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Bound By Something

Chapter 22

Corene lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Translucent white curtains hung closed around her, veiling the room in shadow. Through the curtain, she could see the blurred flame of the candle that stood, softly blazing on the nightstand. The candle was guttering out, for it had burned all night, and now morning sunlight streamed through the windows.

Snuggled in her cotton nightgown, the coverlet pulled up to her neck, Corene relaxed deeply into the soft rise of white pillows. Her long white mane was loose around her, and the ache in her side made her shudder. She had taken a beating from Candy Cane, and though they had given her something for the pain, she could still feel every ache, only numbed for its intensity. Her slender frame had shattered under every blow like glass. She remembered thinking she was going to break. She had never counted on the whore being so strong. And even when she stopped fighting, Candy Cane kept beating her. It didn't matter how she cried, whimpered, or begged.

And for what? For one insult? Because Corene called the night bitch a fly, she deserved to be beaten? She deserved to be raped? She deserved to live in some hovel, a sex slave for the rest of her life?

Candy Cane had come inside again and again, and Corene shuddered to think: she could be carrying her rapist's child. A tear slipped from her eye as she thought of it. But she scowled as the tear fell cold down her cheek: at least the whore was dead.

As Candy Cane was hitting her, there was such fury in her silver eyes, and Corene looked at her and knew: Candy Cane was not seeing Corene when she struck her, but the father who had rejected her, cast her out, and sentenced her to the life of a whore. She was using Corene like a punching bag, using her to express all her heartache, fury, and anger. And even as Corene felt her own fury and anger curling up inside . . . a small part of her pitied Candy Cane.

_I could have been you,_Corene thought as she stood over the whore's dead body. Had she run away from Donica's tongue lashings and beatings, she would have most likely wound up a whore in some back alley. It was often the fate of noble bitches who had no one and nothing. The barony that had belonged to Corene's father now belonged to the crown - it was the way when a noble died and had no heir. All the land belonged to the crown. And when her parents died . . . so did Corene.

Baron Lionel and Baroness Adela Gardiner were the darlings of Varimore. They were pious. Generous. Loving. Fair. They ruled their little barony side by side and ruled it well. Lionel was well known for throwing coins and sweets to the little children who chased his carriage. If a peasant was down on their luck, Adela employed them - or else gave them coin straight from her purse. There was no one as kind and giving as the Gardiners. They did not play political games and kept themselves removed from court intrigue - and even still, they were well loved by the rest of Varimore's court.

So when reports of the sudden deaths of the Gardiners began to spread, the country at large mourned them. There were very few nobles who did not attend the funeral - the de Lion heir being among the absentees.

Corene sneered to think of Duke Richard. It was to her great misfortunate that Donica had sent her _here_of all places. She remembered the duke when he was still a marquis, living with his mother at Glenhowler Manor, partying, drinking, and making everyone around him miserable. The Duchess Giselle de Lion was invited to a soiree at Howlverly Manor, the grand home of Gardiners. Corene was a little pup at the time, but she would never forget how Duke Richard - known as Marquis Dick de Lion then - showed up drunk and ruined it all. He upset a table of sweets Corene had worked rather hard to help the cook with and made her cry when he looked her in the eye and purposely crushed one to powder under his boot. She ran away with tears in her eyes. Duke Richard laughed and drank some more.

The complete ass.

Corene wouldn't be surprised if the duke didn't remember the incident at all. He'd been very drunk. He probably didn't even know whose soiree he crashed. Because of Duke Richard, the de Lions stopped attending the Gardiners' many functions in Howlverly, though Adela always sent them an invitation. If not for manners' sake.

Corene always told herself that if she ever saw Duke Richard again, she would do whatever she could to drive needles under his nails. He probably didn't even remember her. And that was just fine. It made revenge all the sweeter.

Corene was four when her parents died. She remembered sitting on the front row at the funeral, a sad little girl in a sad black dress, little legs dangling, wondering what would happen to her. The Duchess Giselle de Lion came to Corene and touched her mane and whispered that she was sorry. For one heartrending moment, Corene thought the duchess was going to adopt her, and then she would have to live with that wretched Dick de Lion. But Giselle lifted her chin, squeezed her cane, and went slowly to the coffins, where Lionel and Adela lay, hidden under a heap of red roses.

Then Queen Donica appeared. Corene slowly lifted her face . . . and gasped to see the beautiful and majestic queen of Varimore standing over her. Donica had been draped in black like everyone else, but even her mourning gown was magnificent, its ballooning skirts rising just slightly to reveal black slippers glittering with diamonds. The queen wore a veil over her face, but Corene could see her sharp green eyes, bright as acid, blazing through. Her eyes were wide as they peered at Corene, intense, unblinking . . . obsessed. She offered Corene her black glove, which sparkled with jewels in the pale sunlight. The day was gray and crows circled the sky, but Donica was like a flame in her black gown.

Corene hesitated but took the queen's paw. Her fingers were hard and stiff and squeezed Corene as if she were silently claiming a possession. Corene looked in the queen's eyes and knew . . . that was exactly what Donica was doing.

Donica told Corene she was now princess of Varimore. But no one knew about it for years. Though Donica took Corene home with her to Wychowl, she did not formally announce her as princess and heir until she was six years old. During that time, Corene mourned, believing her parents had died in a hunting accident. That was the lie everyone told her. Now that she was older, she knew enough to understand that her parents had been assassinated in a set up. They ventured into the forest and were shot. Her father six times. Her mother eight. Her mother was raped before she died. It was all recorded in the archives.

Though Corene did not know the truth for the longest time, she still knew no comfort. Even during those years that Corene awoke in the night crying for her mother, Donica was cruel. But had she run from Donica, Corene would have been destitute. So she chose to stay and fight.

And there was Etienne. Her Etienne. Who she could not leave. Who she would follow to the ends of the earth. When they were children, she sang to him as he slept. She held him when he was a little pup, kissed his fat cheeks, tickled him, chased him through the garden. On the chubby toddling legs of an infant, he would follow her everywhere, clinging to her tail. And as the years passed, she fell helplessly in love with him. He was her world. He was her king. She did not regret what had happened with Candy Cane. Not if it brought her one step closer to gaining his love. Perhaps he would look at her and finally see that she loved him, what she had endured to be with him.

But every time she thought of the hatred in his eyes that last time they spoke, she felt the tears threaten to rise. The way he grabbed her ear in the chapel, trying to take her earring without a thought. The way he took the ring Markus had given her, knowing what it meant to her . . . He didn't care about her at all. And yet, sometimes he would look at her as they were making love, and she thought he cared. Or maybe she was fooling herself.

Corene blinked unhappily at the ceiling. Any minute now, and they would bring her breakfast, check her bandage, ask how she was feeling. Perhaps her guards would turn up at the gates of Howlester, frantic after the long search for her.

Corene couldn't believe it. Charles had been so nice to her. He'd been as fussy as a mother hen. He had the maids run her a bath, bring her a nightgown, warm up the bed with a bed warmer. They even dressed the slash on her arm. Charles was as gentle, kind, and soft-spoken as Corene remembered, and listening to his calm voice reassure her put an ache in her chest. She looked at him and could think of nothing but the kind stranger who had tickled her ear at court when she was a girl. She was supposed to be working her charms on Charles, reminding him of the little girl she'd been in order to sway him and garner his pity. But here he was working his charm on her - and without even realizing.

"Here's your breakfast, miss," squeaked a voice.

Corene peered through the curtains surrounding her bed and glared. Standing in the doorway with a tray was a small, young terrier covered in gray fur speckled white. Her long gray mane was also speckled white and fell to the small of her back. She was clad in a simple dress and apron and had a pencil-thin body that reminded Corene of a flamingo every time she moved. Her name was Liza. She was the maid who'd been assigned to Corene.

Corene deeply resented the fact. She wanted Flavia and treated Liza poorly simply because she missed her real handmaid. Liza looked on the verge of tears anytime Corene yelled at her. But Corene would continue yelling. Even while hating herself.

"Bring it here, Liza," Corene ordered briskly and struggled to sit up. "And what I have told you about calling me miss?"

Liza swallowed hard. "Sorry, miss - I mean, ma'am - I mean . . . your highness," babbled the girl.

Corene watched as Liza's silhouette moved carefully through the room. The servant set the tray on the nightstand, then pulled the rope hanging from the bed. The curtains pulled back to reveal Corene, who was sitting up against the pillows, her curly white mane magnificent around her, her bandaged arm resting tight against her side.

Liza's lashes fluttered a moment, and Corene lifted her chin. The princess knew she was beautiful - so beautiful that the servants twittered and stared in amazement each time they saw her. The night before, Brooke had stared like one stricken as she helped Corene bathe, had brushed her mane with the fascinated eyes of a girl with a pretty doll. The entire estate was aflutter that the princess had arrived. First the prince and now the princess? They probably hadn't had this much excitement in decades.

Corene had heard the servants muttering about Etienne. She meant to ask after him the night before, but she was so tired after her long journey, she couldn't get her mouth to form the words. They gave her something for her pain and she slipped away even while Charles was still sitting beside her bed.

After she killed Candy Cane, Corene ran from Long Eye's hovel, ran into the street, into the wind and the rain. Her carriage had long gone, and she could only assume it was Long Eye's doing. No doubt the old vixen had paid the driver to take off and leave the princess behind. And given the sheer amount of gold Long Eye possessed, he'd probably been perfectly happy to do so.

Corene didn't know her way back to the inn at which she'd left her bodyguards. Would they even be there if she went back? They were probably out looking for her. She thought perhaps if she found her way to Howlester Manor, they would be waiting for her.

So she wandered all day, lost and frightened. She had never been to Howlester Duchy before. Peasants on the street avoided her, mothers grabbed their pups and hurried away. Her clothes were torn, and if she didn't hold her dress shut, her breasts would be exposed. She sloshed through the mud, weary and tired, looking from face to face for some kind soul to help her. No one did. Some drunk male thought she was a prostitute and tried to take her. She fought him fang and claw to get away. She bit him viciously. His blood sprinkled her dress and he smacked her, gave her the back of his paw. She choked as her teeth cut her mouth, but she escaped him. And somehow, in the middle of the night, she found her way to Howlester Manor.

Corene allowed Liza to carefully set the tray over her lap. She picked up the fork and speared the scrambled eggs, sipped the glass of orange juice, and skeptically tasted what looked like raw bacon. Out of the corner her eye, she could see Liza sitting nervously in a chair at the bedside. No doubt she expected Corene to yell at her if the food was awful. The poor girl was two seconds from an involuntary wince.

"What is your name, ugly?" Corene asked with a small smile. She took a dainty sip of orange juice.

The girl looked unhappily at her lap. She wasn't ugly. Just very plain. But Corene's comment seemed to deflate her. She fumbled with her fingers as she muttered, "Liza, your highness."

"I know that," Corene said briskly. "Liza what?"

Liza lifted her face and stared at Corene in surprise. ". . . Liza Smith, your highness," she managed after a moment's confusion.

"Liza Smith," Corene repeated, spearing more bacon on her fork. She slid it in her mouth and chewed a moment. "My handmaid could not accompany me, so I will have to make due with you. Normally, I would send Flavia to gather information. But you work in this . . ." She glanced around with distaste. ". . . place. You will tell me everything you know. Starting with Etienne. Be completely honest, and I will make it worth your while. They shall not set you to rest in a pauper's grave."

The girl brightened. "I'll tell you anything, my majesty - I mean, your grace. Anything! What does her highness wish to know?"

Corene smiled to herself: the girl was breathless with anticipation. "First . . ." Corene speared more eggs. "His majesty Prince Etienne is here, is he not? Tell me everything concerning --"

"He's gone," said a voice.

Corene paused and looked up. She and Liza looked at the door, where a handsome young foxhound stood. Indeed, he was so handsome that Corene hated herself when she actually gulped. He stood in a green cropped riding coat, tight tan breeches, and knee-high riding boots. His bright red mane was pulled back in a tail, and the strong line of his jaw flexed when he smiled darkly at Corene.

Corene felt something in her thump. He looked exactly like that prick Dick de Lion. Ah. So this was the duke's son. No doubt an asshole like his father. He had the look.

Corene lowered her eyes to her plate and tried to remain dignified and solemn as the stranger sauntered into the room - but her fork kept shaking in her fingers. She fumbled to hold it.

The stranger's eyes were fixed on Corene. "That will be all, Liza," he said, coming to a stop beside the bed. "Leave us."

Disappointment crossed Liza's face, but she bowed her head and ducked from the room.

Corene's mouth dropped open. She stared at the young male angrily. "How dare you! You'd better have a good reason for this intrusion."

The young male laughed. "A princess indeed. And feisty. Just the way I like them." He lowered himself in a slow bow, but his eyes never broke contact. Corene hated herself when her heart fluttered.

"Allow me to present myself, your highness," he said, slowly straightening up. "I am the Marquis Jonathan Richard Chase Evan Kingsley. At your service, my princess."

Corene regarded him coldly and chose to ignore the excited chill his glance alone sent through her fur. She tried to spear more eggs but was so nervous she wound up dropping her fork. Jonathan sat on the edge of the bed, and after carefully spearing the eggs for her, he fed her. She grudgingly took the eggs in her lips and defiantly looked him in the eye. But his eyes were twinkling and friendly. They dropped away when he speared more eggs, leaving an ache in her.

"Pleased to meet you," Corene said quietly to her lap. She looked at his face again, long lashes lifting. Their eyes met, and she stared absently for a moment before catching herself and looking away.

Jonathan smiled. "The pleasure is mine, your highness." He watched with soft eyes as she took the fork in her mouth again. "All mine."

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at court? Embarrassing your father?" she demanded irritably and her great breasts heaved behind the nightgown.

Jonathan's eyes flickered amusement. "I'd much rather watch the princess embarrass herself. I saw you last night, running across the lawn with your tits flap --"

The marquis didn't finish his word. Corene finished it for him when her paw came up and across his face. The wound on her arm tore painfully, but she didn't care. Just for good measure, she slapped him again. Red curls tumbled loose in his eyes. They looked at each other. He was smiling. She trembled when he took her paw and softly kissed the heel. She snatched herself free.

"Get out."

"No."

"I command it."

"No. I am not a peasant or one of your slaves, your highness."

"And yet," said Corene with a sneer, "you are still beneath me and bound by the law to obey."

"Oh, I'm bound by something," he said, gazing absently into her eyes.

She looked away.

"How did you come by such an injury, my princess?"

Corene realized the bandage had fallen off her arm when she slapped him. She passed her paw over the wound, as if to hide it. She didn't look at him, though he sounded concerned. She couldn't believe it when he started kissing her wound.

"Leave off me. Get out of here!"

Jonathan kept kissing. Up her arm. To her heaving breasts. Her head fell back when his kisses found her neck. He pushed the tray away and drew closer, slipping his arms around her, a hard wall that enclosed her with its strength. She clung to him and frowned with pleasure as his kisses caressed her, as his careful fingers gently tugged her laces. Why was she letting him? He cupped her head and curled his fingers in her mane as his kisses continued down her neck, and with a last tug on her laces, her gown dropped around her shoulders, baring her breasts to him. They were large and soft and milky white. He moaned as he cradled one, and after licking the rigid pink nipple with a careful tongue, he began to suckle gently.

"J-Jonathan . . ." she whispered.

He paused and looked her in the eye, smiling patiently as he answered, "Yes, my princess?"

She was hot and blushing, her mane mussed from his pawing, her fur tingling from the heat of his eager kisses. Why did he have to be so handsome? She saw the bulge in his breeches and swallowed hard.

"Command me," he whispered, looking intently into her eyes. "I will obey. But I will not leave. That . . . I can not do."

Corene touched his face, lost in the pull of his twinkling eyes. His waiting eyes. He was waiting for her command. "Make love to me, Jonathan."

Without breaking eye contact, Jonathan unbuttoned his breeches. His large pink erection pushed free, and she stared at it breathlessly. "Yes," he whispered, "my princess."