Beauty’s Kingdom (Sleeping Beauty #4)(69)
Author: Anne Rice

“I know.”

“The King understands, but then the King understands everything!” She laughed.

“I know what you mean.”

“It’s as if every slave, no matter how lowly, how disobedient, how submissive, or how perfect is connected by a golden thread to my very heart.”

“Yes.”

“And I will be bolder in the sanctity of my chambers,” she said. “The King has repeatedly urged me to be so. I will, from now on.”

But this vow wasn’t made with much spirit. I wanted to take her hand as she looked again over the bustling gardens. But this seemed presumptuous. I only watched her and waited. And then without turning, she reached out for my hand and clasped it warmly and then drew it to her breast.

iii

The King was always sending me presents. A robe of lavender-blue silk, a dress of plum-colored velvet, slippers of jeweled leather.

Now came the letter in the afternoon as I left the Hall of Postulants, weary from the day’s work but quite encouraged. And the letter said simply for me to wear the plum-colored gown for him this evening, and that he had taken the liberty of retrieving from my quarters the blue sapphire given me by Lexius and that it was being set for me to wear in a necklace of gold.

The plum-colored gown was the King’s favorite, by far. It was low cut to reveal my bosom, but with great flaring sleeves and heavy skirts. How many times had he knelt before those heavy skirts?

But I knew this was no summons to whip him tonight as I did perhaps every two weeks or so. This had to do with Lexius. Why else had he sent for the sapphire?

So I dressed with this in mind.

Severin hovered over me, helping me to rouge my lips; and my naked maids, lovely creatures—the Queen had been so right to say that naked slaves might be used for all manner of labor—did up my hair with ropes of pearls, leaving only the longest locks to fall over my shoulders.

The King liked bare necks and bare shoulders and as much of a bare bosom as a lady might dare to display. That is, when he looked away from his many slaves. Very well. I was more than contented with his taste. And I had a new pair of slippers from him with pointed toes and with the highest gold heels I’d ever worn.

I was dressed and ready quite early. I knew it might be an hour or two before the King’s summons. In fact, I was sure of it as he was in the gardens now with the Queen, and Lexius was with them. Alexi had told me he would be seated with Lexius at the King’s table. And the table tonight would be on the border of the Bridle Path so that the King and Queen and all their Court might pay particular attention to the slaves being paddled along by their masters and mistresses, boy, girl, boy, girl, as the King liked it. And I knew that Stefan, wearing a mask still, and unidentified to the Court, would be one of those boys. Dmitri would ride in the chariot to drive Stefan with the great leather paddle. Stefan was now Dmitri’s obsession.

He’d returned the ravishing flaxen-haired Becca completely transformed into the most sensitive chamber slave for the Queen, and the Queen was most pleased with that. And though the Queen left the strict punishing of Becca to me, the Queen took Becca into her bed nightly.

The Queen was eager to see Stefan’s performance tonight, to see his form.

Dmitri was toying with the idea of giving a new name to Stefan, a name to mark the trajectory of his new life when the masks were finally put aside. He was calling Stefan by the name of Xander, a nickname Dmitri particularly liked.

I would love to see Stefan for myself tonight, or Xander, and had no doubt that he would be perfect. Dmitri would never have brought him up to Court had he not been ready.

Indeed the strange “Masked One” was now a story in the village, and crowds gathered before the Public Turntable at the predictable hours just to see him whipped. It was the novelty of the mask, certainly, and the whispers that he was of the Court. But it was also that Stefan had become a paragon of decorum. Bad slaves from their pillories were instructed to raise their heads and watch Stefan being punished and learn from his poise.

Rosalynd had told me that it had been this way with Dmitri before he’d left the village years ago to be sent home. He had become the paragon of style on the Public Turntable where once he’d suffered so much. He had become the one whom the crowds gathered to see most especially. And now he had made of Stefan a rival for himself.

Rosalynd was brilliant. The Queen certainly thought so, and she was right. Rosalynd continued to supervise all the many gold-burnished slaves throughout the gardens, those bound to crosses and set in wall niches, and made into footstools, and those whipped in artful and extravagant ways and combinations for the Court. She was ever devising new motifs, new designs, new and artful combinations. She did all this so effortlessly and happily that she had time to spare. Elena was her natural assistant, her devoted friend. These two were the Queen’s favorites.

But Prince Alexi was never far from the Queen either. Alexi longed for a special task, other than the examination and testing of postulants—something we all did—but his moment had not yet come. Strictly speaking, Alexi was charged with helping Rosalynd and Elena with the evening Court entertainments, but in fact, he did very little of this, other than wear the gold chain and medallion of his office which ladies found far too cumbersome and ugly to wear. He was a powerful symbol of authority, however. And the Court loved him.

We had our ceremonial rings from the King and Queen and that was quite enough. But I thought the chains and medallions very handsome on the men, and certainly this ornament added to the impressive quality of Prince Dmitri as he ruled the village punishments.

All these and other considerations moved through my mind as I waited for the King’s summons. I sat at my writing desk and now and then made some note as to what I might do as to some difficulty, or scribbled out an idea that might prove amusing to the Court. And then I opened my diary and wrote my private thoughts.

Severin had been dismissed along with my maids for their shared recreation—a great novelty introduced by the Queen—in which they could loiter in a little private chamber among Eastern pillows and turrets and cuddle and play with one another and share secrets and confessions.

And though I’d wondered about this new custom, I had seen immediately that it was to be a great success. Slaves returned refreshed, more eager to serve than ever, and vying with one another to please. So what if they whispered about their “favorite” master or mistress in private? Or coupled with one another like little beasts.

There came a knock at my door.

Before I could rise, the door itself was opened and in came Lexius who immediately closed it behind him and advanced towards me with bold steps.

“What are you doing here, my lord?” I demanded. The heat rose in my face. I could hear my pulse in my ears.

He cut a powerful alluring figure. He was outfitted once more in Eastern splendor with more jewels sewn to his long tunic than I’d ever beheld in one place. Emeralds covered him and emeralds sparkled on his long dark fingers, and even in the lobes of his ears. But his eyes were his finest jewels.

He glared at me. I couldn’t read his expression, and when he took another step towards me, I became furious.

“Explain yourself,” I said. “Did I open the door for you? Did I bid you come in?”

“I must have you!” he said to me. His lips curled in a triumphant smile. He took another step forward, eyebrows raised and eyes quivering.

“Have me?” I asked. I came out from behind the desk and at once he stepped back. But the look of wild determination hadn’t left his face.

Then he drew himself up and spoke again in a low menacing voice.

“I will have you, have you naked, have you here, have you stripped of all your authority and your finery.” Once more he advanced.

“The hell you will!” I said. I slammed my fist down hard on the writing desk and he jumped back and his eyes grew large. “Whatever gave you such a preposterous notion!” I demanded. “You dare to come into my chambers and say these words to me? Get out of here, now.”

He stood quivering all over.

“I will have you,” he said in a voice that was almost a growl. “I will make you kneel to me.”

He came forward as if pitching himself headlong into the gesture and reached out for me.

With the full force of my hand I slapped his face. Stunned he stood there trying to catch his breath. How lovely he looked—a dark god staring in wonder. I slapped him again and then again. I slapped him harder than I had ever slapped any slave. I drove him backwards in the direction of the door with my slaps.

And then with one mighty slap of my cupped hand, I caught him under the chin and slammed his head back against the door.

“Get out of here, my lord, before I drive you out on your hands and knees,” I said. I was seething.

He didn’t move. His face was bloodred from my slaps and his great dark eyes were blazing as he looked up and he laid his hands back on the wood of the door. His long luxuriant hair was tousled and lustrous in the candlelight.

“You are a goddess!” he said as he looked at me. His eyes were hungry.

“You don’t know the half of it!” I said.

I reached out and caught him by the border of his thick tunic and dragged him forward so that I could open the door. Then I grabbed a great handful of his black hair and dragged him through the door and hurled him into the passage, so that he staggered backwards and nearly fell.