“Alexi,” Beauty said, gesturing for a moment’s patience. “We are pressed to leave here for other matters. But I would know several things first. Was Sonya truly indifferent to Lexius?”
“Oh, no, Your Majesty,” said Alexi. “She lied unwisely but desperately when she spoke to the Queen, and more to the point Lexius had a special destiny for her—” He broke off looking helplessly towards Dmitri.
Dmitri shot him a dark glance and shook his head.
It was subtle, quick, but Beauty caught the exchange, and she caught the look of regret in Alexi’s face. She also knew that Laurent had seen this, but Laurent would be in no great rush to acknowledge it. He would wait until it suited him, which might not be just now.
“I never knew exactly what he meant by that,” said Alexi quickly, obviously trying to repair the breech. “But Lexius said it, something, that is, about a special destiny.” He shrugged. “And she was quite enthralled with him when they sailed away together. They were quarreling, yes. But they were tired and facing a long journey. I don’t know that she would ever have agreed to leave Bellavalten with him, but once banished, she clung to him, was devoted to him, and linked her destiny with his. At least as far as I ever saw.”
“I’m sure,” Dmitri said softly, “that Lexius will answer many questions when he comes. Why ever would he come if he did not intend to answer any questions that our beloved king and queen might have? Surely he knows that he will be asked.”
Laurent drew himself up and laughed. “So he was rich, of noble birth, and might have called on his family anytime for his release.” He shook his head, marveling. “What a man!” He laughed again. “What a remarkable man.”
Beauty almost laughed too, simply because Laurent’s good spirits were always infectious, but she had to admit that the silken Lexius who seemed to glide rather than walk as other mortals walked was quite a tantalizing figure on the horizon. Again, she saw him in those moments when he’d first examined her as the Sultan’s slave, when he’d studied her all over without ever speaking a word to her, when he’d felt her teeth and her tongue, her naked sex. He’d seemed a giant of a man at that time, and his smile had been blinding. Yet she’d felt delicious menace emanating from him; she remembered that acutely, though only the thrilling menace of a master with a treasured naked pleasure slave.
“He does know we’ll be asking him many questions,” said Lady Eva. “In his letters to me he has spoken of dispelling the mysteries that surround him, of cutting the knots of so many tangled misunderstandings. He’s eager to see the new kingdom. Indeed, if he does know of any other kingdom in all the world like Bellavalten it is not enough for him to keep him from returning here. He speaks warmly of you, my king, and you, my queen. He remembers others. He has a multitude of questions of his own.”
“Very well then,” said Laurent. “This is quite enough on the matter of our beloved dark-eyed magician Lexius.” He rose, reaching for Beauty’s hand, and the entire company rose.
“And now we must go,” Beauty said. “The day-to-day cares of Bellavalten are calling us.”
i
Sybil was awakened before dawn. By now, she was used to the quick toilet, the scrubbing, polishing, cleaning of her teeth and her tongue, and the brushing of her hair. It felt good to her, and she luxuriated in the firm handling of her now-familiar grooms.
But this was the day she was going to the stables, so her bottom and legs were given even more oiling than usual, and Neshi, her handsome golden-skinned groom, warned her that if she was accepted into the Queen’s Stables, she would likely sleep there and he would not see her again.
Princess Lucinda, the mistress of the Queen’s Stables, had approved of Sybil but only conditionally. Today, Sybil would have to prove herself.
“You be a ripe little confection, Sybil,” Neshi said, kissing her tenderly. “Don’t be sent back to the Hall of Postulants. This is an immense privilege! But remember the Queen for all her strictness is very understanding and takes great pains to effectively correct her slaves.”
“Yes, sir,” Sybil answered, and said no more. She had no doubt of it. She’d been the Queen’s pet kitten in the great gardens last night, and so revered was Queen Beauty that slaves and courtiers alike fell over themselves to bow to her wherever she went, not with the icy formality of a weary Court such as those Sybil had known, but with an enthusiasm that bordered on worship.
The gardens had dazzled Sybil even more the second time she saw them than the first—what with the many gold-burnished slaves everywhere bound in artistic positions as so many magnificent sculptures and the busy games and the spectacle of naked slaves attending to all the needs of the immense Court.
The Queen had ordered Sybil exquisitely decorated for the evening with tiny jewels threaded into her pubic hair, her nipples rouged, and her ears pierced and hung with teardrop agates. Sybil’s hair had been tied up on the back of her head to fall down in long ringlets all around as she crawled beside the Queen. She’d been fitted with a silver collar of agates, and a matching leash.
The elegant and ever-charming Grand Duke André had once again pressed his suit for Sybil, as the Queen had called it, but the Queen was adamant that her “precious one,” a mere postulant, was not ready for service in the lord’s private chambers. The Queen had had no objections whatsoever to the Grand Duke handling and studying her “little kitten” Sybil, however, and Sybil had been pulled up and ordered to display herself as his gentle fingers had probed Sybil’s privates with impressive politeness. Sybil could not think of the Grand Duke’s cheerful eyes and agreeable smile without feeling weak all over. He revered her as he might an exotic cat or bird, or an artfully worked silver statuette.
Another brief experience last night had weakened her too. At one point as she accompanied the Queen on her hands and knees, she’d seen her beloved Brenn bound to a gaily decorated cross beside a table at which the King played cards with one of his friends, a Russian prince.
Brenn had been rubbed and polished with gold all over, and his arms had been bent back over the beam of the cross, his legs wide apart at the knees and bound at the ankles. His eyes had been closed as a lord or prince in impressive apparel sucked Brenn’s cock. A group of highborn spectators surrounded the cross watching the little ritual with obvious glaze-eyed fascination. The King was only a few feet away insisting the Prince pull back and make Brenn thrust his hips forward, but Sybil could see the Prince was lustily at work on his own game. The Prince’s hands had been clutching at Brenn’s backside as he sucked.
The Queen had taken the time to remark that she “adored” Brenn. And the King had said that well she ought, as Brenn was a perfect fount of elixir for those who clamored for it, as the Queen could well see. How lovingly the Queen had stroked Brenn’s hair as she stood for a moment beside him. Then she and her pet kitten had moved on.
The ashen-haired Lady Lucinda had been there, and that is when she’d seen Sybil and remarked what a fine pony Sybil would make.
Lady Lucinda was a delicate, fine-boned woman with pretty hazel eyes. It was she—with the help of the famous princesses Rosalynd and Elena—who had designed the Queen’s Stables and saw to them every day. But Sybil had been so taken with the Queen she’d hardly noticed Lady Lucinda. Oh, surely sooner or later, I shall be a pony for the Queen, she had thought.
“It is impossible to exaggerate the will of the Queen and her hand in everything,” said Neshi, his dark eyes flashing as he lectured Sybil. “So never mistake her kindness for indulgence.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sybil quietly, savoring the strokes of the brush moving through her perfumed hair, bringing up the luster that she would never see for herself in a looking glass.
“Indeed the talk of the kingdom this morning,” said Neshi, “is that Queen Beauty only yesterday at a Court audience readmitted to the kingdom three remarkable grooms who’d been banished under Queen Eleanor, accepting them back with such kindness a
nd consideration that all were amazed. But that’s the Queen’s will, don’t you see, and the King never questions her. The King leaves many matters in her hands entirely. It’s said the King feels the Queen has a greater wisdom in refinements than he has.”
Sybil didn’t dare to ask Neshi to continue, knowing full well he would continue anyway. Neshi was the most talkative of her grooms so far, a thin, feline creature whose skin looked all the more deeply golden for the thin silver bracelets he wore. Of course it was entirely permissible to put questions to one’s groom, she’d been taught that again yesterday during her general lessons in slave etiquette, but she knew full well that idle curiosity was not tolerated.
“Georgette, Charlotte, and Samantha, those are their names!” said Neshi. “Only no one ever knew them by those names when they served as grooms under the late queen.” He shook his head. He was applying rouge to Sybil’s lips and a touch to her nipples. “No, we certainly did not. In those days, they were George, Charles and Samuel!”
“Truly?” asked Sybil, losing her reserve. “But what do you mean?”
“That they passed as men here, as grooms, dressing as men, living as men, right here in our midst, until the late queen discovered them!”
Sybil was fascinated.
“They were caught in the woods one day outside the village. They’d gone together to bathe in a little creek there and thought they were all alone, when a soldier stumbled on them. When Lord Gregory heard, he had them dragged before the Queen. He was furious at their fraudulent behavior; their bold deceit.”
Neshi again shook his head. “I tell you, what a shock. I’d lived, dined, worked with all three of them. And they turned out to be women! And I never even guessed! Yes, they had beautiful skin, and yes, their voices weren’t all that deep, but still, there are plenty of young grooms around here with sweet faces. The kingdom likes sweet faces. But all grooms are men. Men. That is how it’s always been. Well, to give the Captain of the Guard credit, he pleaded for mercy, saying they’d never harmed anyone, and that they’d been excellent grooms in the Lord Mayor’s female pony stable. They were as strong as any other groom, said the Captain. Well, that’s hard to believe!”
“What happened to them?”
“The old queen listened to Lord Gregory. She had them stripped of their male clothes and dressed in ragged dirty cast-off women’s clothing and then exiled from the kingdom. Well, they’ve come back, and dressed as men! Same as before. Same bobbed hair. Dressed as men, and begging the new queen to allow them to serve once more. And the new queen has allowed it. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘Why should they not live as men if they choose?’ Lord Gregory was steaming. But the Court thought it amusing. So did the King. The Queen said the same thing the Captain had said years ago. What harm had they done? So let them do as they like. Besides, they were skilled grooms of remarkable accomplishment. And off the Queen sent them—to be liveried for her service. It’s said she’s taken Charlotte into her own quarters.”
Sybil gasped. “Why, I saw her last night! Charles, that’s what the Queen called her. It was Charlotte who turned me out as a pet kitten last night. I thought she was a tall youth. I had no idea. Why, she was my groom last night in the garden! She was quite strong, quite dexterous.”
“There, you see what I mean about the Queen’s will? So please the Queen! Never take her kindness for lack of will. And Sybil, I don’t want to see you here again.”
“Yes, Neshi,” said Sybil. “I want only to please.”
“Yes, well, to be a pony is one of the most demanding forms of slavery,” said Neshi, “but I can assure you that once you’ve been perfected in the stables, you’ll be perfect for anything.”
Was that really true? Sybil didn’t think so.
“Goodbye, little dearest,” said Neshi as he helped her up off the table. A husky attendant had arrived to take her to the stables. At once he pitched her up over his shoulder, and started off at a brisk walk.
“Wait, now,” said Neshi. “Not so fast.” He gathered Sybil’s hair up and placed her hands on top of it on the back of her neck. “There now, that’s how that’s done!” he said. “When you carry a slave with long hair, he or she is to hold it to the back of the neck. Oh, so many new ones to train.” He gave Sybil’s bottom two hard spanks. “Do well, my girl,” he said. “You can’t imagine how many other little sugar babies wish they had the chance you’ve been given.”
ii
It was as all else, thought Sybil. The stables were infinitely larger than she had ever imagined, and the full trappings of the place enthralled her. Never in the world beyond the realm had she seen such a stable whose doors, rafters, and stalls were all built of high-polished wood with gleaming brass fittings, and in which the harnesses were gilded or painted crimson.
But the most breathtaking sight was of the ponies themselves in the stalls, a long row on either side of the stable, of shapely posteriors and long legs—each girl bent over a beam from the waist, her wrists strapped tight to the small of her back.
Into a vacant stall, Sybil was rushed at once by an able-bodied and boyish groom with huge muscles, and a round handsome face sprinkled with freckles.
“Ah, little Sybil, the Queen’s new pet,” said the groom. “Well, my name’s Oweyn, dearest, and you’ll be in good strong hands with me, never fear it. I’ve been training little girl ponies for years. And Lady Lucinda has told me to pay special attention to you. Now, in you go, and bend over the beam. It’s smooth enough, lacquered and polished, there, that’s it, see? Your breasts hang quite free and your little chin can rest on the pillow there. Now plant your feet firmly on the ground. That’s it. You’re going to be booted immediately.”
Sybil was forced over the beam, and her toes barely touched the hay-strewn floor, but to her amazement, the beam was suddenly adjusted in height for her by means of a crank. Oweyn’s hand forced her face down on the pillow, and she felt the nudge of his boot forcing her legs apart.
A panic rose in her along with a sudden heat between her legs, and the feeling of her vagina thrumming and almost gasping. I can’t escape now, she thought as she had countless times. I’ve given up my will entirely, and what if, what if I can’t bear it all, what if? But her mind went blank.
“Now, let’s understand pony behavior from the beginning,” said Oweyn in his rapid cheerful voice. “No talking of any kind ever from a pony unless I say speak. When I ask you a direct question, you’re to nod. Now, nod for me, Sybil.”
Why did nodding to this simple command bring the tears to her eyes? She felt a sob in her throat but her sex was burning. Oweyn was strapping her wrists together, and that too made her feel more utterly defenseless. That all power over her fate was gone from her took her breath away.
Then with a shock, she felt his hand under her sex, lifting her pubis, stroking it and fondling it as if he were weighing it. “Nice little pelt!” he said. “Needs no trimming at all. Pretty black curling hair, and pretty red pubic lips, very visible, very plump. I like that.”
Sybil blushed hot and the tears washed down her cheeks. But she thought desperately that she must be happy the anticipation was over. She was here now, plunged into it, as Brenn might have said, a part of it all, and she had surrendered the right to do or say anything.
A great languid ease came over her. She lay on the beam and on the pillow, and she did not jump as Oweyn felt of her breasts, patted them, and pinched her nipples. All she could see before her was the curve of the pillow and the polished back wall of the stall.
“Fine little filly,” he said. “Now, stop shivering and crying. Do you want to be a good filly, or end up a dreary little pack horse pulling a cart?”
Sybil nodded. What else could she do?
“That’s not a nod. I want a real nod,” said Oweyn. “I want to see all these ringlets shake!”
She nodded more vigorously.
“Now, here’s Georget
te with the boots.”
Sybil felt the left boot going on, and well fitted it was for her foot. Now someone, Georgette, presumably, was lacing it up tight to her calf. The boot was heavy and she realized with another blush and flood of tears that it was fitted with a heavy horseshoe. On came the second boot. The leather of the boots felt delicious over her ankles.
Hands lifted Sybil’s head and she felt the soft titillating tug of a hairbrush, and a voice in her ear.
“Now, I’m Georgette, little Sybil,” said the voice. “And I’m grooming your hair to match the hair of all the other young pony ladies. Two combs to hold it back from your face and jeweled clips to see it’s gathered to hang down the back of your neck. And you do have the loveliest raven hair. So curly. So bouncy. So full. This will keep it out of your face when you’re in harness.”
Sybil nodded as vigorously as she could.
“Good girl,” said Georgette. Surely this was the Georgette that Neshi had described. Her voice was a low purring alto, and her hands were as quick and deft as those of Oweyn. She didn’t know which one stirred the desire in her the most.
“Now you’re going to live in this stall, sugarplum,” said Georgette. “You’ll sleep in it and eat in it and rest in it when you’re not tethered or harnessed, and if the Queen approves you, your name will be above on the beam, for the Queen likes to see names, and has them made of brass letters. She frequently selects her teams herself, and whenever you’re under the Queen’s eye, you stamp your little feet to show your willingness, your eagerness to serve, you understand me?”
Again, Sybil nodded, but the tears were flowing helplessly. She sobbed deeply in her throat. And her sex was so plumped with desire and wetness that she could scarcely endure it. Panic seized her and she tensed all over suddenly and felt her leg muscles quivering as though she would suddenly try to run, to escape.
Hands pressed down on her—Oweyn’s hands which she knew, and then the hands of Georgette who spoke.