Beauty's Punishment - By A. N. Roquelaure & Anne Rice Page 0,70

fingers through his hair, and then continue pacing.

When I rose on my elbow, afraid of being ordered out, he gestured to the wine goblet and said, “Drink if you wish.”

I picked it up at once and sat back against the paneling, watching him.

He paced again, once, back and forth, and then he turned, staring at me.

“I’m in love with you!” he said. He drew close and peered into my eyes. “In love with you! Not merely with punishing you, though that I will do, or with your subservience, which I love and crave, also. I am in love with you, your secret soul that is as vulnerable as the reddened flesh under my strap, and all your strength collected under our combined governance!”

I was speechless. All I could do was look at him, lost in the heat of his voice and the look in his eyes. But my soul was soaring.

He drew away from the bed and, glancing sharply back at me, paced and paced again.

“Ever since the Queen commenced the importation of naked pleasure slaves,” he said, looking at the carpet beneath his feet, “I have puzzled over what it is that makes a strong, highborn Prince of a slave obey with such complete submission. I have racked my brain to understand it.” He paused, then went on, his hands loose at his sides and rising now and then with an easy gesture.

“All those I’ve questioned in the past have given me timid, guarded answers. You have spoken from your soul, but what is clear is that you accept your slavery as easily as they do. Of course, as the Queen has explained to me, all slaves are examined. And only the likely, as well as the beautiful, are chosen.”

He looked at me. I had never realized that there had been an examination. But immediately I recalled the Queen’s emissaries whom I had been sent to meet in a chamber of my father’s castle. I remembered them ordering me to remove my clothes and how they had touched me and watched me as I stood still for their probing fingers. I had exhibited no sudden passion. But maybe their trained eyes had seen more than I realized. They had kneaded my flesh, asked me questions, studied my face as I blushed and tried to answer.

“Rarely, if ever, does a slave run away,” my Master continued. “And most of those who run wish to be caught. It’s obvious. Defiance is the motive, boredom the incentive. The few who take the time to steal the Mistress’s or Master’s clothes succeed in their escape.”

“But doesn’t the Queen take out her wrath on their Kingdoms?” I asked. “My father himself told me the Queen was all-powerful, fearsome. Her request for slave Tributes couldn’t be denied.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “The Queen isn’t going to send her armies into war over one naked slave. All that happens is that the slave reaches his native country somewhat in disgrace. His parents are asked to send him back. If they don’t, then the slave earns no great reward. That’s all. No bag of gold. Obedient slaves are sent home with a great deal of gold. And of course there’s often the parents’ shame that their lovely has proved soft and inconstant. Brothers and sisters at home who have served as slaves resent the deserter. But what’s all that to a strong young Prince who finds service intolerable?”

He stopped his pacing and stared at me.

“A slave escaped yesterday,” he said “It was a Princess, and they have now almost given up the search. She wasn’t caught by the loyal peasants or any other village. She’s reached the bordering Kingdom of King Lysius, where slaves are always given safe passage.”

So what the slave pony Jerard had said was true! I sat, stunned, thinking about this. But I was even more stunned by the fact that the words had so little impact. My mind was in chaos.

He started to pace again, slowly, deep in his thoughts.

“Of course, there are slaves who would never take such a risk,” he started up suddenly. “They cannot endure the thought of the search parties, the capture, the public humiliation and even worse punishment. And over and over again their passions are roused, fed, roused again, and fed again so they can no longer tell punishment from pleasure. That is what the Queen wants. And these slaves probably cannot endure the thought of reaching home only to try to convince an ignorant father or mother that