To think that I might see Lexius again was quite an inducement. But even if Lexius never did make the journey from his far-off home in India, I was bound to return to Bellavalten as soon as I heard of the new regime.

That Princesses Rosalynd and Elena had also written to me was an added inducement. They had served with me for years in the sultanate, and they too had returned to Bellavalten. In sum, I could not have turned away from all this.

It was a long and arduous journey, but of course the closer we came to the fabled kingdom, the warmer and sweeter the weather until we were in the blessed land itself. My last night at the nearby inn was torment. But I took the time to bathe, and be shaved, and to put on fresh garments for the morning ride to the kingdom’s gates. In fact, I spent a long time with my mirror as I reflected on what might soon occur.

I’d been looking all too much in the mirror since news of the “new kingdom” had come.

When you are a naked pleasure slave, it seems to me, you learn not to be vain, but to reside completely in your physical being. You become aware of your gifts in a way that is lasting, and perhaps never quite understandable to those who have never been pleasure slaves. You hear yourself described, spoken about, unendingly by your masters and mistresses, and grooms. You learn what they notice, what interests them, what they value, what they like and don’t like, and what ought to be enhanced.

Thick jet-black hair, rather pale blue eyes, a somewhat delicately modeled face, indeed a bit of a long face, and a large frame—these were my endowments in brief—and of course a cock that was easily as big as most others when standing at attention or in repose. But for the kingdom and the sultanate, these features were never the sum total of any slave’s individual charm. The spirit of the slave was paramount—the slave’s grace or polish, the timbre of the slave’s voice and softest moan, and above all the expression on a slave’s face.

I’d been known for hopeless spontaneity, openness, the inability to conceal my feelings or fears, and praised unendingly for appealing eyes.

I couldn’t forget all this when I heard of the revival of Bellavalten. It mattered to me to be accepted in Bellavalten—not merely for sentiment’s sake or because I’d once been a slave there but as a self-possessed and impressive courtier now.

So I had to make a careful and somewhat ruthless assessment of myself before this journey. Was I youthful still in any regard? Was I in my prime? Were there more tiny and delicate lines around my eyes than I cared to see in the glass? And it was useless of course to ask my mistress what she thought, as she would lie to me out of tenderness, and pointless to ask Fabien, as he adored me and was so blind to his own charms. He lacked a vocabulary for assessing beauty. Whatever Fabien gave me daily, he gave through the devotion in his face and doting voice.

Well, on the last night, I made the ruthless assessment once more. My hair was thick as ever and now down to my shoulders, lustrous, still very black, and that was good. Maybe I had kept some of my youthful beauty even if I had grown very tall during my time in the sultanate, and if anything I was fuller of chest now and better muscled than in those early years.

Whatever. Time would reveal the truth that I couldn’t find for certain in any mirror. I wasn’t turning back. I felt comfortable on the final morning. I wore my best dark puce-colored tunic, and trousers, though it was far too warm for them now, and my heavy Russian boots.

From a mile away, as we came out of the mountain pass, I saw the great castle on its cliff above the valley and marveled as I had that very first time so long ago at its immense size. It appeared to have a multitude of towers, and from its many crowded pinnacles and ramparts there streamed red and gold banners furling in the wind.

Before the walls and on either side of the great drawbridge, I saw gaily colored tents, and crowds of people about them, and there was an air of energy and business about the entire multitude milling as far as I could see. The road had been crowded, yes, but I was still surprised at the number of those congregating here. There were campgrounds and other tents off to the right and left near the heavy brooding thickets of oaks.

Fabien drew up beside me on his chestnut mare, anticipating my questions, and all I had to do was gesture for him to explain.

“So many are coming, applying as slaves, or grooms, or simply immigrants eager to live in the kingdom that the halls inside the walls can no longer contain them,” he explained.

Of course he would know because while I’d rested at the various inns along the way, brooding, dreaming, looking in the mirror, and staring out the windows, he’d been gossiping in the kitchens and with the men in the yard.

Fabien was very excited about this venture. I had taken him with me to India when I’d gone there with Lexius, and he had been devoted to me since that time. Brown haired, big boned, with cold dark eyes and an amazing warm voice, he always looked splendid in his velvet livery, and went on to explain excitedly what he’d heard along the road.

“Many are being turned away for obvious reasons, but an amazing number are accepted,” he went on. “Look there. That line. That’s probably all slave postulants. You can tell even from here. Look, the guards are motioning some on, and sending others away. Of course those of royal or noble birth go through the gates. If the guards spot a postulant of exceptional quality, well, they spirit that one right inside.”

Indeed I could see this happening to two lovely young peasant women as we watched, and one very comely boy.

But the majority were headed to the tents to be interviewed, it seemed, or tested in some way; and there were soldiers lounging about everywhere, to keep order, I suppose, though no one seemed to be breaking the peace. Wine and hot food were for sale from open stands here and there, and I saw a young girl, a very pretty young girl, seated on a bundle, weeping with her hands to her face.

We moved on steadily to the drawbridge and the soldiers greeted us with the predictable respect.

Fabien rattled off my many names and titles with appropriate dignity, and we were motioned to proceed through the courtyard gates.

Two messengers ran ahead to announce us, I presumed; and I felt my heart going wild inside me, as I strove to look cool and collected, my eyes moving over the tops of the walls.

There was an air of cleanliness and order everywhere that I looked.

And as we entered the first of the great courtyards before the doors of the castle proper, I saw on either side of us at a great distance the immense newly erected halls for arriving slaves and grooms. Applicants were giving up their mounts, their beasts of burden, and laying down their bundles and being escorted inside. There was so much easy and convivial commotion I couldn’t make much of it, but I wondered at the tender feelings of these brave individuals who were hoping so desperately to be taken into Bellavalten’s magnificent and engulfing world.

Liveried servants, in blue and gold, now poured through the yawning mouth of the inner courtyard to help out the members of our little caravan, and Fabien was on his feet to help me down from my mount.

I walked across the broad planks of the gaping passageway as if I hadn’t a care in the world, and then there rose before me that vision of the great north façade of the castle with its endless arched windows rising higher and higher to the battlements far above.

I recalled, whether I wanted to or not, the first time I’d beheld it, a trembling naked slave thrown over the horse of the Captain of the Guard. It had been the custom in those days to strip slaves well before their arrival in Queen Eleanor’s realm. She wanted her peasants and villagers to enjoy the spectacle of new arrivals. And I had walked a good deal of the way here, though the Captain, tiring of the slow pace, had thrown me over his horse for the final mile.

I’d been so fearful, so defenseless, so certain that I could never endure the things my older brother had so vaguely yet impishly described.

“You’ll do well, Dmitri,” he’d said. “Just as I did. Simply yield and obey.” He had laughed. “Let me assure you, you’ll know more good hot pleasure there than you’ll ever know anywhere afterwards.”

Within six months, the Queen had had enough of my clumsiness and uncontrollable tears and packed me off to the village for punishment. I’d wondered whether or not my disgrace was known to my family back home. In fact, it had never been communicated to them and they were never told that I’d been later kidnapped and taken to the sultanate where I served for so long.

I stood staring at the great doors before me, remembering how I had scarcely dared to look up on that first day. The Captain had smacked me hard with his leather belt, telling me to stand straight and bow my head, and take pride that I was about to serve the great queen.

He’d snapped his fingers for two of his soldiers, directing them towards me with silent gestures that I hadn’t understood. In a moment, I understood all. They had stroked and teased my balls and cock until I was hard from it, pinching my nipples and spanking me with their hard calloused hands until I’d been “presentable” as they called it, and I’d been so confused by the intense desire I’d felt.

“The Queen will love you,” the Captain had said with a wink as he rode off.

When I’d seen him next, six months later in the Queen’s Village, he’d whipped me with his strap for what seemed an eternity, chiding me for having failed at Court and promising me the Place of Public Punishment would make me into a perfect prince for the Queen. That had been before I was auctioned in the Village Square and sold to one of the retired soldiers who kept a house on the outskirts of the little place.