I need them now so very much, thought Beauty.
Her farewells to Eva had been brief with unbridled tears and embraces. Eva had said again as she had so many times before, “I must go, Your Majesty. How can I not? How can I not go and see for myself!”
“Remember,” Beauty had said. “Our guards will be with you every step of the way and shall not leave you in Khaharanka until you yourself dismiss them. You can always return. The cohort will remain outside the walls waiting for your word.”
Beauty had cried but finally given her blessing. She had embraced Lexius for the last time as well, and as she looked into the flames she thought not of Eva or Lexius but of the future.
How am I to rule without her, without the one who made all my designs into reality, the one who carried out with vigor those proposals that were dreams to me?
Dmitri, Alexi, and Rosalynd had assured her that they would take the place of Eva. Elena was committed to this as well. It was Elena who had presided over the evening banquet, receiving the new guests, and showing her generous appreciation of all the special entertainments.
The slaves of the realm were at peace. None could guess how thoroughly Lady Eva had constructed the world in which they suffered and loved and thrived. But Beauty knew.
At last the King came into the room. He waved for all to remain as they were, no bows now in private chambers.
“Well, I did my best,” he said. He walked to the great fireplace and rested his hand against the stone, looking down into the flames. “I begged her not to go. I reminded her of all the inevitable perils. I assured her that I would seek to rescue her if I received the message. But how can any of us know what is to become of her? And I cannot raise an army to cross such vast seas. I’m afraid for her.”
“Have they gone?”
“Yes,” said the King. “I implored them to go tonight. I implored them not to let another sun rise on the same talk, the same pleading, the same tensions. They won’t go far tonight, but they’re gone, once and for all. It’s been the most trying week since we came. I’m glad it’s over.”
“Yes, and you did all that you could,” said Beauty. She looked at him, marveling at how untroubled he was, how certain that the future would not be changed by Eva’s going, his certainty that the kingdom had a great destiny as before, and that what Eva had chosen to do could only hurt Eva.
But this was the way with Laurent. Beauty knew this. Yes, he loved with a special love. But he was not to be undone by Eva. As he had said, Eva’s work had been completed. It was Beauty who had introduced the greatest innovations, and the staff which now presided over all the kingdom was as dedicated and efficient as always.
“Now, Beauty,” he said, turning to her. “I won’t hear any more of grief or doubt. You are to give up at once on this mad idea that Bellavalten will suffer without Eva. The kingdom is too strong for such a thought. And the love of our subjects for you is too great for you to doubt it. Not another word on this.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Beauty. She gave him her most knowing and taunting smile. It was the smile she always reserved for such moments, when he was dictating to her in the presence of others as to how she must feel in her soul. But she loved him. Loved him so much, and so unwaveringly.
He shook his head and gave back his own reproving smile and then he bent to kiss her.
“Queen of my heart,” he said. “In a matter of months you will wonder why you ever feared the loss of Eva.”
He rose to his full height again and stretched and then shook himself all over. He looked at Dmitri and Alexi.
“Who wishes to agree with me?” he asked. He was to some extent teasing, but it was like all teasing in that there was a truth to it.
“I agree completely, sire,” said Alexi. “What this means is more meetings, more councils, a few more appointments. And that is all. We shall miss her but she leaves no ragged hole in the fabric. The fabric has already begun to mend.”
“Yes, that is what I wanted to hear,” said the King. “Now if there is nothing more for me to do here, I’ll go down and join Elena.” And with one more kiss for Beauty he was gone, leaving the room with the same easy stride with which he’d entered it.
How long, thought Beauty, shall I keep them here, my beloved companions? Is it really their task to comfort me when I’m beyond comforting? She had heard their many predictions and assurances all week long.
“No one expects you ever to pretend to feel that which you do not feel!” Alexi had said over and over again. And Dmitri, more reticent but of the same mind, had said more than once, “You rule with perfect grace. That is what matters.”
So why did it matter so to Beauty that she could not experience raptures when she exacted alluring shudders and whimpers from her charges? Why did it trouble her that from the throne she did not know the exaltation she had known when she had been a naked slave of others?
It was unseemly to her to call some cruel and demanding master to her private rooms, as Laurent had done so easily with Eva. She did not want that, the inner shame of being the Queen naked and on her knees before another. Indeed, what she knew in Alexi’s arms and in Dmitri’s arms was rapture beyond imagining. It was different, that was all. Different, their caressing, their play, their shared enjoyment of the slaves she kept for her own amusement. So what was lacking?
She resolved she would not again complain of losing Eva.
“I have a thought,” she said. “An idea. Something I would like to see, something special, not for every night but for one very special night.”
“Ah, I can’t wait to hear it,” said Alexi.
“Your wish is my command,” said Rosalynd.
Ah, she loved the soft informal voices of those who trusted her and were close to her.
“We have talked a lot of the Discipline of the Mask,” she said. “Explain how it goes just now with those who ask for it.”
“Well,” said Dmitri, “there are five so far, three lords and two ladies. And they wait as before for your permission. I’ve spoken to each of them, as you ordered, and I think they are apt candidates—all in fit condition, comely, and with an undeniable aptitude for service.”
“You want to tell me now who they are or must I drag it out of you?” said Beauty, but not in a mean voice, no never in a mean voice. She made a little gesture of welcome with both hands as she smiled at Dmitri.
“Lady Juliana,” said Dmitri. “How long ago did she return? It’s been six months, I think?”
Beauty nodded. “Lady Juliana. What a fearsome creature she was when I first came here and such a friend to the late queen. But you know, she did originally come here as a royal slave, and as a royal slave she was sent down to the village for punishment, only to be elevated and made a lady-in-waiting by the Queen. And that is what she is with me.”
Dmitri nodded. Alexi had his usual slightly mocking and knowing smile. He certainly hadn’t forgotten the beautiful blond Juliana who’d driven Beauty on the Bridle Path the first time long ago.
In those days Juliana had worn her hair in long thick braids threaded with pearls. And now she wore a great braid encircling her head behind which her blond hair was exquisitely coiffed in waves, and the old threads of pearls were there and her face was as pretty as ever, and her voice just as lilting.
“So she wants to take the Discipline of the Mask,” said Beauty. “Prince Roger will find that most interesting, as they were once slave runaways together. And she was elevated to the Court without him.” Prince Roger was fast friends with Prince Richard in the village.
“Yes, Roger is aware and he does find it amusing,” said Dmitri. “And they’ve spoken of it as openly as you and I are speaking now. She knows what she wants, my queen. I have no doubt that she’ll do well with the Discipline of the Mask. What we need are rituals . . . how to anoint these Disciples of the Mask, and what rules to apply to their tribulations.”
“I have many ideas,” said Rosalynd. “I say we need a special day on which such persons can appear naked and masked before the Court to be anointed.”
“I like that idea,” said the Queen. “As it was in the old days with Midsummer Night.”
“Yes, and we might have more than one such festival; perhaps three or four a year,” said Dmitri. “Perhaps one every two months. We could see how it goes as more of the old royal slaves return to the kingdom.”
“Another is Princess Lynette,” said Dmitri. “You might not remember her, my queen. She ran away and was never caught. Well, she’s been back more than once. The Queen pardoned her and welcomed her to Court ten years ago.”
“I remember her,” said Beauty, and well she should since she had received her with Laurent. But it was quite impossible to remember all the names and faces of those they received nightly. The Lord Chamberlain had his lists, his proper titles, his little histories. And that was a good thing, for Beauty could not recall right now just what precious Princess Lynette looked like.
“But you know who she is, don’t you?” she said to Alexi.
He laughed. “I certainly do.”
Lynette had featured heavily in a long story Alexi had once confided to Beauty—of how he had been broken and taught to please the Queen. Blond hair, blue eyes. Yes, that much Beauty now remembered.