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Great stone walls yawned overhead, far beyond the reach of the braziers' yellow light. Though its white-masked servants stoked the flames incessantly, the Onyx Palace was simply too vast, too stark and alien to ever be warmed.

Two Dodrec guards prodded Shere into the foyer, and the entrance gate thudded shut behind them with a terrible finality that echoed long.

"The prince wants him in the throne room," another Dodrec hissed as they passed.

"Look at that," one of his escort said mockingly. "The dirty barbarian gets to meet the prince."

The bear, naked, paws manacled behind his back, lacked the energy to reply. The wagon journey through the wastelands had been harsh, doubly so because of the toxin frothing in his veins. Even now, days after being struck by the poisoned blade, he was barely emerged from the malarial swamps of fever dreams.

The three men passed below large, extravagant tapestries depicting royal hunting scenes. In one, snow leopards in twinkling diadems rode giant millipedes and rained arrows down upon small game. The heavy fabric sealed in the heat of the braziers, but could not fully repel the deathly cold. Even with his thick fur, Shere shivered. He could not imagine how the reptilian Dodrec withstood this place.

They entered the cavernous throne room, the throne itself so distant that its shining jewels were as dust motes in a sunbeam. As they made their long approach, Shere saw that the figure seated on that throne could be none other than the usurper Prince Mergen.

He was just as the rebels had described him: a tall, slight, immaculately-groomed young snow leopard with sharp green eyes. He slouched in his stolen throne with a leg thrown over one of its arms. The meteorite diadem of his office was cocked casually over his alert ears, and he idly twirled an emerald scepter as he joked and laughed with members of his court.

All fell silent when the guards delivered Shere to the foot of the dais.

"And here is our guest of honor," the prince said, amused. "We were just talking about you - the interloper who has been making so much trouble of late."

He jabbed the scepter toward a wizened old wolf. "Baron Kyrn, how many hectares of your vineyards did you say the rebels burned?"

"At least seven thousand, Your Grace," grumbled the wolf.

Gesturing to another he said, "And Lord Kabir, how much ore was estimated lost when the rebels flooded your silver mines?"

"Over one million pounds, Your Grace."

Prince Mergen rose to his footpaws. Shere's guards, along with the members of court, bowed their heads. He strode down the dais toward Shere, whose throat rumbled in a low growl, and the guards forced the bear to kneel.

Even on his knees, the huge bear was at at eye level with Prince Mergen. Shere bared his sharp teeth, but the snow leopard's sensitive ears didn't even flicker. He only took a long look at the bear, lingering on his exposed phallus for an indecently long moment.

Finally, he met Shere's eyes and began to speak. "Unlike my poor, ailing father," he began. "I have been generous to my friends. To Kyrn, to Kabir, to countless others. A resentful few have called me a tyrant for this generosity, not realizing that the prosperity of the nobility is the prosperity of Ellara."

He suddenly raised the scepter as if to strike Shere with it, then stabbed its point into the stone floor. The long echo rang beneath the prince's next words. "And you, a stranger to these lands, think to interfere in affairs you know nothing about? If you are responsible for even a tiny portion of what this misguided revolt has cost us, then you have a considerable debt to repay."

He jabbed the scepter into Shere's throat and lifted his chin to hold his gaze.

"Only a lifetime of dutiful service could begin to repay what you owe," the prince said.

"Never," Shere growled.

"You will serve me," Prince Mergen vowed. "I have many methods at my employ to break the strongest of wills. There is the torture of burning sands, the mesmerizing statues of the Hall of Serpents, the soul-stealing elixirs of the palace alchemists, and many more besides.

"Though I could break you in minutes, your path will be a slow one. I will take my time, savor it, and you will watch helplessly as your will ebbs away. Eventually, you will be nothing but a toy that will dance at my command, a reminder to all others of the consequence of disobedience."

Shere had had worse threats leveled against him, and only ever had one answer. His captors had let down their guard as the prince had spoke, so Shere was able to slip from their grasp and spring to his footpaws. Then, arms still restrained behind his back, he artlessly hurled his body into the prince. The snow leopard's eyes went wide and his tail puffed up to double its size as they crashed to the floor.

The guards strained to pull the heavy bear away, succeeding just as his jaws snapped shut, missing the prince's throat by mere inches. Shere ceased struggling only when two more Dodrec arrived and leveled their spears at him. The prince stood, readjusted his crown, and brushed down his fur, regaining his casual posture with such ease that it was as if nothing had happened.

"That attitude won't do at all," he said. He withdrew something from his robe and tossed it to one of the guards.

Before Shere could react, the guard slapped it onto his neck. It was hard and cold, and slithered repulsively through Shere's fur. As he futilely tried to shake it off, it coiled around his throat and hardened into a solid gold band, a collar so tight that each strained breath pushed it into his windpipe.

"Take him to a cell," the prince said. "A dark and cold one."

As the guards pulled the bear to his footpaws, the prince padded back to his throne and resumed his conversation with his sycophantic lords.

The way to the dungeon was convoluted and seemed to double back on itself several times, though they never entered the same hall twice. The Dodrec led the bear to the end of a dark, forgotten corridor that smelled strongly of mildew and rat droppings, then stood him before an iron door.

"Welcome home," one of them said as the other unlocked his manacles.

Though exhausted, Shere had been prepared to fight as soon as his paws were free. Once unbound, he swung his claws at the face of the nearer of the two guards - or tried to. Dizziness washed over him, and the collar around his throat throbbed with heat. He shook his head and tried again, but an even stronger wave of dizziness sent him stumbling to the floor as the Dodrec broke into hissing laughter.

The collar prevented him from violence, he realized. It tightened at the mere thought of it, and would likely kill him before he could land a scratch.

The guards pushed him into the cell without resistance and bolted the door with a heavy clang. A moth-eaten bed on the floor was the only furniture in the small, freezing room. Shere felt entombed, buried alive who knew how many feet below the earth.

Only days earlier, he had been riding across the plains under the banner of the rebel army, and now he wondered whether he would ever see the sun again. He had known that traveling to this land to fight would be a risk, but he hadn't guessed it would end like this.

His head swam. The toxin was not yet cleansed from his body, and it might be another night of restless sleep before he fully recovered. But, once he did, he would find a way to break his enchantment, escape the Onyx Palace, and hopefully open Prince Mergen's throat on his way out.

He was woken too soon by a metal squeal as a fresh pair of Dodrec opened the cell door.

"Get him up," one said. "The prince is waiting."

Another hot wave of dizziness washed over Shere when he reflexively tried to fight back, so he could only growl uselessly as they yanked him upright.

On the way, Shere kept his senses alert and observed as much as he could. He tried to build a mental map of the palace as they walked, but the route was once again convoluted and contradictory. At one point, they passed below a foreboding stone archway, then doubled back through it only to find themselves in a new hallway.

All the while, the guards talked among themselves in their native tongue, which Shere pretended not to understand in hopes of encouraging loose talk.

"He's a big one, isn't he?" the first guard was saying.

"Big, but soft. We could have had him in his cell, you know. He wouldn't have been able to resist, thanks to that collar."

"I'm filled to the brim with eggs right now. What I would give to break his mind and give him a clutch. He's big enough to hold two dozen at least."

"I already egged another prisoner last night, but I would still put a bucket of seed in him when you were done. I bet that would break him for good."

The other guard growled his approval at this. "Too bad he's the little prince's toy. We'll just have to save it for that new recruit they brought in. He's weak enough to pin down between the two of us, don't you think?"

Their vulgar dialog fell silent when they reached a small, nondescript wooden door. Reluctantly, one of them opened it. Inside was a bridge across a black abyss, in which Shere could not make out walls, ceiling, or floor, only the faint glow of torchlight on the other side. The canyon-like space was so large that, if the palace had any consistent geometry, they should have crossed through it multiple times by now.

All three men fell into solemn silence as they padded slowly across the bridge. For no reason that Shere could explain, his heart pounded and his skin was icy cold under his fur. Some primal instinct told him that to make a sound would be certain death. The place reminded him that the Onyx Palace held unspeakably ancient power which its current regents could not hope to understand or control, even as they borrowed the trappings of its prestige.

When Shere reached the other side of the bridge, he found he could breathe again, and the chill of the hall outside was like warm sun on his fur.

They reached a heavy circular door which required the strength of both guards to roll aside. Inside was a small antechamber with a marble bath and three vulpine attendants in featureless white masks. The room was so heavily perfumed that Shere's nose burned, feeling on the verge of sneezing.

"This is where he wants you," one of the guards said, and delivered Shere into the care of the attendants before rolling the door shut once more.

Without speaking, they put their paws on the bear and directed him toward the fragrant bath. He saw no other option, and found that the collar prevented him from resisting even this gentle urging. As he sank into the warm water, he displaced so much of it that it overflowed and ran over the side.

Once he was submerged, they scrubbed his thick fur clean of the dust, sweat, and dried blood of campaign. He could not imagine what purpose Prince Mergen had in giving him this treatment other than to put him off his guard but, despite himself, he found the sensation pleasant.

Once finished, the attendants led him to a mirror, and he saw his brown fur had been made lustrous and smooth. He hardly recognized himself. In another context, he might have felt fascination or even vanity, but under these circumstances he could only look on his reflection with indifferent contempt.

As they combed and dried him, Shere felt one attendant's paw drift between his legs and graze his cock. He thought it was an accident at first, but after a second, bolder touch, he was sure of the fox's intention. The bear could not even think about swiping the paw away without his collar growing warm, and the fox stole several more grasping feels before they were done. To be in such a vulnerable, helpless state was infuriating, and he could only growl uselessly.

Though he didn't want to admit it, the touches also reminded him how long it had been since he had had sexual release. There hadn't been time to indulge on the road, but the pressure in his heavy balls told him that the insistent need had grown in him nonetheless.

Their work concluded, the attendants opened the opposite door of the antechamber. This led to a much larger room, one which held the first task he would perform for Prince Mergen.

This was an expansive atrium filled with exotic plant life and the singing of birds. A skylight spanned the room, letting in the first natural light Shere had seen in a day. It was pleasant at first, until he remembered that the true sky over Ellara was hazy and dimmed by the fires of war. The image he saw overhead was an enchanted, false one for the comfort of royalty. Upon realizing this, the beauty of the atrium turned sour.

"Over here, brave warrior," called the voice of Prince Mergen.

Shere begrudgingly followed a winding trail of stepstones toward the sound, skinks and butterflies fleeing before his heavy padding. He found the snow leopard in a clearing, reclined on a plush velvet pad atop a waist-high stone platform.

The prince wore only a gauzy sash which fell like a curtain over his shoulder and waist. He was laden with gold rings and bracers, and a gold band circled the end of his fluffy tail. Even his footpaws were adorned with toe rings and thin, dainty anklets of elaborate chainwork.

"What is this about?" Shere asked.

"Don't be like that," the prince taunted. "Admit that you enjoyed your grooming session at least a little."

Shere felt his ears fall flat against his head.

He looked the bear over. "My attendants did a fine job. They've softened your rugged exterior and made you into a civilized, approachable member of court."

"I'll ask you again. What do you want?"

The prince shook his head. "Some day soon, I will teach you the nicety of small talk before business. But, for today, I will pay no mind to your discourtesy." The snow leopard gestured to his left. "You will find a bottle of oil on that table. You are to massage my aching muscles."

Shere scoffed. "You've never worked your muscles in your life."

"I may never have stepped onto a farm or a battlefield, but I have surely engaged in a great deal of other strenuous activity."

Shere rolled his eyes and took up the glass bottle. Uncorking it, he found it had a sharply floral smell, not entirely pleasant or natural.

"I don't know how to give a massage," Shere said.

"Trust me, I will tell you when you're doing something wrong. Just touch my body in ways that would feel good if they were done to you." With that, he turned onto his stomach.

Shere almost preferred to face the burning sands at this point. Sighing, he smeared a few drops of the oil over his paws, then reached reluctantly for the prince's shoulders.

"You'll need more oil than that, bear."

Grumbling, he doubled his pour of the floral stuff, black pads growing shiny and slick with it, then started his work. His paws easily enveloped the small snow leopard's shoulder blades, so his fingers did most of the work in finding knotted muscles and working them loose.

"There you go, bear."

Shere was unsure how long to focus on each area, but the prince moaned his approval whenever he worked a new muscle, so he gradually worked his way down to the lower back. As the snow leopard's silver fur grew shiny with the oil, it became easier for Shere to rake his fingers through it. Its strange smell grew more concentrated as well, until it began to sting his nose. He did his best to ignore it.

The light and sounds of the atrium faded away as Shere found his focus absorbed by his work. The prince's body was surprisingly well-toned, as if he really did engage regularly in hunting, running, or swimming, or perhaps, as he had lasciviously implied, the exertions of the bedroom.

For some reason, Shere's thoughts lingered there. How would such a corrupt and decadent royal satisfy himself carnally when he had access to anything he wanted? Shere had always been simple and incurious about things of that nature, and could not imagine what he would do in a similar position.

"You'll need to refresh the oil, bear," the prince said.

Shere poured a large helping of the stuff onto his paws, letting the excess dribble onto the prince's back. It seemed he could never use too much, so there was no point trying to conserve it. The smell from the fresh pour hit his nose in a wave, and the bear's vision blurred as his eyes watered.

"Is there a problem?" the prince asked.

"No only, what's in this oil?" the bear asked.

"Orphan tears," he said sarcastically. "What does it matter? It smells pleasant, doesn't it?"

Shere wasn't sure how to answer, but felt it would be easier to agree. "Yes."

"Say, 'Yes, Your Grace.'"

Shere said nothing.

"You know what I can do to you. Is it really worth it?"

The strangeness of being here in the atrium, giving the prince a massage like this, was making it hard to see why the words he used mattered so much. He would escape eventually - he always did.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"That's a good bear. By the way," the prince said. "Don't be shy." The snow leopard flicked his gold-adorned tail out of the way and gave a slight, inviting movement of his exposed rear.

Shere had already come this far. He placed his paws on the place indicated and found that there were indeed tense muscles there for him to work. Unexpectedly, heat bloomed between his legs as he did, and certain images sprung to his mind unbidden. He quickly moved down the prince's body, hoping that his briefness would escape comment. It did, and he made it to the calves without further distraction.

"Put a thick spread of oil on each of my footpaws," the prince commanded. "The pads can get quite rough." To punctuate his point, he curled and flexed the toes of his fluffy paws.

Shere was already lightheaded from the cumulative effect of the oil's sharp smell, but supposed he could handle another minute. He poured out a much larger portion than before. It flowed onto the prince's footpaws, and drizzled between his toes onto the stone tile.

The pads were indeed rough, and readily absorbed the moisture of the oil, growing shiny and pliable. Moving down, the muscles of the prince's arch softened quickly. Shere repeated the process with the other footpaw, head spinning as the smell of the second huge dollop filled his snout.

He took a step back from the prince and shook the excess oil from his paws, attempting to rid himself of the intrusive smell. "We're done here," he said.

The prince looked back at Shere quizzically. "Oh? By my estimate, we're only half finished."

He turned onto his back. The soft, light-colored fur of the prince's chest and stomach held Shere's attention and he found himself unable to respond. The prince spread his legs slightly and the bear saw that the feline's cock was half-erect.

Shere glanced away. "What do you really want from me?"

"I want you to finish the task I gave you."

Although Shere's thoughts were growing blurry, this sounded to him like a reasonable request. It would only take a few minutes to massage the chest, thighs, and calves, and then he would return to his cell to plot his escape.

The snow leopard held up the bottle of oil. Shere reached for it, but stumbled as he was struck with sudden lightheadedness. Taking advantage of his loss of balance, the prince raised one footpaw, then hooked his other ankle behind Shere's neck to pull his snout deep into the soft and oil-coated pads. The smell of the oil he had laid on so thickly hit him in a flood and his knees went weak.

"Breathe deep, bear."

Obeying automatically, Shere took a lungful of air that was more oil than oxygen, and his vision dimmed as hot pheromones swarmed his body.

"You didn't even feel it when the potion started seeping into you through your pawpads, did you?" the prince taunted. "You didn't suspect a thing."

He crushed the bear's face tighter against his footpaw. The mind-melting scent was overwhelming, yet he was unable to pull away. Shere's cock grew painfully hard and heavy between his legs.

Distantly, the bear saw the prince lubricate his fingers with the oil, or, rather, the potion. The snow leopard pushed his fingers into his tailhole easily, then worked a larger amount inside.

"Imagine, then," the prince said, "how readily your needy, swollen cock is going to absorb this aphrodisiac. Fucking your prince is going to be like nothing you've ever felt, and you're going to keep coming back for more. Aren't you?"

"Yes, Your Grace." The words came automatically, even muffled by pillowy footpaws as they were.

"I'll make you addicted to my body. You won't think of anything other than servicing my cock, my footpaws, and my hole."

The prince finally released his hold on Shere. He took a deep lungful of air, but his snout was now so coated in aphrodisiac that it did him no good. The only functioning part of him was his cock, which was fully prepared to do what it had been designed to do.

"It would probably break your mind to deny you relief, so I'll be generous this time. Do it, bear," the prince commanded.

"Yes, Your Grace," he panted.

Shere took a wobbly step forward and positioned his cockhead at the prince's entrance. The prince had lubricated himself so well that it took only a little pressing before he slipped in. At that point, his mind melted away entirely, and the bear found himself unable even to continue the act without the prince's insistent verbal instructions.

"Keep pushing, keep pushing, good bear. Now thrust. Thrust. There you go. You're doing so well. It feels incredible, doesn't it? That dumb look on your face makes me wish I hadn't built up such a tolerance to this stuff."

It wasn't long before Shere felt pressure building in his balls and at the base of his cock, and he picked up the pace.

The prince firmly pressed a footpaw into Shere's face. "You don't get to finish before your prince."

Muffled, he said, "Yes, Your Grace."

"But you may have the privilege of helping me finish."

The prince guided Shere's paw down. Shere wrapped it around the prince's cock and pumped it up and down in time with his thrusts. His pads were so slick with the potion that it slid along the shaft easily, and soon he felt the prince's legs shake and tighten their grip around his waist.

The prince gasped and shot a long rope of seed that fell across his chest and dribbled down Shere's paw. Unable to hold back any longer, Shere let out his own pent-up load into Prince Mergen with a huge, unrestrained groan.

He pulsed and throbbed in indescribable pleasure more times than he could count before it was over, and then his heavy body collapsed on top of the prince.

"Say, 'thank you,'" the prince said.

"Thank you, Your Grace," the bear said.

His mind beginning to clear, he measured the astronomical amount of pleasure he had just experienced against his willpower and realized he might be in serious trouble. How long would he be able to hold out against it?

The prince pushed aside Shere's weakened body easily and stood. "You require more training, but you did an adequate job. The guards will be waiting for you outside."