"Gardner Dozois - Fairy Tale" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dozois Gardner)

of a thousand candles like a lake of mist lit by moonlight. Out on the marble floor,
people in vivid, multi-colored clothes twirled around like butterflies caught in a
whirlwind, while music filled all the air, thick and rich and hot as blood, and made
the nerves jump under the skin.
It was glamorous, as long as you didnтАЩt get too close to the privies (it was a
warm summer night, after all). This would bother you, though, more than it bothered
Eleanor, who was already used to an everyday level of stink that would have turned
the stomachs of most moderns.
Cranking her charm to its highest setting, palms damp, she swallowed her fear
and mingled.
She didnтАЩt really fool anyone, of course. She was a good seamstress, but the
materials sheтАЩd had to work with were nowhere near fine enough for court fashion.
But it didnтАЩt matter much. She was beautiful, and charming, and vivacious, and still
had enough of the remnants of society manners learned before her family fell on
harder times to get byтАФalthough she wasnтАЩt fooling anybody there, either. No
matter. She was an exotic amusement, someone new in over-familiar court circles
where everyone had worked through all possible permutations of their relationships
with everyone else long before. TheyтАЩd have tired of her within days, of course, but
by then she might well have found some rich young gentleman willing to take her on
as a toy, and perhaps even keep her for awhileтАжso her plan might actually have
worked, if sheтАЩd been willing to settle for someone less exalted.
But then the Prince crossed the floor, and stood at the edge of the ring of
preening young men who now surrounded her, and their eyes met, and his first grew
round with surprise, and then slowly grew hot.
He strode forward, the crowd of lesser men melting away before him, and
held out his hand, imperiously commanding her to dance, all the while his eyes
smoldered at her. SheтАЩd never seen anyone so handsome.
Eleanor took his hand and they spun away, and for a second, gliding across
the softly gleaming marble floor, moving with him with the music all around them, it
seemed like the perfect culmination of every fairy-tale sheтАЩd ever read.
Then he yanked her roughly aside into one of the curtained alcoves, tugging
the hangings shut behind them. There was a divan in there, and an oil-lamp, and a
small table with a nearly empty bottle of brandy on it. The air was thick and foul,
with a strong reek of pungent animal musk to it, like the den of a panther or a bear,
and the divan was rumpled and stained.
Startled, she started to speak, but the Prince waved her brusquely to silence.
For a long moment, the Prince stared at her, coldly, sneeringly, contemptuously,
almost as if he hated her. His heavy, handsome face was harsh and cruel, cold as
winter ice in spite of the heat that burned in his small hard eyes. He was viciously
drunk, his face flushed, swaying where he stood, and he reeked of brandy and sweat
and old semen, a streak of which still glistened on his pants from some previous
encounter earlier in the evening. He made a wet, gloating noise, like a greedy child
smacking its lips, and swept Eleanor crushingly into his arms.
All at once, he was kissing her brutally, biting her lips, forcing his tongue into
her mouth, his breath like death, the taste of him sour and rancid and bitter. He
grabbed her breasts, squeezing them savagely with his powerful hands, mashing and
twisting them, so that sudden blinding pain shot through her.
Then he was forcing her down onto the divan, bearing her down under his
crushing weight, tearing at her clothes, forcing a knee roughly between her legs,
prying them open.