by Anne Rice
Lord Stefan suddenly turned his back as if he could not quite contain himself.
“Don’t be so sentimental. He deserves his time in the village,” the Prince said coldly. And with an imperious gesture he ordered the other wailing Princes and Princesses to be silent.
The guards watched all with folded arms, smiling at the spectacle, and Beauty dared not look at them for fear their eyes would meet hers, giving further humiliation.
But the Prince ordered her to come forward and to kneel up and listen to his instruction.
“Beauty, look on these unfortunates,” the Prince said with obvious disapproval. They are going to the Queen’s Village, which is the largest and most prosperous in the country. It houses the families of all those who serve here; the craftsmen there make our linen, our simple furniture, supply us with wine, food, milk, and butter. There is the dairy there and the fowl are raised on the little farms, and there are all those who make up a town in any location.”
Beauty stared at the captive Princes and Princesses, who though they could no longer beg with groans and cries, still bowed before the Prince who seemed indifferent to them.
“It is perhaps the loveliest village of the realm,” the Prince went on, “with a stern Lord Mayor and many Inns and taverns that are the favorites of the soldiers. But it is allowed one special privilege that no other village enjoys, and that is to purchase at auction for the warm months those Princes and Princesses in need of dire punishment. Anyone in the village may purchase a slave if he or she has the gold for it.”
It seemed at this some of the captives could not prevent themselves from imploring the Prince, and with a snap of his fingers he ordered the guards to go to work with their belts and long paddles, causing an immediate uproar. The miserable, desperate slaves huddled together, turning their vulnerable breasts and organs towards their tormentors, as if at all costs they must protect their sore backsides.
But the tall, yellow-haired Prince Tristan made no move to protect himself, merely allowing himself to be jostled by the others. His eyes had never left his Lord, but now slowly they turned and fixed upon Beauty.
Beauty’s heart contracted. She felt a slight dizziness. She stared straight into those unreadable blue eyes while at the same time she thought, “Ah, this is the village.”
“It is wretched service,” Lady Juliana went on, obviously imploring the Prince. “The auction itself takes place as soon as the slaves arrive and you can well suppose that even the beggars and common louts about town are there to witness it. Why, the whole village declares a holiday. And each poor slave is carried off by his or her master not only to degradation and punishment, but miserable labor. Mind you, the crude practical people of the village do not keep even the loveliest Prince or Princess for mere pleasure.”
Beauty was remembering Alexi’s description of his exposure in the villages, the high wooden platform in the marketplace, the crude crowd, and their celebration of his humiliation. She felt her sex secretly ache with desire, and yet she was horrified.
“Ah, but for all its roughness and cruelty,” said the Prince, now glancing at the inconsolable Lord Stefan who stood still with his back to the unfortunates, “it is a sublime punishment. Few slaves can learn from a year in the castle what they learn from the warm months in the village. And of course, they cannot be really hurt, any more than slaves here. The same strict rules apply: no cutting, no burning, no real wounding. And each week, they are herded to a slaves’ hall for bathing and oiling. But when they return to the castle they are more than sweet or meek; they have been reborn with incomparable strength and beauty.”
“Yes, as Prince Alexi was reborn,” Beauty thought, her heart pounding. She wondered if anyone could see her perplexity and excitement. She saw the distant Prince Tristan among the others, his blue eyes calmly fixed to the back of his master, Lord Stefan.
Her mind was filled with lurid visions. And what was it Alexi had said, that such a punishment had been merciful and that if she found it too difficult to learn slowly, she might make herself ripe for some heavier punishment?
Lady Juliana was shaking her head and making little tisks. “But it is only Spring now,” she said. “Why, the poor darlings will be there forever. Ah, the heat, the flies, and the labor. You cannot imagine how they are used, and the soldiers crowding the taverns and the Inns, at last able to buy for a few coins a lovely Prince or Princess that they should never possess in a lifetime.”
“You make too much of it,” the Prince insisted.
“But would you send your own slave!” Lord Stefan appealed to him again. “I don’t want him to go!” he murmured, “and yet I condemned him and before the Queen.”
“Then you have no choice, and yes, I would send my own slave, though no slave of the Queen or the Crown Prince has ever been so punished.” The Prince turned his back to the slaves almost contemptuously. But Beauty continued to look, as the beautiful Prince Tristan commenced to push his way forward.
He reached the fence and though a haughty guard who was having much sport with the group flailed at him with the leather belt, he did not move nor show the slightest discomfort.
“Ah, he is appealing to you,” Lady Juliana sighed, and at once Lord Stefan turned and the two young men faced each other.
Beauty watched as if in a trance as Lord Tristan knelt now slowly and gracefully and kissed the ground before his master.
“It’s too late,” said the Prince, “and this little sign of affection and humility counts for nothing.”
Prince Tristan rose and stood with his eyes down in perfect patience. And Lord Stefan rushed forward and reaching over the fence embraced him immediately. He crushed Prince Tristan to his chest and kissed him all over his face and his hair. The captive Prince, his hands bound to the back of his neck, quietly returned the kisses.
The Prince was in a rage. Lady Juliana was laughing. The Prince pulled Lord Stefan away and said they must leave these miserable slaves now. Tomorrow they would be in the village.
Beauty lay on her bed afterwards unable to think of anything but the little group in the prison yard. Yet she saw too the narrow crooked streets of the villages she’d passed on her journey. She remembered the Inns with their painted signs over the gates, the half-timbered houses shadowing her path, and those tiny, diamond-pained windows.
She would never forget the men and women in coarse breeches and white aprons, with sleeves rolled to the elbows. How they had gaped at her, enjoyed her helplessness.
She could not sleep. And she was filled with a strange new terror.
It was dark when the Prince at last sent for her, and as soon as she reached the door of his private dining room, she saw that he was with Lord Stefan.
It seemed in that moment her fate was decided. She smiled as she thought of all his boasting to Lord Stefan, and she wanted to enter quickly now, but Lord Gregory held her back at the threshold.
Beauty let her eyes mist over. She did not see the Prince in his velvet tunic emblazoned with the coat of arms. Rather she saw those village cobblestone streets, the wives with their wicker brooms, the common lads in the tavern.
But Lord Gregory was speaking to her. “Don’t you think I see the change in you!” he hissed low in her ear, so that it seemed part of her imagination.
Her eyebrows knit in a frown of annoyance and then she dropped her eyes.
“You’re infected with the same poison as Prince Alexi. I see it working on you every day. You will soon make a mockery of everything.”
Her pulse quickened. Lord Stefan, at the supper table, looked so forlorn. And the Prince was as proud as ever.
“What you need is a severe lesson ...” Lord Gregory continued in his acid whisper.
“My Lord, you can’t mean the village!” Beauty shuddered.
“No, I don’t mean the village!” He was obviously shocked. “And don’t be flippant and bold with me. You know what I mean. The Hall of Punishments.”
“Ah, your domain, where you are Prin
ce,” Beauty whispered. But he did not hear her.
And the Prince, with an air of indifference, had snapped his fingers for her to enter.
She approached on her hands and knees. But she had come only a few paces into the room when she stopped.
“Go on!” Lord Gregory hissed at her angrily; the Prince had not yet noticed.
But when he turned and looked at her crossly, still she did not move, her head bowed, her eyes fixed on him. And when she saw the anger and outrage in his face, she turned suddenly and ran on her hands and knees past Lord Gregory and into the passage.
“Stop her, stop her!” the Prince cried out before he could prevent himself. And when Beauty saw Lord Gregory’s boots beside her, she rose to her full height and ran faster. He caught her by the hair and she screamed as she felt herself pulled back and thrown over his shoulder.
She beat on his back with her fists, kicking, as he held her knees tight, and she wept hysterically.
She could hear the Prince’s angry voice, but she could not make out the words, and when let down again at his feet, she ran again so that two Pages came pounding after her.
She struggled as she was gagged and bound, and she did not know where she was being taken. It was dark and they were descending stairs, and she knew an appalling moment of regret and panic.
They would hang her in the Hall of Punishments and if she could not endure even that, how would she endure the village?
But a strange calm came over her even before her captors had reached the Slaves’ Hall, and when she was thrust in a dark cell to lie on the cold stone floor with her bonds cutting into her flesh, she knew a quiet exhilaration.
Yet she continued to weep, her sex pulsing it seemed with her sobs and there was only silence around her.
It was almost morning when she was roused. Lord Gregory snapped his fingers as the Pages undid her fetters and lifted her to her feet on legs that were weak and unsteady. She felt the wallop of Lord Gregory’s belt.
“Spoilt, disgraceful Princess!” he hissed between his teeth, but she was drowsy, softened with desire and dreaming of the village. She gave a little cry as she felt his angry blows, but she realized with wonder that the Pages were gagging her again and binding her hands to the back of her neck roughly. She was going to the village!
“O Beauty, Beauty,” came Lady Juliana’s voice crying beside her. “Why did you become afraid, why did you try to run, you had been so good and strong, my darling.”
“Spoilt, arrogant one,” Lord Gregory cursed her again as she was driven towards the open doorway. She could see the morning sky over the treetops. “You did it deliberately!” Lord Gregory whispered in her ear as he whipped her onto the garden path. “Well, you shall rue the day, and how bitterly you will weep and there will be no one there to hear you.”
Beauty struggled to keep from smiling. But could they have seen a smile behind the cruel leather bit in her teeth? It did not matter. She was running fast, with her knees lifted, around the side of the castle as Lord Gregory pointed the way, his blows quick and smarting, and Lady Juliana wept as she ran along, too. “O, Beauty, I can’t bear it.”
The stars were not yet faded away, yet the air was already warm and caressing. They crossed the empty prison yard, entering the courtyard between the great doors, and the lowered drawbridge of the castle.
And there stood the huge cart of slaves, already tethered to the heavy white mares who would pull it down to the village.
For one moment Beauty knew terror. But a delicious abandon took hold of her.
The slaves wailed as they huddled together behind the low railing, and the driver had already taken his place while the cart was surrounded by mounted soldiers.
“One more,” Lord Gregory called to the Captain of the Guard, and Beauty heard the cries of the slaves grow louder.
She was lifted by heavy hands, her legs dangling in the air.
“All right, little Princess,” the Captain laughed as he set her down in the cart, and Beauty felt its rough wood beneath her feet as she struggled to keep her balance. For one instant, she glanced back and saw the tear-stained face of Lady Juliana. “Why, she is actually suffering,” Beauty thought in amazement.
And high above she suddenly saw the Prince and Lord Stefan in the only torchlit window of the dark castle. It seemed the Prince saw her look up; and the slaves about her, seeing the window as well, set up a chorus of vain pleading. The Prince turned away miserably just as Lord Stefan had turned his back on the captives earlier.
Beauty felt the cart move. The great wheels creaked and the horses’ hooves rang on the cobblestones. All about her the frantic slaves tumbled against one another. She looked before her and almost at once saw the calm blue eyes of Prince Tristan.
He struggled towards her as she moved towards him, though around them the slaves flinched and squirmed to avoid the spirited thrashing from the guards who rode along beside them. Beauty felt the deep cut of a strap on her calf, but Prince Tristan was now pressed against her.
Her breasts were sealed to his warm chest and her cheek rested against his shoulder. His thick rigid organ passed between her wet thighs and stroked her sex roughly. Struggling not to fall, she mounted the organ and felt it slip inside her. She thought of the village, the auction soon to begin, all the terrors that awaited her. And when she thought of her dear defeated Prince and her poor, grieving Lady Juliana she was again smiling.
But Prince Tristan filled her mind as he struggled, it seemed, with his whole body to pierce her and enfold her.
Even among the cries of the others, she heard his whisper behind his gag: “Beauty, are you frightened?”
“No!” she shook her head. She pressed her tortured mouth to his, and as he lifted her with his thrusts, she felt his heart pounding against her.
