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Nor Perhaps Ever

Chapter 1

Etienne was twenty years old and still hadn't married. While it was common in Kingdom Varimore to marry by age sixteen, Etienne simply refused and had been continuing to refuse for four years. It wasn't because Princess Corene was unattractive. Why, in fact, she was absolutely gorgeous. She turned heads each and every time she entered a room, with her curly white fur and white mane falling in luxurious waves to her tail, jewels shimmering on her fingers and the swell of her riding cleavage. That tiny waist a male could get his paw around. The swing of her tail and those slanted, mischievous eyes. But she was as cunning as she was beautiful. She held the hearts of the court in the palm of her paw and molded them to her liking. But along with her cunning was a ruthlessness that Etienne hated. She was too much like his mother. Kissing her always left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Queen Donica was a viper and had attempted to raise Etienne under her careful tutelage. That he refused to learn her ways, to manipulate, scheme, and lie was the cause of her endless frustration. Unlike Corene, Etienne stubbornly rebuffed the queen's lessons. He wanted to rule his kingdom with justice and truth - an ideal Queen Donica and Corene ridiculed him for mercilessly.

Etienne stared moodily out the window as Queen Donica entered the library, voluminous red skirts swaying, a fluttering fan in her paw. Her red mane was loose around her naked shoulders and fell to an incredible length behind them. Walking ever one step behind her was serious Primus, her favorite Beauceron slave. He carried a tray of refreshments and a small case of the queen's cigarettes, his face solemn, his naked black body hard.

The library at Wychowl was comprised of the largest collection in the kingdom, its golden walls lined with floor-length windows, its wooden chairs delicately carved, its rugs woven with intricate designs. It was day, and sunlight poured in beams across the endless rows of towering shelves, dancing with dust motes as they reached to touch Prince Etienne's golden mane. Like his father before him, Etienne was a King Shepherd. Indeed, the blood of the King Shepherd always trumped any blood that mingled with it, thus Etienne had never questioned the fact that he looked nothing like Queen Donica, who was a red and white Andalusian Hound.

The queen's heeled slippers clicked in the stillness, so loud that Etienne flattened his ears. Why did she have to come here? The library was his favorite place, his quiet place. Her very presence sullied it.

"Darling," the queen purred, coming to a stop near Etienne. She smoothed her skirts under her backside and took a gracious seat on the window seat across from him.

"Mother," Etienne answered indifferently and did not turn his eyes from the window. He could hear all the little sounds that signaled Queen Donica's normal idle behavior: sticking the long cigarette holder in her mouth, waiting for Primus to light her up, the stroke of the match as the Beauceron obliged . . . then the harsh scent of the tobacco. Etienne made a face. He hated when Donica smoked. It was smelly. And it made her fangs yellow.

"Poo," Donica scolded and playfully blew smoke at his face. "Is that any way to greet your mother?"

Etienne irritably waved the smoke away. "I would have kissed your feet but the jewels on your slippers cut something awful," he returned sarcastically.

Donica laughed shrill as a girl. "Well, aren't you in one of your moods. What's the matter, darling?" She frowned sadly and touched his knee.

Etienne almost cringed from her touch. She was always touching him in ways that were far too intimate. She touched him the way Corene would have touched him - rubbing his chest or his thighs - it disturbed him.

He tensed when her paw continued up his thigh, and when her eyes looked at him, they were hungry. She looked at him the way the girls at court did: like he was a strong young bull and they must rope him in. It was true that he was handsome, incredibly tall like his father, and athletic and fit. He loved tennis, but swimming most of all.

"Mother?" Etienne whispered and frowned. He wanted to slap her paw off and it took every fiber in his being to resist the sudden urge.

Donica slowly dragged her paw away and looked out the window, smoking in silence. Behind her shoulder, Primus still stood, tray held ready with wine and more cigarettes.

The library was empty but for them. Etienne's private tutor normally would have been about, but Donica had him executed only the year before for delving too deeply into politics. Apparently, Dr. Ellert had discovered something that he wasn't supposed to have discovered. When asked to keep the matter quiet, he refused and even attempted to contact Etienne about it before his sudden arrest. Dr. Ellert was then hauled off to the dungeon, where he was quietly beheaded.

The news of his tutor's death shocked and saddened Etienne, who remained locked in his room for a month afterward and refused to speak to Queen Donica, no matter how many times she sent someone to knock on his door. Finally, Donica herself came to the prince and assured him that Dr. Ellert's death was completely necessary. Dr. Ellert was a traitor to the crown and a threat to herself, Corene, and Etienne. And Etienne, held fast in the queen's warm embrace, closed his eyes and swallowed the lies. Because he knew the truth was probably too dismal to bear.

After that, there wasn't much chance to discover whatever it was Dr. Ellert wanted to convey to Etienne. The prince was sent away to university before the thought of doing so even crossed his mind.

"You miss your father?" Donica said sadly into the silence. She sighed and toyed absently with the large red jewel sparkling on her cleavage. "I miss him too."

Etienne swallowed hard and continued to stare out the window. King Bastian had been dead for ten years now, but Etienne still felt the pain of his loss as keenly as if the king had only died the day before. It comforted him to hear from various nobles that he was so much like his father, that he not only looked like the late king but acted like him, carried his calm and subtle demeanor, as well as his genuinely good heart. King Bastian had always tried to do what was right, even if "right" wasn't always crystal clear.

"All this moping about in despair. Why won't you let Corene comfort you?" the queen went on. "The public could use some good news. They have waited so long for the two of you to finally wed."

"You mean you have waited," Etienne corrected.

The queen laughed girlishly again. "Yes. I won't pretend it isn't my dying wish. You were betrothed to her since before you were born. I remember how Corene would talk to my belly when I was carrying you." She smiled sadly, lashes fluttering as she stared out the window, avoiding his eye. She always avoided his eye whenever she spoke of her pregnancy. "She wanted you so desperately." She looked at Etienne, who was watching her apologetically. "She still wants you. The kingdom finds it terribly romantic, a love that blossomed before adolescence even reared its ugly head. The kingdom wants to see you happy, darling."

Etienne looked away again, his face hardening. "I don't love her, Mother."

"The two of you have made love . . ."

"Mother!" the prince gasped, squirming under the queen's matter-o-fact eyes.

Queen Donica shrugged, cleavage jiggling slightly against her great jewel. "I just thought. . . Corene was so happy after that first time." She smiled and pulled on her cigarette, exhaling smoke through her pink nostrils.

Etienne pinched the flesh between his eyes. Dear god. Did Corene have no restraint? He didn't know why he was surprised. Corene was the queen's doting pet and told her anything and everything. Etienne sometimes mocked the princess that he wouldn't be surprised to find Donica's paw up her ass controlling her.

While it was true that Etienne had slept with his betrothed, the two of them still hated each other and it wasn't uncommon for the servants to find themselves listening with pricked ears to their roared arguments. Their sex was - more often than not - angry sex, which happened after Corene had made some taunt regarding Etienne's prowess in bed. Corene loved Etienne. He knew that. What she resented was the fact that he didn't feel the same. She was content to wait, content to marry him under the belief that his feelings for her would one day change. But Etienne knew different. He would never feel the same.

"Perhaps Corene and the kingdom are content to wait for you to come around, but I'm getting bloody tired of these tantrums," Donica said wearily.

"What if I married someone else?" Etienne said, half-taunting.

Donica scowled, her face sharpening into the sudden menace Etienne had feared when a boy. It didn't frighten him now. Well . . . it did. A little.

"Don't be foolish," Donica sneered. "Corene is everything you could ever desire. Beautiful, deadly, cunning - that is the recipe for a true queen! That girl could rule this kingdom with an iron fist. She has been especially groomed to stand at your side, your match and devoted lover. What's more, she is nearing her thirtieth birthday. The clock is ticking. If you don't marry and produce an heir . . ."

"You'll what, Mother?" Etienne demanded. His lip curled and he tossed a paw. "Disown me? Replace me? Exile me from the kingdom?" He looked away and muttered under his breath, "Behead me?"

Donica's breasts heaved. She glared as she kissed out more smoke. "Spoilt," she hissed. "Spoilt rotten. That's what's wrong with you. Here you have the whole world in your pocket and you sit moaning like a child. Well!" She shot up, great skirts rustling, and behind her, Primus took a startled step back. The slave barely managed to catch the cigarette holder when it was thrust at him. "If you want to act like a child, I'll treat you like a child. You are hereby restricted to the castle grounds. You will not be returning to university this fall. Nor perhaps ever."

Etienne scowled. He wanted to jump up, wanted to scream that he wouldn't be attending university if she hadn't killed his tutor, but he kept his dignity and remained on the window seat, only the faintest lines of anger on his face. She waited for his response, and when none came, she stormed from the library with her skirts bouncing hard with her stride. Primus jogged to keep up with her, the items on the tray rattling.

Etienne watched the queen go, and with an angry heave of his chest, he realized it was finally time to discover what Dr. Ellert had been so determined to tell him.

He waited a beat, listening to the distant furious click of Donica's retreating slippers. The great doors slammed, and when the library was still and silent again, he let out a long breath. It was finally time to take action. Donica and Corene were not going to wait any longer. He was going to have to either marry, run . . . or find someone else to marry.

But could he find someone else?

Etienne frowned as he rose slowly from the window seat and adjusted his blue waist coat. It was azure blue, trimmed in gold, and matched his bright blue eyes almost perfectly. Since the moment he was born, the kingdom's artisans had been in competition to replicate his eye color in their murals, oil paintings, and tailored suits. Queen Donica decreed that anyone who succeeded would die with a small fraction of the crown's wealth. Twenty years later, the competition was still going on - to the queen's great amusement - and Etienne's armoire was bursting with blue cravats, stockings, breeches, and coats.

Etienne returned to his bedchamber and was surprised to find not his slave Decius waiting but Corene. He halted on the threshold and his lips tightened. Corene was sitting straight-backed and elegant at his desk, smiling to herself as she casually flipped through his diary. His heart skipped an angry beat, and he was suddenly very grateful he had never written anything of weight in the thing. His professor at the university had assigned his class with the task, stating that the key to understanding the world was first to understand oneself. Each student was to write in a diary daily and read at least one page to the class after summer break.

"Dear Diary," Corene pretended to read, "why won't Mummy let me marry Decius? I do so wish to see him in a gown!"

Etienne took a few calm steps toward to the desk and slowly slid the diary from Corene's slender fingers. He opened a drawer and dropped it inside, then folded his arms and regarded her. She was beautiful. But she was always beautiful. She sat before him in a pale green gown, low cut, her milky white breasts swelling from the rise of white ruffles. Around her throat was a string of pearls, and her incredibly long white mane was piled high in a bun while the rest of her curls spilled long behind her shoulders. Pearls were also in her mane and her white cheeks were slightly flamed. She was embarrassed by some of the things she had read in his diary then? He had written about her. And it hadn't been nice. Her long lashes fluttered as she laughed at him.

"I hope you aren't going to read that page about me aloud," she teased, dragging a finger over the swell of her breasts.

Etienne resisted the urge to look at her breasts - which was exactly what she wanted. His unflinching eyes remained on her face.

"You'd make your poor professor blush something awful," Corene went on, a flicker of irritation in her eyes: she was angry he wouldn't take the bait. She slid gracefully from the chair and patted her bun. The sweet scent of her filled Etienne's nostrils as he turned away, strolling wearily through the room. He had come here to sit and think and plan - not put up with her teasing. He could feel her eyes watching as he went to the great windows and peered out, his paws behind his back.

"The old coot probably can't get it up anyway," Corene said almost sulkily and frowned in frustration at Etienne's back. Behind her, a small naked Beauceron slave stepped from the shadows and adjusted her great skirts for her. The slave's name was Flavia, and she was the only female Beauceron slave on the castle grounds. Flavia had been surgically sterilized and could not reproduce, nor could she menstruate. As a result, she was never in heat, and the male slaves of Wychowl were never compelled to make love to her . . . though they wanted to. Terribly. Etienne could not blame them: Flavia was exquisite. She was small in every sense of the word, from the tight sheath of her sex, to her tiny paws and feet, to the small teats that stood perky and high, shivering each time she moved. Sometimes as he sat with Corene in the evenings, Etienne would command Flavia to bounce her little breasts, and she would rock on her toes until they shivered uncontrollably. Her long, silky, black mane was kept back in a single braid, but licks of it fell in her wistful gray eyes. She was always staring at Etienne, staring with the hope that he would bend her over a table, a chair, the edge of the bed, and slide himself home. Sometimes he did. And such little squeals that filled the room as Corene watched from the vanity while brushing her mane.

"What's got _your_knickers in a twist?" Corene demanded.

Etienne could hear her skirts rustling as she moved through the room behind him. He glanced at her once and took a sharp breath. Why did she have to be so pretty? She was older than him by six years, but she looked like a sixteen-year-old girl. So young. So fresh. So mischievous. She sat on the edge of his bed, paws folded patiently in her lap, peering at him with concerned eyes. Her devotion saddened him. Running away was the easiest option. And yet . . . the thought of her crying on her wedding day while he rode off in the back of some wagon . . . made it incredibly hard. But he looked at her and saw only chains.

"Mother," Etienne muttered, dragging his eyes to the window again.

Corene laughed girlishly. "What did Donica do now? Tell you your trousers were undone?"

"No doubt she would have buttoned them for me," Etienne returned and came to the bed. He stood over Corene and peered down at her unhappily. From the corner of his eye, he could see Flavia hovering anxiously near the desk. Her head was down, but her body was stiff with fear and her sad gray eyes kept flitting to him. She could sense that something was wrong. They both could. He chided himself for being a terrible actor.

"Etienne," Corene begged and peered with frightened eyes into his face. "What's the matter, darling?" She whispered the last word with true affection and the love in her eyes pained him.

I'm going to leave you. "Nothing is the matter," he lied, and without thinking, he kissed her warm on the mouth. Her lashes fluttered and she gave a muffled cry, but she melted into the kiss as readily as if she had secretly hoped for it. His paws slid up the voluminous swell of her skirts, tugged at her bloomers, and found the soft, moist lips of her sex. "Oh . . . Etienne," she whispered as darkness fell across the sky, as the last fading beams of light stretched through the open balcony doors.

Little Flavia came forward and quietly helped Etienne undress Corene, jumping in to take off the princess's slippers, to undo a button, to catch a bracelet, a fallen kerchief, moist panties.

Etienne pulled a pearl comb from Corene's mane as he was kissing her, and down it tumbled. Corene's quick fingers unbuttoned Etienne's waistcoat and pushed it back, unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it back as well, revealing the ripped muscles of his chest and belly. His kisses became fervent, hungry, as he pushed her down on the bed. Etienne was large, tall, and strong, and little Corene was fairly consumed by him. Small and curvaceous, her big breasts trembled and blushed as he caressed them, as he licked the hard pink nipples and sucked them carefully. Her small paws pushed through his golden mane, and her slanted eyes when they looked at him were warm with love. He closed his eyes. It was bad enough that he was leaving her. . . Let her have this last happy night.

Etienne's blue eyes locked with Corene's, intense and focused as he carefully slid the width of his thick erection through the moisture of her swollen sex. She arched her back to receive him, and her sharp pink nails pinched through his fur. He was enormous and she very firm and tight. Unless he was angry, taking her had always been a slow thing. She moaned long and weak as he carefully filled her, his big paws on her hips, pulling her close as he slid inside. She was dragged across the coverlet as he drew her close and eased himself in. She swallowed breathlessly, licked her lips, and kissed him. He pressed his forehead to hers and slowly began to hump. Downstairs, the dinner bell rang. He kept going.

"E-Etienne . . ." she scolded softly, weakly. Her lashes fluttered and her eyes widened when he slid deeper, sudden and hard.

"We've missed supper before," he grunted, the tight muscles of his back flexing as he made careful love to her. Her hips snapped with every slow punch, her small feet rode against the air. Her thighs were hugging him desperately. Her eyes were hooded and her white curls a mass around her as she twisted on the coverlet, blushing to catch her breath.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Flavia watching her mistress with her mouth open, watching and practically drooling as Etienne's thick phallus slowly punched through her moisture. He reached for Flavia, caught her by the wrist, and drew her to the bed. She was so startled, she practically stumbled. He pressed her down beside Corene and she curled up on her side, uncertain and confused. Corene turned her face, and gathering the slave near, suckled her small teats. Etienne felt himself swell thicker and moaned when Corene's moisture oozed afresh. He pried Flavia's small thighs apart, and lifting her leg high, he buried his face between her thighs and devoured her as he made love to Corene. Before long, the shrill cries of both females filled the room.

An hour later found the two females sleeping soundly in Etienne's bed. Decius came to the bedroom with a tray containing what supper Etienne had missed. He halted to see Corene and Flavia on the bed and dropped his eyes, as if he would retreat, but sitting at the desk, Etienne beckoned the slave and returned to the letter he was writing.

Etienne was wrapped in a sheet, which fell over one naked shoulder, partially revealing his bare chest. His long golden mane was loose around his square jaw, and in the eyes of his slave, he looked like a handsome god descended from the clouds. Decius could smell the hot musk of the prince's large penis - buried somewhere in that sheet -- as he set the tray on the desk and paused uncertainly. His eyes passed over the letter and he miserably shook his head, a silent protest.

Etienne sighed and gestured for the slave to kneel. Decius obeyed, kneeling near the prince's chair as he took his supper. Every now and then, Etienne fed Decius from his tray but otherwise kept writing. By the time he was finished, the letter read thus,

Corene,

We both knew I could never love you. Why, in fact, I despise you and everything about you. You are devious. This is why I can not and will not love you. Perhaps ever. No . . . ever.

This is not news to you. You know it and I know it too. I could take another wife. But you have been groomed for the throne your entire life. You live for it and for the kingdom. What's more, I do believe you would make a decent ruler. It wouldn't be fair to you or to the kingdom to take the throne away from you, whereas I would prefer my freedom. I never wanted to become king. If my time at university has taught me anything, it is the value of choice.

Corene, there is always a choice. We can not help how we feel or what we are, but we can always choose what to do. I can not force myself to love you and, indeed, you can not help loving me. But marriage . . . that should be a choice. I choose not to marry. I choose my freedom.

I hope one day you find someone who can love you as you deserve to be loved. But it can not be me.

I am sorry.

Etienne.

"Can you give Corene this letter, Decius? When I am gone?"

Decius nodded unhappily.

"Good. You will give her the letter tomorrow morning. Now I must step out for a moment. I shall return within an hour and will expect my things packed for a long journey. I shall leave tonight. And I shall not come back."