Beauty’s Kingdom (Sleeping Beauty #4)(80)
Author: Anne Rice

But she wanted to see. She wanted to see him.

He was above her, his powerful arms like pillars beside her, his eyes glittering behind the mask, his lips curled in the old familiar smile, as his cock plunged into her.

She sighed, and lifted her hips. She could not stop it.

In a daze she saw all the faces above at the royal table; she heard the music pounding on her ears; she heard her own heart throbbing in her ears and her eyelids.

“My beloved, my kingdom, my realm, my soul!” the King whispered. Beauty could scarce control herself, writhing under him, his cock stroking every fiber of her vagina, as it plunged again and again, and finally she gave a loud cry as he tossed his hair and closed his eyes and groaned above her.

On and on he pumped into her, and then at last he was still.

A deafening applause rose from the crowd. It rose all around them, and seemed to come in waves from all quarters of the garden, washing over them like water.

The King rose to his feet. The applause became a raging chorus of cheers, unending as it drowned out the drums and the horns. She looked up to see Laurent holding up his hands as the cheers grew even louder. It sounded as if the whole realm was cheering, and again the applause broke out, coming in great waves, and the mingled cacophony of music and clapping and voices lulled Beauty into a trance as the shivers of desire continued to wash through her.

The King looked down, and then he reached for her hand.

She rose up and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“Our kingdom!” he roared. And the crowd once more applauded him. He turned to her and said, “Let me take off your mask, beautiful maiden of the kingdom. Let them see the one who has lain here beneath me as the symbol of the realm.”

“Are you sure, my lord?” she said. “You want to see me? For if you do, I am more than willing. I am more than willing that they know how much the Queen loves them.”

He stared at her, that was plain enough, eyes glinting in the eyeholes of the mask, his mouth slack with astonishment.

“Beauty?” he said.

“Yes, my lord,” she said. “For you, and for them, I am the kingdom.”

What did he think? What would he say? What was going on behind the ornate and shimmering mask?

Then came the smile, the slow easy smile, the great smile, the beloved smile.

She lifted her hand to her mask and he lifted his hands to assist her, pulling it loose from her and casting it aside and holding up her hand in his.

“My queen!” he called out. “The eternal maiden of the kingdom, Beauty, my queen, queen of my heart, Queen Beauty of Bellavalten!”

It was madness, sweet madness. In all directions Beauty saw the dancers leaping in the air, clapping, the naked slaves jumping up and down like children, the torches blazing, as the voices came louder and fuller and all the more jubilant with unstinting praise. Alexi and Rosalynd and Elena were dancing before them, Alexi clapping his hands wildly over his head. From left to right, Beauty looked, and behind her—at the smiling figure of Becca above—and before her. The Captain of the Guard was on his knees looking at her with upraised hands. And Princess Lucinda was there in her unmistakable gray velvet waving her hands as she danced. Tristan and Roger and Richard were waving with both arms as they swayed back and forth.

The five naked Disciples of the Mask were brought forward by Prince Dmitri and stood with their heads bowed waiting to be given over to their six months of irrevocable bondage. In a frenzy the crowd danced around them, closing in on them and then backing away from them, and then dancing near to them again—clapping and cheering, and then again raising their hands, countless hands, hands wherever one looked, to the King and Queen.

Solemnly the King gestured to each of the humble supplicants and then with his open hand to Dmitri who might now take them away. Beauty nodded, raising her right hand in blessing as well.

As the five were led away, Beauty saw Dmitri looking back from the midst of the frenzy. On and on went the dancing and cheering, and the drums thundered and the pipes broke into a wild dance.

Suddenly right before her she saw her beloved Brenn and Sybil. They were leaping with their arms raised, and Brenn shouted:

“Beauty’s Kingdom!”

“Beauty’s Kingdom!” sang out Sybil in a high-pitched jubilant voice.

“Beauty’s Kingdom,” they sang together.

Lovely Princess Blanche was also dancing before the dais, and with her the pretty slaves Penryn and Valentine, and countless others, all singing out “Beauty’s Kingdom!” over and over again.

“Beauty’s Kingdom!” cried Laurent. He held up Beauty’s hand with his. He swayed in the dance, both arms raised, his right hand clasping her left hand. “Beauty’s Kingdom,” he cried again, and the cry was taken up all around. “Beauty’s Kingdom!” From everywhere voices echoed it, and repeated it until it became a roaring chant.

Beauty’s Kingdom.

And I am your sovereign, Beauty thought as she looked out over the endless wilderness of happy subjects, naked and clothed, unmasked and masked. And I am naked before you because I choose to be, and yes, I am the kingdom. I am you all. I will serve you always; I will give you all. Demand what you will. Need what you will. This is my destiny, my submission, my true surrender.