-named. A tall, looming thing, its white-rainbow iridescence is said to represent the labor of ten thousand divers' lifetimes. It's meant to humble and devour even the anointed demigod who sits upon it. The cold, hard edges allow for no comfort and the severe, flat surfaces admit no luxury. The proportions are wrong; inhuman, such that a man full-grown sitting the throne looks somehow less and more. Towering, yes, but like a child rather than a king. Even the emperor is a child under Heaven.

The usurper makes it look like a reclining couch.

It must be the supreme ease with which She lies across the throne. It's like it's nothing to Her; like the empire that rests on Her shoulder has no more than a feather's weight. There is no respect in Her. None at all. Not a single drop. She's draped across the throne with the arrogance of a girl-queen who's been there all Her life. You would never imagine that She's been empress for mere months.

Oh, Her figure is regal enough. Bounteous. Like She's tasted every pleasure under Heaven and taken them as Her birthright. She's proud of Her fullness, and Her fulsome curves are so admired they have shifted trends among her courtiers. Her imperial silks are cut close to Her body. Too close, as a courtesan's might be. But they're layered, too, rather than thin, and unfathomably rich. She likes to display Herself. To be like the sun. And yes, She is remarkably beautiful.

How I hate Her.

By the time I reach the base of the throne, I'm trembling with loathing. But She can't see it. I can make myself almost still, and for all Her inexplicable success in seizing the throne, She's too much of an arrogant fool to see the viper She's invited into Her bosom.

"My general, Karteya," Empress announces. She takes pleasure in the music of my name under Her tongue. "Kneel."

I do, of course. What choice is there? Though my limbs rebel against the gesture of submission, I place a foot forward and drop to one knee before the throne, an arm resting squarely across my body.

Empress is relaxed to be sure, but Her eyes are singularly focused on me. On the way I sink before Her. The rich, swelling pleasure in Her gaze is yet another challenge to my inhibitions. It's like She's daring me to cast Her down. There's something piercing in Her gaze, too; it's tempting to succumb to my bleak humors and imagine that She knows something of my designs. She doesn't, of course. Empress outstretches one arm toward me and lets it hang off the throne.

"You may kiss my ring," She says languidly.

Indignity after indignity. "Yes, Your Majesty."

I reach out and take Her hand to guide it to my lips. On Her finger is a ring that has, I gather, produced endless discussion amongst the ladies of the imperial court. Into it is set a gem of unknown providence, so large as to be vulgar. The gem came into the usurper's possession when she was just a beggar, so it's said, and the poets love to wax lyrical about how there's none other like it in any treasury in the world. Those courtly ladies whisper that sometimes it glows with strange, shimmering lights, like those that can be seen in the skies above the great northern snows, and that it can even ensnare the souls of men.

Ridiculous. It's just a ring.

I bring it to my lips and kiss its surface, pointedly ignoring the garish way the light glints from within its depths.

"Good." Empress nods and retracts Her hand. Her approval tastes like bile. "You have come to swear your loyalty and obedience."

It's not a question. "As my empress commands."

"As I command." Her voice dances with a cruel laugh. "Proceed, my general."

I brace myself. I have to, or else I may choke on my words. The oath I swear to the throne is old indeed, the words dictated by proud tradition, but saying them to Her makes them sour. My honor revolts in my belly at the thought of pledging myself insincerely - but it must be done.

To tolerate it, I have to tell myself: they are just words. Just air. They mean as little as Empress's throne. They're empty, and any honor I lose by speaking them will be won back when I finally make my move. When I make Her pay. Until then, all I have to do is play the role of the simpering, obedient servant.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

But it's strange. Over and over again, She commands my presence and my oath. I alone am subject to these incessant demands. The pleasure She takes in forcing me to pledge myself over and over again is evident. Why? It's almost as if She knows. As if She can sense my inner hatred. As if She knows what I'm planning.

Those are my weak nerves talking and nothing more, I decide. She has no idea. She couldn't possibly. My performance is perfect. All I need to do is stay the course. I part my lips and begin to recite the vow that has been sworn in this place since time immemorial.

"I, Karteya Vall, pledge my eternal faith, loyalty, and obedience to the Pearl Throne and She who sits upon it. On my honor, I offer Her my fealty and service to Empress, from this day until my dying day. I vow to take up my sword in Her service, to defend Her rule and Her realm, to make Her enemies my own, and to keep faith with Her descendants and Her dynasty forevermore."

I keep my voice slow and measured. The words deserve respect, even if She doesn't. The vow is long and exacting - as it should be - and immutable. The words have never changed, even as centuries and dynasties have gone and gone. It's comforting that some things don't change. Not in a thousand years.

"I vow to obey Her in all things, without limit, without question. I offer Her my faith and my skills, so that I may be Her sword. I offer Her my very soul, to twist, to spend, to debase, to profane as She wishes. I offer Her my mind, to twist and change. I offer Her my body, for Her delight and Her pleasure."

I hate the way She's smiling as I speak. Almost grinning, really. It's like She's about to burst out laughing. Has She no sense of solemnity? Of respect? These words are ancient. It's tradition.

"I offer Her my tongue, though I may be unworthy to lick Her pussy or kiss Her feet. I offer Her my tits, for Her to display or ogle however She wishes. I offer Her my lewd, fuckable cunt, should it bring any comfort to Her faithful soldiers. I offer Her my untrained ass, for I am nothing but a worthless hole for Her to enjoy. I offer Her my orgasms, whether She wishes to withhold them forever, or make me cum like a stupid mutt in heat in front of my own men. And I offer Her what little dignity I have left, as a stupid bitch who thinks she knows better than her Empress."

I'm surprised it amuses Her so much. She seems like the type to find tradition boring, although She clearly never tires of making me recite the oath for Her. I know it off by heart, of course. Every good soldier does.

"Thank you, general," Empress snickers. "I'm very moved by your fidelity."

She's mocking me, obviously. I just can't quite figure out how. After all, She has no idea I'm plotting against Her.

"You may disrobe," She says.

"Thank you."

This is the next part of the ceremony, every bit as traditional and timeworn as the vow. I rise to my feet and begin to remove everything that I'm wearing. My dress armor is first - I wear it everywhere, as a general should. It takes a little time to manage all the clasps and fastenings.

"Tell me, Karteya," Empress comments suddenly. She's watching me with lurid interest in Her eyes. "Do you know why I summon you here to swear your faith, time and time again?"

I grit my teeth and focus on the task at hand. "It is your right, my Empress, to demand my vow as many times as it pleases you."

"True, true!" Her laugh is musical. "But that doesn't explain why. No; the reason is that every single time, I'm wondering if some part of you will notice what's really going on. It seems almost too good to be true that even a powerful, strong-willed, oh-so-dignified woman like you could be so completely and totally unaware. But you really are, aren't you?" She lifts Her hand. "I truly love this ring!"

More nonsense. She's taunting me, no doubt, though I can't fathom what She means. Better not to guess. I set my breastplate down and start unstrapping my vambraces.

"It's such a rush that I can tell you, straight to your face, and it simply doesn't matter," Empress boasts. That stupid, high-handed grin on Her face just keeps getting wider. "I'm manipulating your thoughts, Karteya, and making you completely unable to tell. Because of me, you think that ridiculous, vulgar tirade I fed to you on a whim is some ancient, sacred vow. You think taking your clothes off now is just part of the ceremony. It isn't."

I decide to ignore Her. It's better for my humors if I focus simply on getting through the ceremony. With all my armor removed, I begin to slip out of the long, hard, green robe I wear underneath.

"You think you're plotting to overthrow me, but that isn't true either," Empress goes on. "Not really. I already have everyone you trust wrapped around my fingers in exactly the same way. Most of the time you think you've spent planning, you've actually spent plunging your sword hilt in and out of your cunt until you pass out from the orgasms. You will never have your revenge, General. You will never even make a move."

Next, my smallclothes. I remove them and feel all the small hairs on my body stiffen from the cool palace air on my naked skin. That's not all, though. The ceremony also requires that I present myself appropriately. I begin carefully folding and stacking my clothes along with my armor, presenting them as a soldier would for an inspection in their barracks.

"I could stop you altogether, obviously," Empress muses. "I could make you as obedient as a dog, just like everyone else I used as a tool when I took the throne. I could even make you love me. But I think this is much, much more entertaining. I can even get into your head and make you think of me as 'Empress', make your thoughts tremble with reverence and worship for me, and you will never once notice."

With all my clothing and belongings neatly folded and presented before the throne, I sink back down to my knees in front of the usurper.

"You can keep thinking of me as 'the usurper', though," She adds. "Every time you do, it makes me laugh."

I place both hands in front of me, palms down, and then bend forward slowly, lowering my head as I do until my forehead is pressed to the ground in a gesture of absolute, unmistakable submission.

It's just part of the ceremony.

Now that I've finished undressing, Empress shuts up. It's just as well. I've become skilled at tuning out Her senseless prattling, but Her voice still grates on me after a time. Silence is preferable, even when it stretches on for so long that my knees and back start to ache. The usurper must be enjoying looking down at me. I can feel Her gaze on me, even if I can't raise my head to look. It would be an unspeakable breach of etiquette to break this pose without Her permission.

She doesn't deserve the respect. But my pride is at stake, and it certainly does.

I remind myself again. All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

Empress stands. I can hear Her clothes shifting as She moves, and Her footsteps as She descends the throne. She stops just inches away from me. The usurper is barefoot, of course. The Daughter of Heaven need never touch the filthy ground outside of the palace, and the ground here is kept fastidiously clean. She lifts one foot. I brace myself.

Empress brings Her foot down and stamps on the back of my head.

Not hard, but certainly hard enough to force my face down into the ground. She takes pleasure in it, I can tell. In grinding my face into the floor as I simply kneel and accept it. With the usurper, this part of the ceremony is particularly distasteful. The lowest part of Her body atop the highest part of mine, as I struggle to force out the right words.

"Empress," I manage, although my voice is clearly strained and distorted by the way She's stepping on me and smearing my lips against the ground. "Please accept this stupid, impudent cunt's humble apology for daring to imagine I could ever deceive or outsmart you."

It's just another part of the ceremony. It's tradition.

"Hmm." Once She's had Her fill, She steps back. "Apology accepted."

I sigh. Being done with that is a relief, but the ceremony isn't over yet. Empress raises a hand and snaps Her fingers, and a servant springs into motion. She hurries to Empress's side and kneels, holding out a large, golden tray. On it are two objects. One is a bubbling cauldron of molten wax, lit from beneath by a small flame. The other is a large, metal seal.

"Prepare yourself, General," She tells me.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

My body is grateful for the permission to move, but only briefly. The next position I must hold is even less comfortable. I raise my torso and then bend it backward, extending my legs ahead of me to form a bridge with my hands behind me, as I arch my spine and present my body upward towards Her.

I painstakingly removed all of my body hair this morning. Yet more tradition.

"Stay still," Empress chides, as She lifts the cauldron of wax, positions it above my body, and tips.

The wax falls on my skin perfectly; on my lower abdomen, directly above my womb. It cools in the air, but only a little, and the scalding pain makes me grunt. I do stay still, though. It's a matter of pride. She can chide all She likes, as if I'm a child who doesn't know proper etiquette. I'll show Her. I won't give Her the pleasure of watching me humiliate myself. She can't take away my dignity.

Once enough molten wax has pooled on my skin, Empress sets down the cauldron and lifts the seal. She bends down over me and presses it to my skin in the same spot, imprinting the reverse of its shape on the wax. The cold metal is a salving balm. The pain recedes, and I'm able to breathe normally again.

Empress lifts the seal. I can't help but crane my neck to look. Sure enough, it's there. Her symbol. Her personal mark, raised on my skin like a brand. It'll only last a day or two, which I take to be a mercy, even if it gives Her an excuse to summon me back and apply the wax anew.

"Very impressive," She says, staring down at me. "I'm glad you're a soldier, General Karteya. You're so very good at taking whatever I give you."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." If She thinks a few sincere compliments here and there will engender any love for Her, She's sorely mistaken.

"Let's see if you can make it through the next part this time," She comments and snaps Her fingers again.

The servant bearing the tray retreats. Another appears in her place, and she's holding another of the ceremonial relics: a large phallus, shaped lovingly out of bronze. Meanwhile, I'm trying to puzzle out Her words. This time? I would never display improper form during the ceremony. She's mistaken, clearly.