Beauty’s Kingdom (Sleeping Beauty #4)(24)
Author: Anne Rice

“You let me take him right to the Place of Public Punishment,” the Captain had told my new owner. “Let them have him for two or three days and nights there to curb all this trembling and weeping. Look at that dancing cock, he wants to please. Trust me, I know how to handle this one, truly, I do.”

And so my new master had agreed. I was never to know him or meet him. The Sultan’s men snatched me up from one of the many public pillories in the Place of Public Punishment within a couple of nights.

But the Captain’s prediction had proved true. I had already learned a great deal there. A great deal. And as I walked slowly into the inner courtyard, it was that place . . . the Place of Punishment in the Queen’s Village that I thought of, among other memories of the village as I had known it during my last year in the realm.

Then I woke to the inner courtyard and stood stock still, amazed. No horses or beasts were allowed this far, plainly, and the flat stone pavers were polished like glass. Great garlands of greenery and bright flowers decorated the lower portion of the walls, and a forest of potted fruit trees lined the façade on either side of the great doors.

Row after row of windows rising on all sides showed boxes of fresh flowers, and here and there a bit of curtain blowing in the breeze. Even high on the battlements I saw the luxuriant greenery, and the very stones themselves of every surface both near and far seemed smoothed and cleaned.

Out of the castle came a gaggle of shining naked slaves—radiant men and women—to greet us, to offer wine to us if we were immediately thirsty from our journey, and to direct our servants where they might take their master’s parcels and trunks.

Ah, such a magnificent sight! How long had it been! Too long! I could tell Fabien was dazed as well, but not so dazed that he had not recovered the two caskets for me that contained my special gifts for the new king and queen.

It is tiresome to speak of women’s breasts like melons, but that is precisely what I thought as the young nymphs approached us. Their breasts are like melons, so lush and so soft.

And yes, I took the goblet of cool sweetened and watered wine gratefully and drank it down in one gulp.

The slaves beamed at us, glancing up shyly, as they surrounded us.

“The King is coming to greet you, Prince Dmitri,” said one remarkable vision of splendid black curling tresses and dark red nipples and glossy curly pubic hair. Her eyes were brimming with modest spirit. I’d always found this type of slave irresistible. I wanted to reach out and touch this pubic hair. But it did not seem polite to do such a thing until I’d been received. Any master or mistress of the kingdom could handle or examine any slave, but I was not yet part of the kingdom.

A tall naked young man with a cherub’s mop of blond curls offered to take the precious caskets from Fabien but I shook my head, no. Fabien was devouring the stripling with his eyes. He couldn’t help himself, and as the naked slaves surrounded us, Fabien seemed almost fearful, as though they were exotic beasts.

The little band urged us towards the open doors.

It was all I could do not to squeeze the little bottoms swaying before me, the high muscular backside of the boy or the soft swelling bottom of the succulent little girl.

Now I should say that none of these slaves were as young as we had been when we were sent here. And I knew from the many proclamations made by Beauty and Laurent that only those old enough to consent resolutely to their servitude were now accepted, but still these young men and women did seem to me in their freshness to be girls and boys.

Suddenly three familiar figures appeared in the great door at once.

My beloved Princess Rosalynd and darling Princess Elena and His Majesty, King Laurent.

The King opened his arms as we walked towards each other.

I was in tears.

Grand and handsome as I remembered, taller than any man I knew, and graced surely with one of the most appealing of beautiful faces I’d ever seen, Laurent smiled warmly as we came into each other’s embrace.

“Beloved Dmitri, friend from the sultanate, how marvelous it is to see you.” He looked so earnest and so cheerful.

“Your Majesty,” I bowed from the waist but he bid me rise at once, and kissed me on the right and left cheeks.

“Don’t stand on ceremony here, Dmitri. You come in and let us take you to the quarters waiting for you.”

“Yes, I’ve been seeing to your chambers all day,” said Rosalynd, as buxom and rosy cheeked as she had ever been, her dark hair daintily coiffed, her familiar voice bringing delicious chills to all my skin. “We’ll take you up into the northeast tower. Coolest of the towers. Everything’s ready for you.”

“Beloved, we’re so glad you’ve come,” Princess Elena confided as she took my arm. If anything she was more beautiful. I could scarcely believe my eyes. “Tonight at supper, our king will introduce you to all the Court.”

We were proceeding now into the great entrance hall.

Everywhere I looked I saw naked slaves with luxuriant well-groomed hair walking here and there with their heads bowed, and some positioned as in the old days along the walls, legs wide apart, heads bowed, hands behind their necks.

Why, there wasn’t a space of bare wall in the entire immense hall.

Beside me, a gorgeous young satyr waited to take my gloves as I drew them off my hands. Doorways in every direction were flanked by naked slaves.

Even hugging my two beautiful companions warmly, and excited by Laurent’s hand on my shoulder, I still felt the keen stab of memory of that long-ago day when I’d been brought here barefoot before so many staring eyes.

Why these thoughts when the spectacle was so dazzling? Had the old regime ever had such an abundance of delectable flesh?

Flashes of the Place of Public Punishment returned. How is one to ask about such a place when one is being received at Court with such generosity? And yet it was all I could think of suddenly, the Public Turntable—being brought up the ladder to it, and told to kneel over with my chin on the thick square wood post. The crowd had been hooting and cheering. I’d panicked, as always, and within seconds my hands had been placed in the small of my back, my wrists bound tight. The leather straps had gone over my calves binding me to the floor of the turntable, and the whipping master was laughing as he lifted the big wooden paddle in front of my face so I would see it.

“What do you think, young prince?” he’d roared for the benefit of the raucous crowd. “Is this fine enough for a spoilt little brat boy from the castle who spilled the Queen’s wine and tried her patience?”

Laurent was leading me himself into one of the many parlors off the entrance hall, and I saw before me the lovely figure of Queen Beauty seated there in a high-backed chair.

There was a table piled with fancy cakes and silver goblets. Naked slaves stood ready with silver pitchers, and trays of steaming hot dainties. The scent of cinnamon and fresh-roasted apples filled the air.

“Come and sit here with me, dearest prince,” said the Queen as I bowed and rose slowly to kiss her outstretched hand. Rosalynd and Elena stood beside her, beaming at me.

Fabien stood far back against the wall, anxious, yet excited, clutching the caskets to his chest. I could see the slaves smiling secretively to one another as they enjoyed his discomfort. He was red faced. Well, it had been a long time since the faraway land of Lexius’s home across the seas.

“Your Majesties, I have gifts for you,” I said. My voice sounded strained and raw. But I was seated now and the wine was welcome—yes, cool sweet wine. The young boy who poured it seemed as tentative and uncertain of himself as I did, not daring to steal the smallest glance at me, his hard chest well polished and buffed to a sheen. His nails were trimmed in gold.

“At Court this evening, of course, Prince, you are most gracious,” said the lovely queen. “Don’t bother with such things now. We are grateful for your presence here under our roof. And your man, there, let him take your things to your chambers.” Such blue eyes. Of course I had blue eyes, and so did my lovely Rosalynd and Elena, but the Queen’s were deeply blue and so big.

Princess Rosalynd was already leading Fabien away. I nodded to reassure him.

“Yes, we’ll see to your room, make certain all is perfect,” said Elena, who hurried after them.

“Well, I would have known you anywhere,” said the King, seating himself near the hearth on the far right. “That black hair, thick and shining as ever. And your face. It’s hardly changed at all.”

A boy I hadn’t seen before, a boy of incomparable dark brown skin and long black hair, filled the King’s goblet.

The boy had gold earrings in his ears, and lashes so thick they cast a faint shadow on his smooth high cheeks. I stared at his pinkish cock, marveling at the color of it, the dark brown and pinkish tints blended into it. And such a nest of hair, curling hair. When he turned and put the pitcher on the sideboard I couldn’t keep my eyes from his backside, wanting to see the pink anus between those firm buttocks. Yes.

Somehow I managed to speak.

“You’re kind, sire,” I said. “I wish I were a bard that I could sing of what I see when I look at you and your queen. Again, I’m so happy to be here at last, to be back in Bellavalten. I am so happy to be received.”

And again in a jarring flash, I was on the turntable of the Place of Public Punishment and that wooden paddle came slamming down on my bottom, and I heard the excited roar of the crowd.