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The Second Coming

Chapter 40

"Hellene!" Azrian cried happily, trying her hardest to give a damn as a young and beautiful female dog made her graceful way toward the throne.

Primus stood at Azrian's armrest, muttering under his breath that she was trying too hard and Hellene was likely to see right through it. Donica had doted on Hellene, but there was a certain stand-offish way about the aunt and niece's mutual affection. They hugged without really hugging, they kissed without really kissing, and they complimented each other . . . without complimenting each other. Everything about their relationship was fake, born of Donica's ever growing jealousy that Hellene was prettier than her, a better warrior than her, fertile where she was infertile, and the darling of Curith to boot. The dogs of Curith still viewed Hellene as their princess, despite the fact that she had been married to the king of Poston and had been his queen for three years, and the desire had been expressed by the council in Curith for Hellene to come home. They missed her so.

As much as Curith loved Donica, no one had ever asked for the queen of Varimore to return. Until Etienne was "born" to her, Donica was a disgrace to her family and former subjects, and even after Etienne was born, there was still some debate as to whether or not the prince really belonged to her. Word of the great "Evelyn debacle" eventually reached Curith, and it was only a matter of time before Donica's family began to question the legitimacy of the prince and heir. Years later, and Hellene would then come to Wychowl with her husband on her arm and her child on her hip, a painful reminder that Donica had failed, both to bear a child and a happy, healthy marriage.

And now, sitting on Donica's throne, wearing Donica's face, Azrian had to pretend to carry all the bitterness, hatred, and love that Donica had once carried for Hellene. As Hellene glided with poise toward the throne and sank into her ballooning black skirts in a deep curtsy, Azrian marred her flawless entrance with a smiling, backhanded compliment that made the court twitter. Hellene's back stiffened a little, but she smiled and rose as slowly and gracefully as if nothing had been said, then proceeded to slap Azrian with about three backhanded compliments in a row. Azrian took her cue from Primus - who told her what to do with a slight flick of his tail - and she smiled and laughed good-naturedly through the happy insults.

The court was delighted by the verbal sparring, and Azrian thought Hellene was delighted as well. She looked at Azrian with genuine affection when she approached the throne to kiss her rings. Primus stiffened as Hellene lingered, and Azrian saw him give his tail a slight flick - a silent warning that she should not allow Hellene to linger too long.

As Primus had predicted, Hellene attempted a whispered conversation as she was leaning over Azrian's offered paw. Azrian slapped her fan open and ignored the young female, instead snatching her paw free and announcing to all the court that they would be throwing a masquerade in honor of Hellene's visit to Varimore. She then announced she would retire for the afternoon and was not to be disturbed. She offered Primus her arm, and as Hellene stood by looking hurt and surprised by her aunt's hastiness, Azrian sauntered from the throne room.

Azrian had been at court a week and three days when Hellene finally arrived, and with the help of Primus, she had been able to maneuver politics in favor of both dogs and foxes. At every council meeting, she pushed both Donica's old plans for reform and her own plans for reform, ignoring the beady-eyed stare of Echridge and the flabbergasted protests of the other council members. Orphanages for pups were opened in several providences, creating more work for those who could not find it before. Many of the dogs who became caregivers at said orphanages were prostitutes who wouldn't have been able to leave the streets otherwise. This put a large hole in child labor - as well as the underground world that thrived on prostitution. At the same time, several forests had been preserved, and the Hunt had been outlawed. The public was in outrage over this drastic tipping of the scales, with newspaper headings claiming that the queen had gone mad and was losing touch. Gone was the balance the economy had thrived upon the last few decades. Now the country was obligated to take food out of their mouths to feed the orphans, but most citizens made a living by hunting foxes, and hunting foxes had been outlawed. It was widely believed that the prince and princess had run away together due to the queen's madness, that everything was unraveling because Queen Donica had finally lost her mind in the wake of her husband's demise.

It was a good enough ruse, so Azrian milked it for all it was worth, sometimes having crazy outbursts at garden parties that sent the nobles away twittering in amazement. According to Primus, Donica being publically decried as The Mad Queen had been a long time coming regardless, so Azrian was best off making the most of it.

But the issue of Donica's claim to the throne remained. Donica was not of Emerald blood, and in Etienne's absence, she was little more than a regent. The public was already crying for their prince to return, and there were already mobs in the streets, protesting the unlawful rule of the queen.

Azrian then decided that she hadn't a choice: she would have to masquerade as both Donica and Etienne. One day soon, she would have to take Etienne's shape and pretend to return to Wychowl as him. She would then pretend to die as Donica and rule as Etienne. And she would have to do it soon. Before her claim to the throne was challenged by some noble with Emerald blood. The dogs were content with letting Donica's tail sit on the throne so long as she didn't follow through with the threat of her reforms. But now Azrian was following through. And the public just wouldn't stand for it.

But the days passed, and Azrian kept pushing the thought of becoming Etienne again further and further away. She just . . . couldn't do it. Not again. Wearing the face of her dead love . . . Looking in the mirror everyday to see him . . . wearing his clothing . . . speaking with his voice. It was as if the very gods hated her. Sometimes she thought of Ti'uu - who had pushed her into this like his tool - and knew the feeling was mutual.

"That was close," Azrian sighed when she and Primus were alone in the royal bedchamber again. She flopped on the edge of the bed and watched as Primus carefully removed her little slippers.

"You did well," Primus told her. "Now . . . let's go over the plan for tonight again."

Azrian sighed. "Must we?"

"We must. Unless you think I'd look more dashing without a head."

Azrian laughed softly, but her frightened eyes darted at the door. Echridge still had spies within the royal guard. Primus had advised her to have the spies rooted out, imprisoned, and killed after Echridge was put in his place. She must make an example of traitors. But . . . she didn't think she could do it. If being queen of the world meant blood on her paws . . . she didn't want it. Some days she looked in the mirror at Donica's tired face and wished desperately that she was back in the forest, snuggled tight in Etienne's arms.

"Hellene is in mourning," Primus said calmly as Azrian stood and he began unlacing her gown. "The court will think it in poor taste to throw a masquerade while Hellene mourns her husband and child, but it would be very like Donica to throw one anyway. Hellene's child was the three-year-old princess Philomena Gregoria en Delle and went missing during Hellene's journey here to Wychowl. I believe Donica had the escort dispose of her --"

Azrian gasped.

"--and if Hellene asks you about it, swear ignorance. That shouldn't be so hard."

Azrian stared miserably at the floor as her heavy red gown fell in a pile over her feet. Her body jerked as Primus started unhooking her stays, and she took a wretched, shuddering breath, letting the reality of her life settle over her. "You know I actually felt terrible that Corene had killed Donica? After sitting on all those council meetings, I realized she was a good ruler, that she fought to make wonderful things happen for her kin. But after spending so much time in court and at her garden parties . . ."

"You're beginning to realize she was a terrible individual," Primus said matter-o-factly and pulled the corset away.

Azrian took a deep breath and rubbed her aching ribs. "Yes," she said in a small voice. "I mean, I guess I always knew. After the things Etienne told me . . ."

"Put it from your mind," Primus said at once. "What's important is pretending to be Donica as long as you can, until you have settled into the role and can transition again to masquerading as Etienne."

"No . . . I can't be Etienne again . . . I c-can't . . ." Azrian bit her lip as the tears started to her eyes. And she realized that she was as much in mourning as Hellene was. Her knees suddenly felt weak, and she sagged onto the edge of the bed, where she buried her face in her paws and wept. After a long moment of weeping, she felt Primus' big paw rest uncertainly on her head.

"Please, don't cry," he whispered hoarsely. "It confuses me."

Azrian glanced up to find his face strained. It was so rare that she ever saw behind his emotionless mask that her mouth dropped open.

"I said I would help you," he said, turning away. She watched as he went to the bathing basin near the fire and poured warm water in. "But I can not help you if you cry."

Azrian smiled sadly. "Why? It isn't so hard. When someone cries, you hold them."

He turned his head slightly as he listened to her, and she saw his long lashes blinking, reaching thick beyond the sweep of his long mane as he tried to digest her words. He turned his face away again and emptied the rest of the water into the tub. Azrian came to his side and stared at the rose petals swirling on the water's surface. She was naked now and hated the sight of Donica's sagging breasts. She wanted to look like herself. If not for a moment.

"Donica would cry sometimes," Primus said softly. He took her paw and helped her step into the water.

Azrian sank slowly into the swirling rose petals and relaxed against the side of the tub. She closed her eyes and smiled when Primus started washing her mane. "What did you do?"

"I did nothing," Primus said in a low voice. "I stood. And I watched her cry. One night, the king raped her, and I found her crying. And I just watched."

Azrian couldn't believe it. She stared a moment before speaking again. "But why didn't you do something? Hold her? Pat her?"

There was a long pause as Primus picked up her red tresses and smoothed them with water. At last he murmured, ". . . Donica hated hugs."

Primus then bathed Azrian in silence, and he seemed to become so morosely withdrawn that they didn't even discuss their plan for that evening's masque. Not that they needed to. Azrian knew the plan by heart.

After her bath, Primus brushed Azrian's fur, carefully and slowly. His eyes dragged along her curves after each stroke, and lying there allowing him to groom her, Azrian could almost see his thoughts bubbling to the surface. He was thinking of his long years in service to the queen, the many times he'd made love to Donica on command, the long days he'd spent ever at her side, carrying her wine pitcher, lifting her train over mud puddles, making love to other slaves for her amusement. He was thinking of his life.

It was said that Beaucerons enjoyed servitude and had always enjoyed servitude, and Azrian had never heard Primus complain once that Donica had really harmed him. But as the handsome slave carefully brushed her curves, Azrian looked at him and had to wonder just how much of his life he regretted. If he could choose his mistress, would he have chosen Donica? It was clear that Primus loved to serve. But serving someone caught up in political intrigue, the endless game of murder and betrayal? Primus probably would have preferred a master who was a shepherd out in the countryside in the middle of nowhere. Such a life would have been peaceful, pleasant -- and far less dangerous.

Azrian looked at Primus and wanted to apologize for Donica. For his life. But she knew apologizing would not take back the long years of living at court that Primus had endured. So she said nothing and instead lay very still, watching with a thudding heart as he smoothed the brush along her belly and thighs and to her sex.

"Did you really know my mother?" Azrian whispered into the silence.

Primus blinked as he was pulled from his thoughts. He glanced once at her face, and she thought she saw the tiniest hint of a smile lift the corner of his lips. But he went back to brushing her with careful fingers. Done with her front, he grabbed her by the hip and pulled gently, indicating that she should turn on her side. She obeyed, her breasts crushing together as she let her cheek sink in the pillow. Her back was to him now. She closed her eyes as he stroked the brush carefully along the rise of her hip, then along her curly red tail. Donica's curly red tail.

". . . yes," Primus said at length and was silent again.

Azrian stared at the clock ticking on the wall. "She was a slave here."

"Yes."

Azrian swallowed hard. "How? Why?"

"A noble sent her here. As a gift. Your mother was captured by one of the Kingsleys. Foxhounds. Famed for their skill in the chase."

Azrian glowered. "Why didn't they make her a pelt? Isn't that what dogs do?" she said more angrily than she intended. She took a shuddering breath and her breasts heaved.

Primus brushed her in silence a moment before he spoke again. "No one has ever told you the story?"

Azrian's ears pricked forward: he sounded sympathetic. So. There wasn't a happy ending. And of course there wasn't. Because somehow, she wound up in the fens with Nhlahla and Samson. A tear beaded in her eye to think of them. She wondered what they were doing now, if Nhlahla prayed to Ti'uu for her. Nhlahla was always praying to Ti'uu . . .

"No," Azrian whispered dully.

Primus sighed. "One of the Kingsleys loved your mother and came to claim her back from the queen. The king pardoned them and they ran away together. But the queen . . . she brought them back to court. Your mother was pregnant with you when she returned."

Because Ti'uu had taken her, Azrian realized. "And then what? The king pardoned my mother again?"

"Yes."

"But why? Dogs never waste an opportunity to take a pelt!" Azrian demanded angrily. She bit her lip to hear the rage in her own voice - in Donica's voice -- and tried to calm down. Primus rubbed her back to sooth her, and she closed her eyes.

"Your mother," Primus said at length and paused.

Azrian waited, surprised to hear the softness in his voice.

"Your mother was so beautiful," he finished. "A sweet-smelling, wild creature of the forest. No one had ever seen anything like her. All the slaves wanted to fuck her. But she was mine. Mine to taste and touch and tease. Her breath was sweet and milky, her helpless cries of passion like music to the rhythm of our lovemaking. She was small and tender and lovely in every sense of the word. To skin such a fine and beautiful thing . . . no. Not even a dog would do that."

Azrian lay very still, not knowing what to say. She felt something in her tingle when Primus started brushing her again, slowly and carefully. He dragged the brush over her backside, then paused, and brushed her backside again. Her tail twitched at the tip when he dragged the brush down it next.

"I spent many long years afterward thinking of her," he went on. "Never had I taken a creature so lovely. And never would I again. . . . or so I thought."

Primus stopped brushing, and Azrian felt her cheeks getting hot as his meaning became clear.

He placed a heavy paw on her hip and squeezed gently. "I know that under this guise, you're as beautiful and fine as your mother. Perhaps more beautiful. Do you know why the world loved Queen Nadheertia? Why the dogs bowed to her? Not because she was innocent or holy. Not because she was touched by her gods. Because she was utterly beautiful. And everyone wanted to fuck her. And that's about it." He went back to brushing, and Azrian swallowed hard.

"But if I took off the disguise --"

"The world would fall to its knees," Primus said over her. "But all in good time. Right now, make them believe you are as interested in the welfare of dogs as you are the welfare of foxes. And they will fall in line."

Azrian nodded into the pillow. She hugged her breasts as he continued to brush, thinking that Donica's were large but sagging -- unlike her own high, young breasts -- and somehow, the sagging made them heavier.

"You said . . . you said Nadheertia was touched by the gods?" Azrian said, blinking as she realized.

"I did," Primus confirmed indifferently.

Azrian blinked again. She thought she was familiar with the dog legends of King Antony and Nadheertia. Samson had been a pious follower of the dog Creator and had often recited his faith to her like bedtime stories. But he never mentioned anything about Nadheertia being . . . "god-touched." Those that were god-touched were demigods. It meant they were half-mortal and half-god. It meant one of Nadheertia's parents had been a god. Azrian's eyes widened as all the pieces suddenly fell into place: Nadheertia had been conceived by a god to marry King Antony and unite the foxes and the dogs in peace. But Nadheertia failed. And King Antony killed her.

Azrian had been sent by Ti'uu to do the same thing. And like Nadheertia, she had failed: Etienne was dead.

Azrian stared at the clock ticking on the wall as she asked herself: was she really the Second Coming?

"Primus?"

"Yes."

". . . how do you know about Nadheertia? I mean . . . where did you hear . . .?"

"Donica devoted herself to studying fox lore. She has a collection of rare books, forbidden and rejected accounts of the last days of King Antony and Nadheertia. Most are accounts of their early days of marriage. The books describe in detail how Antony treated Nadheertia like a sex slave, how her beauty tormented him . . . it was all poetically written, actually."

"Will you show me these books?"

"If you like. After the masque, of course. Right now you must rest and prepare. I have your gown ready. And your mask."

Azrian glanced over at the dress mannequin that stood near the wardrobe. Pulled over it was the dress she would wear for the evening: a brilliant red ball gown with gold trim, the skirts large and voluminous. It was sleeveless and left the shoulders bare. A heavy gold necklace had been placed around the mannequin's collarbone, and on the vanity nearby, pearl studs had been left out for Azrian's ears. The golden mask of a lioness was on the mannequin's face, eyeless as it stared into the wall.

"Do I have to wear that mask?"

"Donica always went as a lioness."

Azrian smiled. "What if she went as a fox tonight?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You have already raised enough suspicion --"

"I'll let you touch me again."

Primus stopped brushing, and Azrian smiled. After what had happened in the secret room behind the wall, she had been too ashamed of herself and too distraught to let Primus touch her again. But it was more than clear that he longed to. Sometimes she caught him sniffing the air, as if to catch the scent of her sex. And every evening when he bathed her, she would retire to bed and would hear him stroking off his arousal. He suffered every day for want of her. She could feel the tension even now. And she smiled as he silently struggled with his decision.

"Where would you let me?"

"Wherever you want."

"Wear whatever mask," he whispered breathlessly, and she heard the brush tumble away when he tossed it aside.

She waited tensely for him to touch her. His big paw smoothed over her backside, then pried it open to reveal the tight pink knot of her anus. His thumb held her plump cheek apart, then she felt his hot breath, then the heat of his careful tongue, sinking slowly in her anus. He licked her with such finesse that her lashes fluttered and she melted into the pillows. He buried his face between her buttocks, moving his face against her to lick and taste all the tenderness between them, and her tail flicked back and forth, slapping against his head in excitement. He didn't stop licking for a second, reaching up absently to grab her tail and stroke it into submission. She curled her fingers tight in the pillow when his tongue caressed inside again. She could feel her clitoris pumping hard, and as if he'd read her mind, he reached between her thighs and twisted it carefully in his big, gentle fingers.

"P-Primus . . ." she whispered, ashamed of herself when drool slipped over her lip. But he was good. Too good. His tongue was slow and gentle, twisting against her as it gently coaxed her to burning arousal. She heard him grunt and knew he had gotten hard, that he was probably dripping even as she was dripping. His big fingers spread the lips of her sex and pinched in her juices, until they were a web sliding down his paw. He dipped two fingers, and as they glided in her sex, she felt her arousal doubling and clenched on him.

"Mm . . ." Primus pulled his mouth away. "Let me fuck you as you are."

Azrian's lips parted in surprise. "Primus . . . we shouldn't . . ." Her words trailed away when she found him hovering over her. His big paw cupped her cheek and he peered into her eyes.

"I wish to worship you, Azrian . . . Queen of Varimore."

Azrian saw the determination in his eyes and her heart skipped a beat. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was Azrian - young, beautiful, wide hips and big high breasts, narrow waist and fluffy tail. Primus looked over her and something burned like fire in his eyes. His chest heaved, and looking her deep in the eyes, he placed her leg on his shoulder . . . and sank himself between the moist lips of her tight sex.

Azrian was still lying on her side and her breasts were crushed together tighter as he began to ride. Her eyes rolled back in her head as the width of him punched in to the base. He was as big, as thick and strong as he had been that night the week before. And if she closed her eyes, he could be Etienne. It was Etienne touching and sucking her breasts with hungry abandon. It was Etienne kissing her mouth and nibbling her lip. It was Etienne making frenzied love to her, telling her she was a goddess, his goddess, and it was his deepest wish to serve. And as his thick penis crammed inside, her foot rode against the air, her sex clenched on him and oozed with arousal, her mane tumbled in her face from the force of his slams, and she imagined . . . she imagined it was Etienne. And she came so hard she couldn't breathe.

But big Primus was still erect, and more frenzied than ever, he kept going - until the headboard was slamming, until she was screaming. And she came again.

And the second coming was more delicious than the first.