The remainder of the day was spent in easy conversation and drinking, with Lady Eva and Prince Tristan both busy writing down much of what we had discussed. Soon my secretary Emlin was directed to call the royal scribes to me to assist with those letters that must be sent to Bellavalten and the whole world right away.

Supper was a veritable banquet, and by eight in the evening I was exhausted and ready once more to retire. Only one thing nagged at me and it was, of course, the matter of Lexius and “disgrace” involving Alexi and the mysterious Sonya, but there would be time to learn about all this. Alexi would not have so boldly admitted that he had written already to Lexius if there had been reasons not to pursue such a matter.

In fact, we made a long list of names, names of those slaves I remembered and those Beauty remembered, to which Captain Gordon added a number, and so did Lady Elvera, and Alexi—all of whom were to receive letters of invitation from us. And I could not keep track of the names of those already waiting for us in Bellavalten.

It would be four days at least before we set out for Bellavalten, and much work could be done during that time, and many letters would leave here before we did.

At last, the long and eventful day was done, and Beauty and I were alone—cozy once more in our private chambers, around our own most beloved hearth.

I had been enchanted with the manner in which she presented her ideas to the little assembly, and this made me all the more eager to hold her in my arms. Truly I did not care that she’d been with Alexi. I determined that I would not allow myself to care, and if I thought of it for one moment, I would relish the thought, allowing it to tantalize me, to stoke the fires in my heart, and never to dampen my spirits.

I was so hungry for Beauty, in fact, I all but tore her gown to pieces as I’d done with Lady Eva the night before, and I flung her down on the bed and ravaged her for the better part of an hour before I was finally worn out. She was hot and pliant, her kisses as heated as mine. She resisted nothing as I tormented her gently, playing with her nipples, punishing them, teasing her and holding her at bay, and then handling her with my usual affectionate abandon.

At last I lay there, deliciously exhausted, and I felt her cool hands touching all the little welts and bruises I had from Lady Eva’s paddle and strap. Soon, Beauty was dabbing a soothing ointment here and there, and smoothing the sore muscles of my thighs and calves.

“You are such a wicked boy, Laurent,” she said. “Such a wicked boy!”

“You don’t know the half of it, Queen Beauty,” I murmured into the pillow. My eyes were closed. Her fingers massaging my backside were arousing me again. She pinched and scratched at the welts playfully, then pressed the ointment deep into my sore flesh. Ripples of sweet sensation passed through me, and over all my skin.

“But my, how she whipped you,” she said under her breath. “Wicked Lady Eva.”

“Oh, yes, wicked Lady Eva.” I sighed. “Inexhaustibly wicked Lady Eva.”

There came a knock on our parlor door.

I put on my dressing gown and went to answer, expecting Emlin with some tiresome pesky message, but it was Tristan standing there.

“Well, come in,” I said as I directed him to a chair by the fire. Beauty had retired into her little parlor adjoining the bedchamber. I took the chair opposite him.

“Just one thing more which I wanted to lay before you in private,” he said confidentially, glancing anxiously at the bedroom door as if he did not want Beauty to hear.

“Continue,” I said. “We are alone.” I sat back, and rather enjoying his handsome looks as I had been enjoying them all day, but now especially that my desires were for the moment satisfied, and I did not want to mount him and make him bite the pillow under me as I had been wanting to do all afternoon. “And call me Laurent, now, please.”

“Yes, sire, I mean, Laurent, yes,” he said. “This is a delicate matter. But there is a great manor house in ruins way south of the castle, right near the border, that was in its time quite beautifully appointed and rich.”

“You want this manor house?” I asked. “I thought you already had your own manor house.”

“No, I don’t want it, and yes, I do have my own, as a matter of fact,” he replied. “But what I was wondering is . . . could this house not be restored by Your Majesties for a specific purpose, to wit, to become a place of luxurious accommodations for those lords and ladies of the kingdom, princes, princesses, dukes, duchesses, whatever, who might hunger for a night of being thoroughly mastered and punished in secret by those slaves who possess the gift?”

I laughed. “Of course,” I said. I laughed again. This day would live forever in my memory! What else, I thought, might happen before the hour of midnight? “And who says it must be gifted slaves who do the mastering?”

“Well, no, it wouldn’t have to be slaves necessarily, but there are some who are so singularly gifted. It could be a place where they are mastered by lords and ladies as well.”

“So the old kingdom had no such accommodations?” I asked. “A courtier who longed for the lash wasn’t allowed to feel it?”

“No.”

“How absurd.” I thought of the old queen. What an idiot! But I felt a bit foolish that I’d never even thought of this before. Not once during my years as a slave had I thought of it.

Yes, in the sultanate, I’d mastered Lexius, the Sultan’s steward, right in his own splendid quarters. But Lexius had been no courtier. He had in my mind been a servant.

And Tristan surely remembered, too, how I’d mastered Prince Jerard, a handsome pony, when I caught him in the recreation yard of the stable. And Tristan remembered that I had mastered him, because I had done that too—in the ship returning from the sultanate, I’d whipped Tristan as often as I’d whipped Lexius. And sometimes Captain Gordon had watched, marveling at my skill at mastering as if it was something most slaves did not possess. It had not been a marvel to me. As I’d explained to Beauty, I had always relished the idea of both—being mastered, and mastering. But I’d never thought of mastering lords and ladies of the Court. Never.

But now I wondered keenly how many might have wanted such a thing.

“Then we shall establish such a place,” I said, “replete with comfortably and richly outfitted chambers, where lords and ladies may go and no one will be the wiser as to who is master or mistress. We’ll make the house a sumptuous, very private retreat.”

“Marvelous!” he said with a sigh of relief. “It happens now, you see, that some are mastered by their slaves, but it is hidden, and secret.”

“Ridiculous,” I said.

Hmmm. What if Beauty wanted to be mastered by someone other than me? What if Alexi had . . . No, that had not happened. I’d seen her fresh and innocent little bottom last night when I’d returned. Still, the thought of it . . .

“It’s something to be enjoyed like anything else,” I said. “And to think that those of privilege would deny themselves such pleasures! What a waste.”

But what if Beauty . . . ? No, I couldn’t think of it. I could accept her taking Alexi into her bed, yes, of course, but— I wouldn’t think anymore on that. Well, not for the moment. But then her voice in my memory saying she must have the very same prerogatives . . . the very same.

Alas, I had to grow into this new role as the King of Bellavalten.

“So it is with Lord Stefan,” Tristan said. “You remember him, the Queen’s cousin?”

“Yes. Of course. He’d been your lover before you were captured and brought to the kingdom. Of course I remember. He couldn’t master you and so you rebelled.”

“Yes,” said Tristan, “and he has a fearsome yellow-haired slave named Becca of whom he is terrified, and it all takes place behind locked doors.”

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. But this mention of Lord Stefan put me in mind of something.

“Wait,” I said, putting up my hand as I tried to recollect this. “I heard something when I was a slave at the castle. I heard that every year on Midsummer Eve lords and ladies who wanted to be slaves, even princes or princesses of the Court, could come forward and ask to be sold in the village. I never knew for certain whether or not this was true but . . .”

“It had been a custom, yes,” said Tristan. “My master, Nicholas the Chronicler, told me of it. But the Queen hated it. She had no respect for lords and ladies who voluntarily gave themselves up to slavery and she took no interest in such volunteers ever after. Also they had to go into it completely, banished from the castle. They were stripped and sold in the village. No turning back . . .”

“Of course. You’re speaking now with the manor house of someone’s choosing to be a slave for a few hours, a night perhaps.”

“Yes,” Tristan said. “That is what I am thinking of. Also the Queen abolished the custom that last year—the same year that you and I were sent to the village—because her very own cousin, Lord Stefan, of whom we’ve been speaking, wanted to be sold, and the Queen was furious that one of her own kinsmen would choose this.” Tristan smiled and shook his head. “Ah, Stefan. He wanted it so desperately but was denied the opportunity forever.”