"Lovely, lovely, O, I do wish you weren't so possessive of her," said Lady Juliana. "Put the pitcher down, my dear, and come here to me."
Beauty obeyed and returned to the Lady's chair. When she saw the Lady snap her fingers and point to the floor, Beauty blushed. She fell to her knees, and then in a strange impulsive moment, she kissed the Lady's slippers.
It seemed to happen very slowly. She found herself bending down towards the silver slippers and then she touched them with her lips fervently.
"Ah, what a darling," said the Lady Juliana. "Give me only and hour with her."
And Beauty felt the woman's hand on the back of her neck, caressing her, stroking her, and then gathering her hair back and smoothing it tenderly. Tears came to Beauty's eyes. "I am nothing," she thought. And there was that awareness again of some change in her, some quiet despair, except that her heart was racing.
"I would not even have her here," said the Prince under his breath, "save my mother commands it, that she be treated like any other slave, that she be enjoyed by others. Given my own will, I would chain her to my bedpost. I would beat her. I would watch every tear, every change of color."
Beauty felt her heart in her throat like a little fist knocking there faster and faster. "I would make her my wife, even..."
"Ah, but you are in the grip of madness."
"Yes," said the Prince, "she has done that to me. Are others blind?"
"No, of course not," said Juliana, "she is lovely. But each seeks his own love, you know that. Would you have everyone else equally mad for her?"
"No," he shook his head. And without looking away from the chessboard, he reached out to caress Beauty's br**sts, lifting them, squeezing them, so that she winced.
But suddenly everyone was rising.
Chairs slid back on the stones; the assemblage stood bowing.
Beauty turned.
The Queen had come into the room. Beauty glimpsed her long green gown, the girdle of gold embroidery about her hips and that sheer white veil that hung down her back to her hem, only thinly concealing her black hair.
Beauty went down low on her hands and knees not knowing what she must do. Her forehead touched the stones and she held her breath. Yet she could see the Queen approaching. The Queen stood right before her.
"Be seated everyone," said the Queen, "and return to your games. But you, my son, how do you fare with this new passion?"
The Prince was obviously at a loss for an answer.
"Pick her up, display her," said the Queen.
And Beauty realized she was being lifted by her wrists. She rose up quickly, her arms being twisted behind her, her back forced into a painful arc, and suddenly she was standing on her toes moaning. The clamps seemed to tear at her ni**les, the jewels between her legs to pull her open. Behind the jewel in her navel, she felt her heart beat, and she felt it too in the lobes of her clamped ears and in her eyelids.
She was looking at the floor but all she could see was that shimmering chain and some great indistinct form that was the Queen standing over her.
Then suddenly the Queen's hand struck Beauty's br**sts so hard that Beauty cried out, and at once felt the Page's fingers over her mouth tightly.
She moaned in panic. She felt her tears come, the Page's fingers biting into her cheek. And without meaning to, she struggled.
"There, there, Beauty," whispered the Prince. "You do not show my mother your best disposition."
Beauty tried to calm herself, but the Page forced her forward more harshly.
"She is not so bad," said the Queen, and Beauty could feel the iron in her voice, her cruelty. No matter what the Prince did to her, she did not sense in him such pure cruelty.
"She is only afraid of me," said the Queen. "And I wish you were more afraid of me, my son."
"Mother, be gentle with her, please, I beg you," said the Prince. "Allow me to keep her in my chambers, and to train her myself. Don't send her back to the Hall of Slaves tonight."
Beauty tried to smother her own crying. It seemed the Page's hand over her mouth only made it more difficult for her.
"My son, when she has proven her humility, we shall see," said the Queen. "Tomorrow night, the Bridle Path."