The first minister smiled. ‘Perhaps that is wise.’
The prince felt the red wine touch his lips but refused to let it pass. Why would the first minister bring him his food and not send a servant? He was a proud man – the prince had known enough counsellors and politicians to know they did nothing to diminish their status in the eyes of others. The minister must have wanted to ensure the prince received it and was going to consume it, and that meant he had probably added an extra ingredient between the kitchen and his rooms. The prince was spoiled and could be selfish but he wasn’t stupid. All castles housed ruthless men with their own personal agendas – what if the first minister had decided that Beauty marrying a royal was not in his best interest? She was sweet and gentle – her husband might not be. Who would wield the power then?
He looked down at the silver plate containing half a roast chicken covered in gravy and surrounded by potatoes and vegetables. ‘That looks delicious. Thank you once again. I think I’ll read while I eat it and then sleep if you think that’s for the best. But please,’ he knew he had to keep some of his urgency. ‘Tell Beauty I love her and am thinking of her.’
‘I will.’ The first minister’s eyes twinkled and he bowed before he backed away. ‘Remember to stay in these rooms. We like to keep the castle peaceful for the queen while she’s unwell.’
‘Thank you,’ the prince said, and sat at the table, picking up his knife and fork and cutting a piece of the succulent chicken. The first minister paused in the doorway and watched as the prince put the food into his mouth and then quietly closed the door behind him.
As soon as he was gone, the prince spat the meat out and ran to the water jug to rinse his mouth out. He picked up the plate and wine glass and went to the window. Outside it was dark as night and the storm was raging. As soon as he lifted the catch the glass flew back, propelled by the wind that sent the curtains billowing up around him as if they were suddenly enchanted. He flinched against the torrential icy rain that blasted into his face, and tipped away the food and wine. It fell into the gloomy grey street below as more streaks of blue cracked the sky and stabbed at the city. He pulled the window shut and put the empty plate and goblet back, before closing the curtains and turning out all but one lamp.
There were several old books on a shelf in the corner and he took one and opened it somewhere near the beginning and then lay on the bed, placing the book at an angle across his chest as if he had dropped it there. He closed his eyes. Now all he had to do was wait.
His heart thumped in his chest as the minutes ticked by and the fire in the grate slowly burned down. After a while he thought he might have drifted to the edge of sleep, but was woken by the sound of carriages arriving below. He opened his eyes and where daylight should have been creeping through the gaps in the curtains, instead there was a strange darkness, as if the raging storm had created an artificial night. There was something unnatural about it, and he shivered. Shrieks of laughter carried on the wind as carriage doors closed and people ran inside and away from the rain. The prince was suddenly alert again. Who were these people and why were they arriving? There had been a formal ball the night before and if the queen was ill, and the first minister insistent on peace and quiet, surely none would disobey him? So what was really going on? Did he take advantage of the queen’s fits to stage entertainments of his own? Maybe that was it.
He was just about losing patience with lying still when he heard the quiet click of the door opening. He forced his body to relax and dropped his mouth open slightly, taking long, deep breaths. Feet padded softly across the carpet. The prince’s eyelids twitched, but he remained motionless. After a moment the feet moved away, and the door clicked shut.
The room once again in silence, the prince kept his eyes shut for several seconds longer, afraid that perhaps it was a trick and the minister was still watching him, but eventually he opened them and let out a sigh of relief that he was once again alone.
Back at the window he looked out at the storm. In the courtyard below sat several carriages made of gold and silver and sparkling with jewels. Noblemen’s carriages, he was certain of it. Perhaps the first minister was trying to claim the throne for himself and had called some kind of meeting while Beauty was ill? The question was, what could he do about it? What did he really know about this kingdom?
He turned away and glanced at himself in the mirror. He was tall, and blond and handsome; everything a prince should be. Princes should also be brave and honourable. Princes, he reminded himself, did not sit back politely if they thought the security of the one they loved was threatened. And if there was one thing which was beyond doubt, it was that he loved Beauty with every inch of his body. Being apart from her was a physical ache that he almost couldn’t bear. He pulled back his broad shoulders. If nothing else, he was going to explore and see what was going on, and he would talk to her about it when she was better. It wasn’t as if the first minister could do anything to him. He was betrothed to their queen. Soon he would be their king and he would not be manipulated by old men, even if his sweet-natured beloved was.
He waited another thirty minutes before creeping out into the silent hallway. He stayed close to the walls and followed the wide corridor until he reached the central staircase. He paused and strained his ears to hear. At first there was nothing, but then he was sure he caught the faintest tinkling of music. Two kitchen hands crossed the central atrium below, their heads huddled together and whispering, and then they disappeared from sight. In their wake, the air carried the hint of roasted meat. They’d delivered food somewhere, but where?
When he was certain there was no one else about, he went quickly down the stairs and headed towards the main ballroom where he and Beauty had danced before. He opened the door a fraction but the space beyond was quiet and empty. He stepped inside. The music was definitely louder here. He jogged across the vast space, his footsteps echoing eerily around him.
The second ballroom was empty too, and he frowned for a moment, before the thought struck him. There was the third ballroom. The locked-up room beyond the library that Beauty had known nothing about. Was that where the first minister was entertaining his guests?
He’d passed through the library and reached the door to the small corridor. He opened it a fraction and slid his hand up to keep the bellwire steady before squeezing the rest of his body in. He was in the right place. The music, slightly discordant and darker than any of the jolly tunes that he and Beauty had danced to, was much louder, and above the notes he heard the occasional laugh.
With sweaty palms and a racing heart, he crept forward and lowered his eye to the keyhole but couldn’t get a clear view of what was happening inside. The chandeliers were giving off a muted light rather than glittering brightness, and he saw flashes of the red walls and movement of clothes and bodies. From the other side of the thick wood, a woman laughed, a tinkling sound like breaking ice.
His curiosity overwhelmed his fear, and he carefully twisted the handle and quietly pulled the heavy door open an inch to see inside. As his eyes widened, so did the door. All sensible thought tumbled from his mind, and he stared, for a moment completely astonished, at the tableaux that faced him.
The room was smaller than the other ballrooms and with the heavy red and gold decoration and the thick black drapes that covered the windows it seemed to shrink further. A fire blazed in the vast ornamental grate and large candles flickered in sconces decorated with gargoyles that cast strange shadows across the floor. Along one side was a table laden with food; roasted chickens and hares, piles of fruit, and all manner of exotic dishes, but instead of using plates and knives the food had been torn apart by hand and gnawed bones littered the floor around it. Silver jugs of wine were scattered everywhere and the thick rug that covered most of the central area was splashed with red where glasses had been carelessly knocked over. Even without the people, it was a decadent sight. With them, the scene was one of flagrantly wild abandon. Men and women in beautiful expensive gowns laughed and talked
in groups, some dancing together, some eating or drinking, but all with a lack of formality unlike any royal ball he’d ever attended. All the guests wore elegant masks across their eyes; some black, some ornate bird feathers, some with beaks and all fitting closely to their young features. None were over thirty, he was sure of that, and whereas they were all handsome and beautiful people, the dark shadows they cut in the candlelight across the floor and on the red walls were strange and gothic, the women flirtatiously and confidently moving among the men; no standing on ceremony or waiting to be approached.
There was more though, and from his place in the doorway the prince felt both aroused and revolted as his eyes moved to the others who were lost in their actions, oblivious to the party around them.
On the low stage angled from a corner, three men dressed in black screeched out the strange fiddle music. Two women danced in front of them; but this was no courtly waltz. They swayed slightly, their slim hips gyrating against each other’s as they kissed, their eyes half-closed and lost in the pleasures of their soft mouths. The taller of the two, a brunette whose hair had fallen free and hung down her back, ran one hand down her partner’s body stroking the bodice of her dress, freeing her breast and teasing the nipple between her fingers before lowering her head and flicking her tongue across it. The other girl tipped her head back and gasped.
A little further away, a full-figured woman was bent over a chaise-longue by the wall. The skirt of her ballgown had been pushed up over her hips and the pale skin of her thighs was visible above the tops of her stockings. She moaned as a man behind her gripped her buttocks and thrust into her, panting loudly with each of his movements and lifting herself up to meet him. After a moment another man, a gold mask across his face, joined them and slid his hard cock into her mouth as he leant backwards and drained his wine. The woman sucked greedily, matching her movements with those of the man behind her.
On the thick fur rug two women straddled a naked man and faced each other, one spreading her thighs across his face, the other his pelvis, and as they ground themselves into him for their pleasure, they leaned forward and kissed between their moans.
Other pairings and groups were dotted here and there, all in some stage of undress as they pleasured each other with wanton abandon. As well as their lust, they were feeling love for each other, these people hidden behind their masks. It was strange and unnatural, but despite his revulsion the prince was throbbing.
One woman was alone in midst of the party, and she moved among the people smiling, pausing to laugh with those still dressed, and trailing one hand gently across the skin of the naked as she passed and when she did so the whole group would shudder with pleasure. She wore a dress so sheer the firm curves of her body were clearly visible beneath it, but none of the revellers made her part of their depravity.
When her tour was complete she stood in the centre of the room and turned slowly, her arms outstretched, sparks of gold flying from the tips of her fingers. The air instantly grew heavier and a wave of something warm and sweet hit the prince where he stood. His head spun as if he’d drunk too much wine too quickly. Suddenly he wanted to be in the room, to be part of this madness that was taking place before him. Unable to stop himself, he pushed the door further open, and the woman at the centre of it all looked up. She smiled.
The prince’s heart stopped. How hadn’t he recognised her before? It was Beauty. His Beauty. Except for her hair – her hair was the wrong colour. What was this? How could his sweet fiancée be part of this? Was it really her? Was it a different girl? The last sober shred of his mind knew he should turn and run, but the strange intoxication that tingled in his blood refused to let him move. He remembered her in the corridor behind him. Her confusion. Her trembling. Her hair had been changing colour.
She walked towards him, lithe and supple, her movements like a cat, and her eyes sparkled. His eyes drank in the outline of her breasts, the dark circles of her nipples visible through the sheer cream fabric that floated around her as she moved.
‘My darling,’ she purred as she reached him. ‘I knew you’d find me.’ She took his hand and his arm shuddered with sharp sparks of something between pain and pleasure. As he crossed the threshold she closed the door behind him and any resistance he might have had was gone. The air was heavy and filled with a musky scent of sex and magic and he longed to tear himself free of his clothes and tumble to the floor with Beauty, not caring who might see their act of love. He pulled her towards him and kissed her. The surge of passion he felt was greater than any that had come before. What was this? Was she enchanting him? She pressed her body confidently against his, teasing him, and then drew back, wriggling free of his grasp.
‘Not until our wedding night.’ Her voice was slightly deeper than normal, and although he was sure that this was his Beauty, she was, at the same time, a completely different woman. ‘Not for me.’ She ran her fingers down his shirt, teasing some of the buttons free as she went. ‘I have different lusts to fulfil tonight.’
‘What is this?’ he whispered, as she led him over to the two dancing women who were now writhing with each other on the floor. ‘What are you doing?’ Warm hands reached up and tugged him down. He didn’t resist. The women made space for him between them and, as Beauty smiled at him, they slid their fingers and tongues under his clothes and his head whirled and he gasped.
‘Sometimes,’ Beauty said softly, sipping from her silver goblet, ‘everyone needs to let the beast inside them out for a while.’ She laughed, a sound like a waterfall meeting the sea and more glitter escaped from her fingertips. ‘I like to see it. We all have our dark lusts. We should enjoy them.’ Somewhere inside him a voice screamed witchcraft and then he was lost in sensation as his hands found firm breasts, and a soft mouth touched his as another explored a far more intimate part of him. And for a while, even his love for Beauty was forgotten.
Time meant nothing as the groups of bodies moved and merged and created new formations, but by the time the first minister brought the serving girl into the room, the prince was covered in sweat and his body ached from both desire and the desire to be free of it. The world was a bleary haze and he felt as if perhaps he was in a dream.
The minister walked, his back stiff, without looking at any of the decadence that surrounded him, until he reached Beauty, who was sitting on a throne from which she could survey all around her. She clapped her hands together in delight as she saw the blindfolded girl he’d led inside.
‘A special night!’ she cried. ‘I shall drink!’ From his place on the floor, the prince watched as she leapt to her feet and embraced the man before her. He flinched. ‘Her name is Nell,’ he said. ‘She was talking to the huntsman.’
‘Why do you tell me the names?’ Beauty frowned, cross. ‘I don’t care for the names. My guests have had their pleasure and now I shall have mine!’
The first minister nodded. His face was tight, as if he dare not show any emotion he might have. ‘I shall wait outside,’ he said. ‘Your guest’s carriages are prepared. I suggest you dismiss them before . . .’
‘Yes, yes,’ she snapped, and the first minister took his leave. She clapped her hands together again, louder this time, gathering the attention of the revellers.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said, addressing them as if this were any normal ball. ‘It has been wonderful to see you all again. A pleasure.’ The guests laughed at that as they re-clothed themselves where necessary, and smiled while seeking out their original partners and preparing to leave. ‘We shall have another such evening soon. But for now it’s time for you to return home and continue your delights at your leisure.’
The room cleared relatively quickly, as if they were used to the parties ending abruptly, and while many came to say their goodbyes to Beauty and thank her for her hospitality, none paid any attention to the blindfolded girl who was swaying slightly in the middle of the room. Beauty held the prince back with her and when the musicians scurried out, the doors clicked shut and th
e three of them were alone.
‘And now for my pleasure,’ Beauty said, smiling at him, her eyes dancing with excitement. Her face was flushed and the prince thought, in that moment, he’d never seen her so aptly named.
She circled the girl, an earthy-looking buxom wench, one hand trailing around her waist and the servant gasped but didn’t speak. Was she drugged? What did Beauty want with her? The expression on the first minister’s face when he’d brought her in flashed before the prince’s mind’s eye. He’d looked like a tortured man.
‘Pretty Nell,’ Beauty said softly. ‘They’re always so pretty.’ She reached down to the silver jug on the table and refilled her goblet and then poured a second for the prince. The red wine looked thick and dark and he stared into it as she drank hers.
‘Drink,’ she said. Her eyes had hardened and the prince suddenly felt unsettled. He lifted the cup and sipped. The taste was metallic and the substance too thick to swallow easily without gagging, as if his body recognised it before his brain had time to.
‘Is this . . . blood?’ he asked, as the awful truth dawned on him.
She smiled at him and he could see where the crimson liquid clung to her teeth. ‘This is cold, but soon we’ll have warm. Fresh and warm and so full of life.’ She clung to him and pulled him close and kissed him, seeking him out with her tongue. The prince’s stomach churned. Blood. His princess, his Beauty, was drinking blood. He’d drunk blood.
Beauty broke away, breathless, and laughed, tipping her head back and then pouring the glass of blood over her, coating herself in it, the sheer material of her dress clinging to her every curve with the weight of the liquid. She dropped the empty goblet and the sound of the metal hitting the ground echoed loudly in the empty room and the serving girl – Nell, the prince reminded himself; she had a name – flinched.
Beauty stroked her face and hushed her, kissing her cheek and leaving bloody marks on her pale skin. She looked at the prince. ‘Are you ready?’ she whispered, and pulled something from a hidey hole in the side of her throne. The prince nodded, despite his need to run far from this place and vomit. He shivered as she nodded at him to drink more from his cup. Cursing his own weakness, he did. He thought it couldn’t get much worse than this. He thought she would want him to have blood-drenched sex with the poor girl before him.
Beauty Page 9
