said the Queen, “but all the Court must have a look at her. Lord Gregory,” she said, and made an airy gesture.
A great murmur rose from the Court gathered around. And Beauty saw a tall gray-haired man approach, though she could not see him clearly. He wore soft leather sock boots, turned down at the knees to reveal a lining of the finest miniver.
“Display the girl ...”
“But Mother,” the Prince protested.
“Nonsense, all the common people have seen her. We shall see her,” said the Queen.
“And should she be gagged, your Highness?” asked this strange tall man with the fur-lined boots.
“No, that is not necessary. Though punish her surely if she speaks or cries out.”
“And the hair, she is shielded by all this hair,” said the man, but he was now lifting Beauty and immediately had her wrists clasped over her head. As she stood, she felt herself hopelessly revealed and could not prevent crying. She dreaded a reproof from the Prince, and she could see the Queen all the better though she did not want to see her. Black hair showed beneath the Queen’s sheer veil, hanging in ripples over her shoulders, and her eyes were black as the Prince’s eyes.
“Leave her hair as it is,” said the Prince almost jealously.
“O, he will defend me!” Beauty thought. But then she heard the Prince himself give the order. “Mount her on the table for all to see.”
The table was rectangular and stood in the center of the room. It reminded Beauty of an altar. She was forced to kneel on it facing the thrones where the Prince had taken his place beside his mother.
And quickly the gray-haired man placed a large block of smooth wood beneath her belly. She could rest her weight on it and she did, as he forced her knees wide apart and then stretched out her legs so her knees didn’t touch the table at all, her ankles bound by leather to the edges. Now her wrists were treated the same. She kept her face hidden as best as she could, weeping.
“You will be silent,” said the man icily to her, “or I shall see that you cannot be anything else. Do not misunderstand the Queen’s leniency. She does not gag you only because it amuses the Court to see your mouth as it is, and to see you struggle with your own willfulness.”
And now, to Beauty’s shame, he raised her chin and placed beneath it a long thick wooden chin rest. She could not lower her head, though she lowered her eyes. And she saw all the room about her.
She saw the Lords and Ladies rising from the banquet tables. She saw the immense fire. And then she saw this man, too, with his thin angular face, and gray eyes that were not as cold as his voice, but for the moment seemed even to evince tenderness.
A long shudder went through her as she contemplated herself—spread out, yet mounted so that all could inspect even her face if they chose, and she tried to conceal her sobs by pressing her lips together. Even her hair was no covering, for it fell evenly on either side of her face and cloaked no part of her.
“Young one, little one,” said the gray-haired man under his breath. “You’re so frightened and it’s useless.” There seemed a little warmth in his voice. “What is fear, after all? It is indecision. You seek some way to resist, escape. There is none. Do not tense your limbs. It’s wasted.”
Beauty bit her lip and felt the tears sliding down her face, but she was soothed by his speaking to her. He smoothed back the hair from her forehead. His hand was light and cold as if he were testing for a fever.
“Now be still. Everyone is coming to see you.”
Beauty’s eyes glazed over, but she could still see the distant thrones where the Prince and his mother were talking to one another quite naturally. But she realized all the Court had risen and was moving towards the dais. The Lords and Ladies were bowing to the Queen and the Prince, before turning and coming towards her.
Beauty squirmed. It seemed the air itself touched her naked buttocks
A great murmur rose from the Court gathered around. And Beauty saw a tall gray-haired man approach, though she could not see him clearly. He wore soft leather sock boots, turned down at the knees to reveal a lining of the finest miniver.
“Display the girl ...”
“But Mother,” the Prince protested.
“Nonsense, all the common people have seen her. We shall see her,” said the Queen.
“And should she be gagged, your Highness?” asked this strange tall man with the fur-lined boots.
“No, that is not necessary. Though punish her surely if she speaks or cries out.”
“And the hair, she is shielded by all this hair,” said the man, but he was now lifting Beauty and immediately had her wrists clasped over her head. As she stood, she felt herself hopelessly revealed and could not prevent crying. She dreaded a reproof from the Prince, and she could see the Queen all the better though she did not want to see her. Black hair showed beneath the Queen’s sheer veil, hanging in ripples over her shoulders, and her eyes were black as the Prince’s eyes.
“Leave her hair as it is,” said the Prince almost jealously.
“O, he will defend me!” Beauty thought. But then she heard the Prince himself give the order. “Mount her on the table for all to see.”
The table was rectangular and stood in the center of the room. It reminded Beauty of an altar. She was forced to kneel on it facing the thrones where the Prince had taken his place beside his mother.
And quickly the gray-haired man placed a large block of smooth wood beneath her belly. She could rest her weight on it and she did, as he forced her knees wide apart and then stretched out her legs so her knees didn’t touch the table at all, her ankles bound by leather to the edges. Now her wrists were treated the same. She kept her face hidden as best as she could, weeping.
“You will be silent,” said the man icily to her, “or I shall see that you cannot be anything else. Do not misunderstand the Queen’s leniency. She does not gag you only because it amuses the Court to see your mouth as it is, and to see you struggle with your own willfulness.”
And now, to Beauty’s shame, he raised her chin and placed beneath it a long thick wooden chin rest. She could not lower her head, though she lowered her eyes. And she saw all the room about her.
She saw the Lords and Ladies rising from the banquet tables. She saw the immense fire. And then she saw this man, too, with his thin angular face, and gray eyes that were not as cold as his voice, but for the moment seemed even to evince tenderness.
A long shudder went through her as she contemplated herself—spread out, yet mounted so that all could inspect even her face if they chose, and she tried to conceal her sobs by pressing her lips together. Even her hair was no covering, for it fell evenly on either side of her face and cloaked no part of her.
“Young one, little one,” said the gray-haired man under his breath. “You’re so frightened and it’s useless.” There seemed a little warmth in his voice. “What is fear, after all? It is indecision. You seek some way to resist, escape. There is none. Do not tense your limbs. It’s wasted.”
Beauty bit her lip and felt the tears sliding down her face, but she was soothed by his speaking to her. He smoothed back the hair from her forehead. His hand was light and cold as if he were testing for a fever.
“Now be still. Everyone is coming to see you.”
Beauty’s eyes glazed over, but she could still see the distant thrones where the Prince and his mother were talking to one another quite naturally. But she realized all the Court had risen and was moving towards the dais. The Lords and Ladies were bowing to the Queen and the Prince, before turning and coming towards her.
Beauty squirmed. It seemed the air itself touched her naked buttocks
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