Beauty's Kingdom Page 13

  But the majority were headed to the tents to be interviewed, it seemed, or tested in some way; and there were soldiers lounging about everywhere, to keep order, I suppose, though no one seemed to be breaking the peace. Wine and hot food were for sale from open stands here and there, and I saw a young girl, a very pretty young girl, seated on a bundle, weeping with her hands to her face.

  We moved on steadily to the drawbridge and the soldiers greeted us with the predictable respect.

  Fabien rattled off my many names and titles with appropriate dignity, and we were motioned to proceed through the courtyard gates.

  Two messengers ran ahead to announce us, I presumed; and I felt my heart going wild inside me, as I strove to look cool and collected, my eyes moving over the tops of the walls.

  There was an air of cleanliness and order everywhere that I looked.

  And as we entered the first of the great courtyards before the doors of the castle proper, I saw on either side of us at a great distance the immense newly erected halls for arriving slaves and grooms. Applicants were giving up their mounts, their beasts of burden, and laying down their bundles and being escorted inside. There was so much easy and convivial commotion I couldn’t make much of it, but I wondered at the tender feelings of these brave individuals who were hoping so desperately to be taken into Bellavalten’s magnificent and engulfing world.

  Liveried servants, in blue and gold, now poured through the yawning mouth of the inner courtyard to help out the members of our little caravan, and Fabien was on his feet to help me down from my mount.

  I walked across the broad planks of the gaping passageway as if I hadn’t a care in the world, and then there rose before me that vision of the great north façade of the castle with its endless arched windows rising higher and higher to the battlements far above.

  I recalled, whether I wanted to or not, the first time I’d beheld it, a trembling naked slave thrown over the horse of the Captain of the Guard. It had been the custom in those days to strip slaves well before their arrival in Queen Eleanor’s realm. She wanted her peasants and villagers to enjoy the spectacle of new arrivals. And I had walked a good deal of the way here, though the Captain, tiring of the slow pace, had thrown me over his horse for the final mile.

  I’d been so fearful, so defenseless, so certain that I could never endure the things my older brother had so vaguely yet impishly described.

  “You’ll do well, Dmitri,” he’d said. “Just as I did. Simply yield and obey.” He had laughed. “Let me assure you, you’ll know more good hot pleasure there than you’ll ever know anywhere afterwards.”

  Within six months, the Queen had had enough of my clumsiness and uncontrollable tears and packed me off to the village for punishment. I’d wondered whether or not my disgrace was known to my family back home. In fact, it had never been communicated to them and they were never told that I’d been later kidnapped and taken to the sultanate where I served for so long.

  I stood staring at the great doors before me, remembering how I had scarcely dared to look up on that first day. The Captain had smacked me hard with his leather belt, telling me to stand straight and bow my head, and take pride that I was about to serve the great queen.

  He’d snapped his fingers for two of his soldiers, directing them towards me with silent gestures that I hadn’t understood. In a moment, I understood all. They had stroked and teased my balls and cock until I was hard from it, pinching my nipples and spanking me with their hard calloused hands until I’d been “presentable” as they called it, and I’d been so confused by the intense desire I’d felt.

  “The Queen will love you,” the Captain had said with a wink as he rode off.

  When I’d seen him next, six months later in the Queen’s Village, he’d whipped me with his strap for what seemed an eternity, chiding me for having failed at Court and promising me the Place of Public Punishment would make me into a perfect prince for the Queen. That had been before I was auctioned in the Village Square and sold to one of the retired soldiers who kept a house on the outskirts of the little place.

  “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 hands
ome 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.

  I tried to clear my vision, to hear what the Queen was saying—that they were so glad to receive me. I wanted to put my heated tumbling thoughts in order. Why, after all, when I’d been whipped there so often after my return from the sultanate, did my mind go back, right back, to that very first terrifying time?

  “It will purify you,” the Captain had said earnestly, almost tenderly, as I was forced up the ladder. “Believe me, it is the most effective punishment. That’s why I want you to receive it now and often. You’ll see. Now up you go!”

  I felt the whipping master’s left hand on my neck. Always. Left hand on the neck. My chin rested on the rough wood. And the crack over and over of the paddle, and the crowd screaming.

  “Little piglet,” said the whipping master, “you’re giving the crowd a great show. You just keep struggling with all your might against those straps. But keep your chin on this post, or I’ll let the crowd name the number of the blows.”

  Struggling. I felt it again, my toes hammering down on the wood, my thighs tensing, and my hands twisting and turning in the ropes. But the heavy hand on my neck kept my head firmly in place, my chin on the rough wooden post, and through my tears I saw the crowd in a haze before me, all around me, cheering and waving, and one lovely girl with a bright, round face smiling at me as she waved a blue scarf.

  Strange to remember such a detail, but then after . . . yes, that scarf.

  With a sudden shock, I realized the Captain, the very Captain who had taken me that day to the Public Turntable, was standing here beside the Queen.

  “Prince Dmitri, of course you remember Captain Gordon,” she was saying in her sweet, cordial voice.

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Prince, you said in one of your letters you were eager to see the village,” the King said casually. “Well, the Captain will escort you there whenever and however often you want to see it. Why, there’s plenty of time before supper, if you’re so inclined.”

  “Our guest might want to rest, my lord,” said the Queen. “He has a world of time in which to see everything.”

  The village. Anytime.

  “Yes, of course,” said the King, “but I welcome Dmitri’s estimation of the village. I really do. I’m pleased that Dmitri has asked about it, mentioned it.”


  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said the Captain.

  “I do so want to see it,” I said, trying to steady my voice.

  “But you are white, Prince, perfectly white with exhaustion,” said the Queen. “You should sleep first.”

  “I am yours, my lord,” said the Captain to me. “All afternoon, I’m at your service.”

  It was this man, this very man who stood at my service now, waiting, silent, waiting, who had brought me down the ladder and pushed me roughly towards the pillory, lifting the board, and forcing my hands and my head through the holes and then slapping the board down in place. The board had held me bent over from the waist, my bare feet in the dust. I could barely look up. But I did, and I saw the next victim on the distant turntable, a dainty red-haired princess blushing and gasping as the whipping master forced her to kneel down and bend over and place her chin on that post as he’d forced me to do. Her large lovely eyes were suddenly squeezed shut.

  Then something blue filled my vision. Blue. It was that scarf, and a tender voice said in my ear:

  “Let me wipe your tears. You are so handsome.” It was that round-faced girl from the crowd, with skin like fresh cream. “There, there,” she cooed, and another pair of hands appeared cupping a crude bowl of wine and I saw fingers dipped in it and I was given the fingers, dripping with wine, to suck.

  “You know, Dmitri, we lack a guiding genius for the Place of Public Punishment,” the King said. “Perhaps for many aspects of the village. You mentioned that place in your letter. I never really knew the place. . . .”

  The words struck my heart. A guiding genius.

  “It’s going well, sire,” said the Captain.

  “Yes, Captain, I know,” said the King. “And the Lady Mayor has the whole enterprise in hand. But it’s huge now. And the opinions of our beloved returning princes and princesses provide much insight.”

  I saw the blue scarf in front of my eyes. Heard the sounds of the crowd. And it had only been the morning crowd.

  The Captain had been scolding the villagers behind me as I lapped the wine from the girl’s cupped hand. “That’s it, dearest prince,” she whispered. I was so thirsty! My tongue scraped the palm of her hand.