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Having just committed a murder Alois paced along the chateau corridors with the storm brewing outside matching the sensations in his chest. His problem was that the victim did not know it yet, which was cause for some concern to a noble like him — he preferred battle lines to a dagger in the night, but sometimes certain sacrifices had to be made for the sake of expediency. He was a red fox in his gentleman years, with a stern build and fringe of gray to his fur which he attributed to aging gracefully, while others to the wolf blood in his lineage. He was dressed in a courtly jacket in the latest fashion, tight at the waistline and broad at the shoulders, with an embroidered cravat that was as tasteful as it was expensive, snug fitting pantaloons and clever black shoes as polished as a mirror. His wig was a simple affair, made of golden white horse hair with a short ponytail and curled tips, suitably modest for a career administrator like him, like his father, grandfather, and great grandfather before him.

The dark corridors watched his passage blindly. Back in the days of the old king they were bustling with officials and foreign dignitaries, but now they were filled only by the raucous merrymaking of the young prince and his wastrel friends. Whatever goodwill prince Reynard had left had been thoroughly squandered, and he seemed content to watch the same happen to the royal treasury. Alois could feel the kingdom creaking at its seams, like an ache clawing at his bones as it shuffled towards collapse. A dutiful servant loves his master, but an old servant loves his master’s estate even more, he thought, and his co-conspirators knew this.

Alois knocked on the mahogany door lacquered to a smooth shine, and waited for the polite time before letting himself in. The lavishly decorated bedroom was partitioned into little nooks and crannies by silk curtains and brocade, and in a corner a brazier smoldering with lavender smoke tried to keep the night’s cold at bay. Alois spotted Reynard reclining on a chaise longue behind one of the veils, looking uneasy and restless, wearing a loose kaftan and his head bare. The young red fox was slender like his mother, and handsome as his father, but unfortunately he had not inherited the steel and drive of either.

“Your highness,” Alois spoke politely but firmly, “the preparations for tomorrow’s pheasant hunt have been made.”

“I’ve told you to call me just Reynard,” the young man frowned. “You’re my most trusted friend. You don’t need to be so formal around me.”

He got up to pour himself a goblet of wine, but then changed his mind and set it aside.

“I don’t want to go. The weather’s going to be bad, can’t we cancel the hunt?”

His voice had a pleading quality, like a child trying to negotiate his bedtime.

“It is…imperative that you attend tomorrow, your highness Reynard.”

Alois could not help but clench his teeth as he spoke. Their entire plan hinged on the prince being alone in the woods tomorrow.

Reynard sighed and took a sip of his wine. “I don’t like killing things.”

“Being a king is not just about killing things. It is as much about making alliances and good impressions.”

Reynard flopped down on his bed, face first and made a muffled groan in the plump bedsheets.

“Speaking of alliances, lord Reynard… It has been three weeks since your marriage to the daughter of the grand duc of the Lakes. Have you…consummated it?”

Reynard was silent for a moment, then peeked over his shoulder at Alois with a nervous look.

“Hrm. I was thinking…could you do that for me?”

“What!”

Alois did not need to feign shock. Was the prince suspecting that they intended to replace him?

Reynard looked mortified. “I mean, ah, you’re better at that kind of stuff, and, and, we wouldn’t need to tell anyone…I could watch to make it, hrm, more official if that helps?”

“I will send the servants to dress you up at six in the morning, your highness.” Alois said curtly.

Reynard clambered up from the bed to take Alois by the hand.

“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have suggested such a stupid thing, I swear I wasn’t trying to make fun of you. Please just forget that I said it, pretty please?”

“I will consider it. Now, I bid your highness goodnight.” Alois made a little formal bow.

Reynard let his hand go, but stood there looking indecisive.

“I’m sorry. You’re the only one who I can really trust. Will you look after me, Alois?”

“As long as it is necessary.”

Alois turned his back to Reynard and strode out of the room. The knife had been planted, and the only thing remaining was to bury it deep and twist it.

--

The morning air was cool and the grass damp with dew when the hunting party set out into the golden fields that surrounded the castle. Servants had preceded them before dawn and dutifully released hundreds of hand-reared pheasants into the countryside to ensure that even the most incompetent hunter would not be denied the pleasure of bagging a few birds. There were the usual professional courtiers, petty nobles who always buzzed around the royal household like wasps around a honeypot, but there were also more distinguished guests. The viscount of Arras came to present his greetings to the young prince, and so did the marquis of Holstein.

The two canines offered a respectful salute to the fox and a knowing side-eye at his advisor. Alois responded with an almost imperceptible nod. Neither of these men, he knew, had joined the plot out of a concern for the welfare of the kingdom. When the deed was done he would need all of his craft to keep their greedy paws off the crown's coffers and estates.

“A fine party, your highness,” the viscount said with a grin. He was a prosperous-looking hound, and his ample paunch wobbled as he handed his empty gun to his valet and received a loaded one in exchange.

“As I always say, hunting sharpens the mind and the body. It is the manliest of all sports and the best school for young men, after the army,” the marquis, a stern doberman, concurred with a harsh accent.

“A man with a gun and a patch of land shall never starve,” the viscount added.

“Perhaps your majesty could gratify us with a display of marksmanship?” the doberman said, pointing at a field from which servants were scaring away a flock of pheasants.

Reynard stiffened and fiddled with his gun. He looked at Alois as if expecting the older man to handle his two guests but the advisor made a gesture to encourage the prince to take a shot. The fox took a step forward, slowly lifted the barrel, aimed at one of the soaring pheasants and pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang, a puff of smoke and the bird flew away unmolested.

“Mph! Bad luck, it can happen to anyone.”

“Must be the wind.”

There wasn't a speck of wind of course, and the men's words were carefully phrased so as to sting without crossing the line into open mockery. Reynard went red in the face and Alois realized almost too late that the prince was about to throw his gun away, turn tail and beat a shameful retreat to the safety of his room.

“Well, here is a great opportunity to learn!” Alois laid his hand on the shoulder of the dejected youth, “Let us try again.”

Alois motioned for a valet to give a fresh gun to the prince. This done, he stepped behind the smaller fox, pressed his body close to his and placed his hand on the young man's to adjust his inexperienced grip. When he laid his other hand on the prince’s hip to correct his posture the youth flinched, like a cat surprised by petting, but did not shy away.

“A man ought to set his eyes on the target, aim with confidence and never waver,” he whispered in Reynard's ear as he rested his head on the youth’s shoulder.

From up close the young man’s body odor was perceptible beneath his perfume. The scent was undeniably male but subdued, almost flowery.

“I think I understand,” the prince murmured, his body tensing and his aim growing firmer under Alois's steady guidance.

Another pheasant flew. The gun trailed it, fired and the bird dropped like a stone.

“Congratulations your majesty!” came the somewhat disappointed applause.

“Thank you, thank you. Uhhh… what now?” Reynard said, his voice turning hesitant again as Alois let go of him.

“Now we go fetch the prize. If you'll excuse us, my lords,” Alois bowed to the two other men. The pair nodded approvingly and made no attempt to follow the prince and his advisor as they headed towards a little patch of woods where the bird had fallen.

“Thank you for not letting me make a fool of myself,” Reynard sighed, his amber eyes fixated on the wet grass that soaked their feet despite their tall boots.

“What nonsense! You did very well.”

Alois felt his heart pounding. His gaze looked at the path ahead of him. A few paces away was a big fallen tree, and behind it was the clearing with a small knoll that would give the hidden marksman a perfect line of sight.

“You want to make me feel better, but I know they weren’t impressed. People like them never take me seriously.”

Reynard did not seem to notice that they were straying from the part of the woods where the pheasant had fallen. As they stepped into the clearing and began to ascend the mound he turned his eyes towards his advisor, and Alois saw they were damp.

“I do not know what’s wrong with me. I feel even my old friends slipping away, it’s like we no longer understand each other. Last week when we played cards Hubert had a glass too much and he asked me how it felt when me and my new wife… made it. I did not know what to say, and after that they all looked at me funny. Like I was still a boy and they were men.”

“Your highness, these good-for-nothing scoundrels are the ones who should care about your opinion of them, not the other way around.”

Alois’s voice came out shaky. The marksman must have them in his sights now, although it had been agreed that he would take the shot only when the prince stood on top of the mound, with his advisor a few steps behind him. The older fox slowed his pace to let the young man overtake him, but Reynard stopped and grabbed his arm.

“I know,” he said, his voice quivering with swallowed tears, “But I feel so lonely, and I can’t tell any of this to anyone or I will look even more weak. You’re… you’re the only one I feel safe with…”

Alois’s eyes darted from the young man to the bushes from which death would come. It would be unseen and almost painless, he told himself again and again, all he needed to do was give the youth a good shove…

It was Reynard who took him by surprise. Before the agitated vulpine could convince his body to move, the young man threw his arms around his chest and buried his face in the greying fur of his neck.

“Thank you,” he began to sob, “Thank you for not leaving me alone.”

There was a thunderous crack. Sharp pain grazed Alois’s arm and split cloth and skin. Without thinking he pushed the frightened prince to the ground and pounced away from him.

“You fool!” he snarled at the treeline and dashed forward.

His instincts flared, telling him to seek cover, his hackles rising in anticipation of the next shot as his boots pounded the soft grass. Of course that would not come, at least if the assassin had any sense in his head, but he could not help sighing in relief when he reached the shade of the trees. He had started his career in the light infantry, fighting as a skirmisher instead of dying gloriously in the line of battle, and even after all these years the woods still felt like a second home to him.

Alois took stock of his situation. His right arm was in pain as if he had run a straight razor across it and blood was already staining the sleeve of his hunting jacket, but he would live. However, that would change very quickly if the guards caught the assassin. He swallowed his suddenly dry throat and scanned his surroundings. Had Reynard already ran to safety and raised the alarm? He did not have much time.

His hopes were answered by a flock of frightened pheasants rising to flight a little ways to his left, and he ran into their direction. When he arrived at the scene he was flagged down by a figure crouching behind some willow saplings, a foxhound wearing a forester's outfit and a worried expression.

“Hey, over here! Thank God it’s you, Alois.” The man rose from his hiding place cautiously, holding his rifle up.

“You hit me, you idiot!” Alois snapped. “What were you thinking!?”

“I thought that I had only one chance! When he moved so suddenly I had to take the shot.” He sounded hurt for being reprimanded for using his own judgement.

Alois pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He needed to put the foxhound at ease. “We can’t let the others find you. I’ll help you to escape but you need to get rid of that rifle. It’s going to raise suspicion.”

“What? It’s crazy expensive! And I inherited it from my father!” He lowered his rifle as his attention shifted from his predicament to the argument.

Alois stepped up close to lay his hand on the foxhound’s shoulder, and gave it a firm squeeze. “Trust me to handle this. I’m here to take care of you.”

The foxhound thanked him and Alois drew his rapier to run him through.

Alois was made slow by his wound and the surprised foxhound managed to shove him across the chest with his rifle, sending him reeling backwards. He turned to flee but the fox was already hot on his heels, running after him and then lunged to slash his back. The foxhound stumbled, fell amidst the moss and fern and rolled on his back, trying to reload his rifle with shaky hands and tears falling from his eyes. Alois punctured his belly like a deflated balloon and wiped his sword with a single elegant flourish.

“Raison d’état,” he spoke softly and sheathed his weapon. “I wish it did not come to this.” But you have only yourself to blame, he finished in his mind.

The foxhound managed to call him a fucker as he curled up but little else, and seeing that he would perish soon Alois turned to meet the guardsmen, already concocting a believable explanation in his mind. The second shot took him by surprise. It hit him in the side, the ball entering just below his kidneys and blowing cleanly through the other side. As he fell to his knees he felt relieved that he did not see his guts coming out. That was never a good sign. Behind him the flintlock pistol fell from the foxhound’s dying fingers. He crashed face first into the moist forest floor. It smelled of soil and decomposing leaves and he felt the need to close his eyes just for a moment. Then the pain came.

--

They moved Alois out of the infirmary into private quarters for the rest of his convalescence only after a week. The surgeon congratulated his own skill, but Alois knew that he had been very lucky that no vital organs had been hit. Even then the muscle lining on his left side had been torn and he would need a cane to walk for a good while. His new quarters were the corner room of the chateau with lots of light and air, a fresh bouquet of flowers on the nightstand every morning and the prince crying by his bedside every evening. Overall it was a good opportunity for reflection.

He had never started a family, having always been consumed by the pursuit of his career. Instead of having a son he had contended to having the country as his legacy. With the tense political situation abroad and a weak, ineffectual ruler on the throne he had felt compelled to step in and prevent everything he had worked for crumbling apart. He felt ashamed by his actions, as naturally as one does when committing crimes of high treason against the state one has sworn to serve, but thus far he had been able to suppress his misgivings due to his sheer distaste for the weakling prince. However, there were now two reasons that gave him doubts.

The first one was how amenable to his advice the prince had been. So far he had written him off as a lost cause incapable of listening to anyone except the lackeys and leeches fawning over him, but now he felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Had he made a genuine effort to get to know the young man before leaping into a plot to murder him? If not, then that had been a grave misjudgement on his part. He should have offered guidance, not blade. The paternal tone of his feelings did not escape him either, which put him at unease.

The second one was a visit from the marquis of Holstein. His other co-conspirators had not deigned to send him even a get well soon note, but the doberman needed to see him in person. He explained to Alois in his curt manner that in the aftermath of the failed assassination attempt the prince had appointed the marquis as the head of security, which made him dying on his watch…unbecoming. It would be an easy excuse for Reynard’s successor to have him exiled, and that meant that the prince needed to live, for the time being. To Alois it seemed an incredibly bold action to take if the prince wanted to root out dissension. Was he suspecting the marquis? He had no other reason to appoint lord Holstein except to put him on the spot. But was he capable of such guile? If so, he had been hiding it well.

“You’re reading too much into it, Gervais.” Alois had been propped up into a half sitting pose with pillows, which was the least uncomfortable position he could find. “Reynard is an idiot. You’re trying to figure out the real intentions of someone who has none.”

“Do not forget how dangerous a game we are playing.” The doberman sat and adjusted his pants. The rumor was that he was well hung, the sole speck of mirth in his otherwise humorless existence, but Alois had no inclination of verifying their veracity. “It is either him or us, chancellor.”

You idiot, Alois thought to himself and picked up a little book of poems to browse. Do not call our treason a game. There’s no shaking of hands after the match.

“Nothing has changed. We proceed as planned.” He did not look up from the book as he spoke.

“Easy for you to say, recuperating here above all suspicion. You’re the prince’s hero now that you’ve saved his life.” The marquis paused and added a cruel smile. “Some say that you’re his lover too.”

“Pah! What a load of nonsense.” Alois flicked through the pages without stopping.

“You’ve never married. People will talk.”

“Well he has, so that should put an end to such talk.”

Gervais sniffed with a sneer. “You know, an heir would make things less complicated. A dowager queen and a child king would be so much easier to control.”

Alois closed the book. “In that case I suggest that you teach the prince to fuck and stop pestering me.”

“Why I never!” The doberman looked more incensed than Alois expected. Perhaps his barb had hit too close for comfort?

“I need my rest. You may go now.”

Alois closed his eyes. He listened to the marquis’s huff without saying anything, and then heard his receding steps and the door being slammed. Arguing with the man had made his bile rise up, and he was worried that shouting had reopened one of his fresh wounds. His rest would not last, however. When he heard the door creaking again he opened his eyes to see who else wanted to try driving him into the grave prematurely.

Turned out that it was Reynard. The young man looked sick with worry, wearing only an embroidered vest and shirt with rolled up sleeves, riding pants, and like a servant, nothing to cover his head. In his arms he was carrying a bowl of warm water and fresh linen, which he set beside Alois’s bed.

“I’ve come to change your bandages, sir.” He had an anxious expression and bags of sleepless nights under his eyes.

“Your highness, that is below your station. Let the help handle that.”

“You saved my life. It’s the least I can do.”

“Will you stop if I say no?”

“Please?” Reynard wringed his hands and looked miserable.

Alois let out a long suffering sigh. “If you must.”

He rolled the duvet most of the way down, leaving it a little above the line where his hip met with his crotch, exposing his otherwise naked body to the prince. He had a thick ruff of white fur on his chest, hiding the wiry strength underneath, and a lean build suitable for a fencer half his age. His entire midriff was wrapped in bandages which Reynard started picking apart gingerly. Alois curled his toes in nervous anticipation as Reynard peeled off the gauze that covered his wound, revealing first a patch of shaved skin and then an unsightly but well-sutured bullet hole.

“Dear Lord, this is awful!” Reynard gasped upon seeing the wound.

“Not a very pretty sight, but it could have been much worse.”

“I am so sorry. This bullet was meant for me.”

“And we should be thankful that it struck me instead,” Alois replied - At the very least it will be punishment for my clumsiness, he added internally - “Your life is of paramount importance.”

“The life of Reynard the prince perhaps,” the young fox sighed, “But I’m afraid the life of Reynard the man isn’t worth such lofty sacrifices.”

“Your highness, I will have none of this nonsense agai…”

Alois tried to rise but a bolt of pain made him gasp and fall back heavily on his pillow. Fresh blood began to ooze from his exposed wound and for a moment it looked as if the prince would faint, but before Alois could call for an attendant he took a sponge from the bowl of warm water, squeezed it and gently pressed it against the older man’s flesh.

“See how I repay your endless labours, my dear Alois? I do not deserve your loyalty,” the young man said with a weary smile.

Alois let out a groan, half of pain and half of exasperation.

“When your father the late king left this world I pledged myself to your service, and I intend to honour that pledge,” the fox said and bit his tongue internally at the lie, “But this constant self-pitying is a very poor wage for my efforts indeed.”

Reynard lowered his eyes without saying a word in response. He dipped the stained sponge into the bowl and when he moved his hand to resume his cleaning Alois heard soft sobs and saw tears fall into the bloodied water.

“Your majesty, your failings as a young prince are my failings as a mentor, and since it has pleased God to spare both our lives I fully intend to remedy them.”

The words left Alois’s mouth before he had a chance to consider them, and a burst of shame, more burning than the pain, flared in his chest.

“Do you mean it?” Reynard whispered, a glint of renewed hope in his damp eyes.

“Of course I do,” Alois swallowed.

“Then tell me, what shall I do to become worthy of your love?”

The old fox let out a sigh and closed his eyes. The warm sponge had staunched the bleeding, and the pain in his flank was slowly subsiding.

“Act like the prince you are. Have you attended the council of ministers this week?”

“Well… no,” Reynard lowered his muzzle again, “The viscount and marquis said they would attend as my representatives, and in any case I never have anything meaningful to contribute.”

“This has to change. In my library you will find a copy of “The Lives and Deeds of the Illustrious” and “Letters to a Young King”. I would have you read one chapter of each tonight, so we can discuss them during your next visit.”

“I will!”

“This also means no more drinking, playing cards and dancing all night with those blood-sucking rakes that pretend to be your friends.”

“Oh, you need not worry about that anymore” Reynard said with a subdued voice, like a boy remembering a stern chastisement from his father, “The marquis told them that if they wanted board and lodging at the state’s expense he could arrange that, and he had them all sent to the army.”

Alois allowed a smile to creep at the corner of his mouth. At least there was something he and Gervais could agree on.

“People will hold you in esteem when you hold yourself in esteem. Be confident yet wise. Then, with experience and proper counselling, you will get a firm grip on- Agh!”

With the wound cleaned and dry, Reynard had begun picking up the last of the loose bandages from around Alois’s midriff. He had listened to the larger fox with rapt attention, and his distracted hand had grabbed the hairy sheath that now protruded slightly from the duvet.

“S-sorry!” the prince blurted out and withdrew his hand as if he had touched a red-hot stove.

“I… I will keep that with me, your highness,” Alois replied and hastily rearranged the sheet to cover his manhood.

“In-indeed, it certainly doesn’t need changing,” Reynard wriggled with a smile that avoided his companion’s eyes.

An awkward silence settled in the room as Reynard wrapped fresh linen around Alois’s stomach, keeping his gaze and hands well clear of the other fox’s masculine parts. Before he departed, the young man renewed his pledge to read the recommended books and come back the next day for a lesson.

“Goodness gracious, he sounds like he really means it,” Alois exhaled just after the door had closed behind his visitor.

Pangs of shame and worry gnawed at his heart. Had the young prince fallen into impotence and languor because he, his advisor, had failed to steer him into a more manly path while there was still time? He had long discounted the young man as a lost cause but now he was no longer so sure.

What is done is done, he shook his head sadly, I have set in motion events that only a miracle could stop now. Still, he would teach the young prince during his convalescence. He doubted a few months could make up for wasted years but perhaps the divine providence would grant them a miracle.

He tried to settle into a more restful position and felt the fabric of the duvet rub against a sensitive spot on his crotch. He lifted the bed covers and was greeted by the sight of his half-exposed manhood.

How long have I been like this? he thought and waited for the vexing arousal to subside. After several minutes his engorged sex was still stubbornly peeking out of his sheath, stiff and moist in the warm air. With a sigh the fox listened carefully for steps in the corridor and, hearing none, grabbed a handkerchief from his bedside table, gripped the base of his sheath and began to stroke his nascent erection.

Alois moved his hand slowly and carefully, not wanting to have to explain how he had reopened his wound by self-indulging too hard. He squeezed and tugged right under his knot and closed his eyes, filling his mind with the generous and hearty picture of Manon, the cheerful maid who for many years had served him and attended to his various bodily needs before marrying and leaving his service last winter. He had been abstinent since then, only using his own hand to relieve himself when the buildup of tension interfered with his work. His attention coaxed his canine erection to emerge fully from its sheath, stiff and pale colored, thicker in the middle than at the root, and tapering to a red point at its tip. His knot would be the size of his fist when fully inflated, no doubt inherited from his wolf ancestry, and his balls in their hairy pouch had always been capable of producing impressive amounts of semen.

The fox readied the handkerchief for the expected eruption but despite his efforts none came. Frustrated, he let go of his unsatisfied manhood and stared at the ceiling, inhaling and exhaling deeply until his eyelids closed and he fell half-asleep. Reynard’s scent lingered in the room, and his thoughts wandered to the embarrassing moment when the prince had accidentally touched his virility. His dormant member twitched again, and the fox half-dreamily brought his hand between his legs. He caressed his sack, and then ran his closed fist up and down his stiffening shaft, remembering how he had distinctly felt the royal fingers pinch it through the loose skin of his sheath.

By the time he realized that an orgasm had built up inside him it was too late to stop it. Alois gasped and tried not to move as he spilled a week’s worth of seed between his clenched fingers in several, long pulses of pearly white fox cum. When the pleasure subdued he caught his breath and, feeling nothing more than a faint protest from his wounded flank, lifted the duvet to survey the damage. A sticky mess of warm semen stained the duvet, the fur of his crotch and the bandages on his belly. He sighed and cleaned it as best he could with the handkerchief, and hoped that the smell would dissipate before someone came to visit him.

I haven’t laid with a girl for too long, he muttered to himself, I should ask Gervais to arrange for a pretty nurse to visit me. But somehow the thought failed to dissipate his doubts about what had just happened.

--

Pink petaled lilies craned over the gravel path and tried to brush against Alois as he traveled towards a small chapel with some difficulty. He was being pushed forward in a wheelchair that resembled a rattan comfy chair with two wheels to the sides and one smaller one to the front, attached to a stick for steering. Its wheels kept getting stuck in the loose gravel, and the servant behind him was already sweating and panting in the midday sun. Despite not being cold Alois was wrapped up in quilts, partly to play the role of the invalid hero, partly to hide a weapon. The prey he was now stalking was lean and wily, with smiles consumed by teeth and an ember for a heart.

The chapel was made of weathered marble and partly overgrown with ivy for that rustic charm, meant for the private use of the royal family and fallen to disrepair. He remembered it being always cold inside despite the time of the year. Who he wanted to see let himself be found in the small herb garden by the chapel’s side so he waved off the servant, who stepped out to stand under the shade of trees and out of hearing range, and studied the man pruning the weeds.

He was a tundra wolf, tall and gaunt, with gray fur that cascaded in matted knots under his gray robe frayed at the hem and tied with a rope around the waist. When called out he rose to his full height and looked down at Alois with his pale blue eyes, holding a foxglove between his forefinger and thumb, and studied him like a stork tracking his prey.

“Frère, I heard that you were paying a visit to the royal chateau. I was surprised to not find you by my bedside.” Alois said with mock condemnation.

“Does a mountain come to a man?” His voice was resonant and had an Eastern accent, one a little too affected to be real. It had become worse after he had become popular at the court.

“Alas, I have come to ascend your slopes. Counsel me, Grigori.”

The monk tossed the flower aside and wiped his hands on his robe. Alois noted how his fingers were long and knotted, like roots of an old tree, and ended in dirt blackened claws. He kept looking at Alois with an unnerving expression, so the fox spoke up to break the silence.

“So. Hrm. Would you have a reason to believe that the prince could have carnal desires for his own sex?”

Grigori’s entire posture changed, and he pressed his palms together in an almost demure display of piety.

“What is said in confession is said between God and I, not for the ears of men.”

Alois rolled his eyes. “You are already conspiring to have him killed. Don’t you think that puts you well past piousness?

Grigori was the fourth member of their little coterie, one that Alois liked interacting with the least. Lords Arras and Holstein were venal and greedy, almost disappointing in how banal their ambitions were, but Grigori was cut from a different cloth. He believed in something, and that made him strong. Alois could see a lot of himself in him, and that made him dangerous.

“It is a sin.” The wolf clasped his hands, resting them over his lower belly.

“Doesn’t your God forgive everything? That’s what I heard.”

Grigori stood motionless for long enough to make Alois draw breath to speak again, but he cut him off suddenly.

“The sun will give you a heatstroke. Come. We will find shade.”

Alois could not stop Grigori from walking behind him and taking control of his wheelchair. He pushed the wheelchair forward effortlessly, his feet making very little sound on the gravel for he wore no shoes, his steps as slow and deliberate as a man walking to an execution. To his mild alarm Alois noted that they were heading towards a small pond, large enough to float a couple ducks or sink one fox. He tried to peer around the wolf to call for his servant, but the man was already dozing off at the base of the tree, and was soon carried out of his view by the steadily rattling wheels.

“You have a guilty conscience. It is making your resolve falter. Speak to me.”

“Well,” Alois adjusted himself and willed himself calm, “I was thinking if we should reconsider our position. Perhaps a large scandal could force Reynard to abdicate and all this…unpleasantness could be avoided.”

The gravel crunched.

“He has been spending a lot of time by my bedside, and I have gotten an impression that he would be amenable to such a proposal. Do not misunderstand me, he would not be a good ruler, but getting killed for being bad at your job seems like…that we overreacted.”

The wheels rattled, and then they stopped at the edge of the pond. It was quite lovely.

“Reynard would not know what ‘homosexual’ means.” Grigori intoned, towering over him and following the flight of dragonflies over the water.

“Oh.” Alois felt disappointed without knowing why.

“But despite not being able to name the sin it still haunts him. I will take matters into my own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is my turn to administer the cure.”

Alois cocked his flintlock pistol under the quilt.

“What about Holstein? You’re making him take the fall.”

“You hold no love for him either.”

“I expected you to quote the prayer book instead of making sense.”

Grigori chuckled. Alois wished that he didn’t.

“Why are you trusting me with this information? I might tattle to Holstein and that would be the end of you. Surely you have other plans than just killing me after telling me.”

Grigori wheeled him around, looming over him with his manic grin with too many teeth, his face close enough to be intimate, his stare intense like a kiss from your executioner. His breath smelled like herbs and rot.

“Because it is in your blood too. The beast that hungers. Do not try to deny it.”

Alois tensed up. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Grigori leaned closer to whisper in his ear softly. “We will kill together, mark my words. It will be glorious.”

“You are insane.”

The monk straightened out and looked down on Alois amused, almost expectant, back to his affable self. Alois swallowed but his throat was too dry.

“Have you finished pestering me? Tell me when it will happen.”

“Oh very soon, at the dinner party tonight.” He winked at the fox. “Watch what you eat.”

--

The dinner was intended to be a joyous affair, a celebration of both the arrival of summer and the miraculous failure of the murder attempt against the young prince, but Alois was not in a festive mood. Oysters, Reynard’s favourite food, would be served in abundance and washed down with champagne. Dying from a bad oyster, a most undignified end for a prince, but one that would give the assassins plausible deniability, Alois thought as he was wheeled through the service corridors that led to the kitchens.

“Your honour, with all due respect I do not think we can…”

“You are not paid to think, I am!” Alois interrupted the master cook, “Toss all the baskets in the pond and have a new batch of oysters delivered for tomorrow evening. Keep them sealed and under guard until they are served, your career, and much more, depend on it.”

“But the nearest supplier is a hundred and fifty leagues away, this will cost at least…”

“I don't want to hear any excuses! Send me the bill and I will take care of it,” the fox thundered.

“Oh my, is it any wonder that our treasury is going bankrupt?”

Soft as silk and clear as a mountain spring, the voice immediately silenced the raucous vacarm of the busy kitchen. Alois and the cook turned their heads at once and beheld the beautiful figure of lady Maria, Reynard's wife, wearing a white, gold and green robe richly embroidered with flowers and leaves. She was a supple lady whose youthful face and delicate gait belied self-assured manners and a keen interest in the affairs of state.

“Ah, your highness, I wasn't expecting to see you here…”

“And I wasn't expecting to find the prince's advisor concerning himself with pots and pans. Is something the issue with the dinner?”

“Sir Alois has expressed skepticism regarding the freshness of my oysters,” the cook replied, visibly delighted at the unexpected support.

“Is that so? Bring me a sample so I can judge by myself.”

“Your highness, this could be dangerous!”

Ignoring Alois’s protests, the vixen had a plate of oysters brought to her. She picked one at random, seasoned it with lemon juice and swallowed it with a delicate motion.

“Hmm, to die for! Now, why don't we forget this silliness and let the poor old cook go back to his larder?”

“I assure you this is no silly matter, your highness,” embarrassed Alois grumbled as he and his servant followed the princess through the corridors and to her private salon.

“Then let us discuss it. Young man, would you please leave us for now? Here is a little something for your trouble,” Maria smiled and dropped a half-crown into the servant's palm.

The man accepted the gift with a grateful bow and, after receiving a nod from his exasperated master, quickly scampered off to celebrate his newfound wealth with a few drinks.

“Surely, it is something other than the freshness of the seafood that caused this outburst?” Maria said and sat herself on a sofa opposite Alois.

Alois hesitated. “Well, to tell you the truth, your highness, the recent attempt on our sovereign’s life has caused me great concern.”

“Call me Maria, and call him Rey,” she replied and slipped her dainty feet out of their shoes before tucking them up under her. “But wasn't this deplorable incident the work of a lone madman, as the official investigation found?”

“Most likely,” Alois conceded, feeling suddenly hot, “But what if it wasn't? What if his majesty… I mean Rey, was in the sights of a cabal?”

“A cabal! But who would want to hurt such an innocent soul?”

“Innocence is no shield against the wicked, and Rey's position is insecure as he lacks an heir.”

She sighed and rested her head on her hand. “It is true, and I fear this situation is not going to change soon. My dear Rey is a lovely companion, but he is more boy than man.”

She sized Alois up with her deep green eyes and leaned over in his direction. “Some say oysters open up all sorts of bodily appetites, do you think they will awaken the husband in him?”

“It is not for me to question my prince's manliness…” Alois protested. But how could any man leave such a beautiful fruit untouched? He blushed as a plunging vista of her feminine attributes was revealed to him. Her shapely little breasts looked firm under the snow-white fur of her chest.

“Yet I feel so neglected. Am I unworthy of the attention of the stronger sex?”

“Quite the opposite,” the fox mumbled and tried to shift his attention to the painting of a shepherdess and lambs that hung above the mantelpiece.

“Perhaps the oyster was poisoned after all, I can feel my blood heating up,” she whispered.

She got up and kneeled in front of the chair-bound fox. Alois’s voice cracked in a dry rasp as her lips met his. It was only a fleeting kiss, neither of them trying to push a tongue into the other one's mouth, but Maria obviously liked what she tasted. She unbuttoned his vest and buried her hand in his fur. “How strong you are, and to think you slew a foxhound on your own!”

“I took no pleasure in the deed, but I had to protect his majesty,” Alois gulped.

“I wish my prince's steel was as sharp and sure as yours.”

“When I am well enough I will gladly teach hi- Ah!”

Nimble fingers pulled the quilt that covered his lap and unlaced his pants. Freed from the constraints of the fox's underwear his sheath stood up, swollen tight by a knot the size of a small apple.

“Maria… your highness… I cannot…”

“Of course you can.”

She licked her lips and tickled his tip with a marvelously soft finger. An eager spurt of pre rewarded her touch.

“You said it yourself, Rey needs an heir, but he is unable to plant the seed. Will you not do this for his sake?”

“Madame, do not torment me so… this would be a betrayal of his trust.”

It was not entirely a lie. He had betrayed Reynard’s trust many times over, of course, but the thought of giving Gervais what he wanted was even more distasteful to him — and the idea of making Reynard superfluous did not appeal to him anymore either.

She laughed and kneaded his manhood at its base. His canine member slid out fully of his sheath, red and turgid. Her other hand reached out under his erection to massage his firm, shapely testes.

“Rey trusts you to do what is best for him and the kingdom. And what servant would not want his seed to mix with the royal bloodline? I want my son to be fierce and strong like a wolf.”

“Like a wolf? Am I just an exotic dish you crave?” Alois replied with a new firmness in his voice. “My lady, I am no mere animal to be bred on command.”

She let go of his privates and stood back in surprise.

“How disappointing,” she humphed and got up to her feet, “But perhaps the rumors are true.”

“What rumors now?” Alois said as he tucked his erection back in his pants with as much dignity as he could muster.

“That you and prince Reynard have taken a great liking to each other.”

“Wha-? That's absurd, I would never…”

“Oh, I do not blame you. My husband is as handsome as he is sweet, and he definitely has more eyes for you than for me. Do not pretend that you haven't noticed.”

She grabbed the handles of Alois’s chair, wheeled the dumbfounded fox around and politely but firmly pushed him towards the door.

“I was hoping his company had not wholly dulled your taste for women, but sadly I was mistaken. If you or him ever remember your duties to the state you know where to find me. Until then, I will hold you personally responsible for his safety.”

Alois was left alone in the corridor outside her room, feeling bewildered and his erection chafing uncomfortably against his pants under the quilt. He had not made the effort to get to know Maria personally, and he had a sinking feeling that it had been a grave mistake. She was not the vacuous noblewoman bred for marriage and little else he had expected, but an ambitious and…willful young woman with more steel than he had seen Reynard ever express. Her tasking him with the safety of the prince complicated things. It complicated things a lot.

Alois looked around himself and huffed in disgust. The servant had wandered away leaving him alone with the wheelchair. The sounds of merriment echoed from the grand salle, but the corridor leading to Maria’s private quarters was deserted, which fit his mood well. He resented being used, being wheeled around with little agency like a child or pensioner, but most of all he resented himself for putting himself in that position in the first place. Holding onto any official position after the prince's death seemed unlikely if Maria had her way, and he had little doubt that she would find the drive and means to make her displeasure known. Thought of eking out his final years in some dismal peasant’s hut forgotten and alone gave him a shudder.

In the future he would look back and wonder whether it was pride or duty that tipped the scales and made him take the fateful step, but in truth what made the decision for him was his impatience. It was the simple disdain towards having to sit and wait beside the future queen’s door that made him save the prince.

With a grunt and some difficulty Alois got up, straightened his clothes, and reached for the walking cane that had been slotted optimistically on the back of the wheelchair. He had to feel out his ill-tempered body cautiously, but eventually it cooperated with him enough to allow him to limp ahead as long as he kept his pace leisured. His erection subsided on his long, silent walk, leaving merely a damp patch on his undergarments as a memory of its passing, but his resolve hardened with every step. Three people thus far had insinuated that the prince was…amenable to his influence, including his bride, and that Alois would use to save the kingdom. He would steer the man like a captain his ship, be it with his words or with his grip on the royal oar. He had had his dalliances with the other young men on his time in the officer corps, follies of the youth for the first time out on their own in the world no longer suitable for his position and age, but his relationship with his memories was amiable and he still knew his way around a man as well as a lady. The prince was the easiest part of his new plan.

Keeping him alive was not.

Alois furrowed his brow as he walked past the tall windows showing glimpses of the partygoers attending the garden, enjoying the fragrant flowers waking up in the early night and wandering under the gentle swaying of paper lanterns and streamers. His episode with the oysters had shown to him that he could not control the food and drink brought in and served. They passed through too many hands, their journey had too many steps where a sly poisoner could apply his trade unnoticed. But would Grigori risk poisoning half of the entire guest list as collateral damage? He did not seem the type. To Alois it seemed that he would rather target something that only Reynard would touch, something personal meant only for him. But what could it be? There was no dessert nor aperitif reserved only for the king.

His thoughts were cut short when he happened upon Reynard. He was standing alone in the dimly lit corridor just outside the lights and revelry of the ballroom, eyeing intently a piece of paper and memorizing it based on the muttering of his lips. When Alois greeted him the young prince’s expression lit up.

“Sir, you are on your feet again!”

“It must be due to my half savage wolfblood, your highness,” Alois said and then, seeing Reynard’s worried expression, hurried to add, “It is a jest, your highness.”

Reynard walked up to him and gave him a hug, closing his arms around him awkwardly at first, but then squeezing him with more force and joy.

“Careful now, your highness! I still have more holes in me than God originally granted.”

Reynard let go of him, apologizing. “I am heartened to see you up and walking, sir. It fills me with such joy that you are feeling better.”

“Now, feeling better is yet too much to hope for. Say, is that your speech, your highness?” Alois pointed at the paper with his free hand.

Reynard gave him a sheepish grin. “It’s not much but I’m determined to memorize it well. Even thinking about standing in front of all those people and fumbling my words makes my throat dry.”

“Focus on looking over the heads of the front row, your highness. That way it seems that you are making eye contact with everyone, while having to do it with no one in reality.”

Reynard pulled out a small tin from his pocket, and popped a white jawbreaker the size of a small marble in his mouth. “I’m just glad that someone left me these mints. I found them on my pillow this morning.”

Unknown mints. On Reynard’s bed. In his private quarters. Reynard’s mints.

Alois’s cane clattered on the floor as he grasped Reynard’s head forcefully, his fingers in the floofy fur around his jawline, and pulled his lips against his own. The prince made a surprised yelp which was muffled by Alois’s tongue pushing into his maw, searched around and slid along the other man’s tongue like a slick snake. Alois could feel the mint with the tip of his tongue but it slipped from his hold, so he pushed deeper into the prince who was too stunned to resist. Finally he managed to curl his tongue around the small ball and sucked it into his own mouth, pulled back and spit it away. It made small, hard sounds as it clattered on the luxurious parquet flooring and disappeared under a desk.

Alois let go of the prince and snatched the tin from his hands. “From now on you don’t put anything in your mouth unless you know exactly where it came from. There’s plots everywhere around you.” He coughed and adjusted his cravat. “Your highness.”

Reynard stood there wide eyed, breathing heavily, looking more frightened than angry, still trying to process what had just happened. Alois grunted as he squatted to pick up his cane, and got up painfully slowly. He, too, was as hot and flustered as the prince, but perhaps for a different reason.

“I think you are wanted to entertain your guests, your highness. I bid you farewell.” He made a small, curt bow and limped away as quickly as his shuffling gait allowed, leaving Reynard to watch after him with a puzzled look.

--

It was the darkest hour of the night, between midnight and dawn when the soul is in despair and only loosely attached to the body. The party had been concluded without an incident, and even the guests of highest nobility had stumbled to sleep off their drunken stupor. Only Reynard was awake in the silent mansion. He was sitting sideways on a wide windowsill and watched as the pale silvery light of the full moon washed over the sleeping garden. All the noise was done and the lights had burned out, and he felt restless. He had gotten rid of his brocaded jacket and filigree shoes, and wore only a loose blouse, tight pants, and knee high socks.

A scraping noise and creaking of floorboards announced the arrival of another person, emerging from the moonlit darkness.

“You are sleepless like I,” Alois said and stood close enough to the window so that the prince could see him. He was still bedecked in his formal wear.

“You left me with questions, sir.” Reynard spoke softly.

“I’m sorry if my actions were brash, but speed was of the essence. I had reason to suspect that you were targeted by a poisoning attempt.”

“In that case you have saved my life twice now, sir.”

“Only if I’m right. I’ll have an apothecary take a look at those mints tomorrow.”

“When we…kissed, a powerful shiver went through my entire body, and turned into a swelling sensation in my chest that pierced my heart and took away my breath. It was like that when I embraced you in the woods, but now a thousand times stronger. That was no poison, good sir.”

Alois sighed. “I’m afraid that it was not, young master.”

Reynard tapped his fingertips together nervously on his lap. “Have you also felt such a thing before, in the presence of…another man?”

Alois paused before answering. “Make room and I will explain as well as I can.”

Reynard pulled back his legs and Alois sat down on the windowsill, resting his back against the pane of glass. He lifted the prince’s feet to rest on his lap, and petted his shins absentmindedly as he spoke.

“Love between two men can be as true as love between man and woman. Comrades in arms, who have been through fire and blood together, share an unbreakable bond as strong as if they were born from the same womb. Likewise, love for country, creed, or brotherhood can forge a bond that is as deep as love of a married couple. It is noble and virtuous love, and not a vice.”

Reynard looked unsatisfied yet unwilling to ask his questions. Alois slid his hand over his knee.

“But that is not what you wanted to know, is it?”

“No…” the young man shook his head slightly.

“Very well. You wanted to know if two men can love each other physically, like a man and a woman? I will tell you.” He gave Reynard’s knee a little squeeze.

“The church teaches us that it is a sin, and with good intentions. Men of lecherous natures, having indulged all their natural urges eventually grow jaded, and seek after anything that can inflame their turpid sensations in their descent to iniquity. Seeking such life leads to the downfall of a good, orderly society, and against that threat it is well and good that the church keeps us vigilant.” Alois paused. “However, in their zeal they fail to see that when the love between men is pure and lacking in lascivious lust, then the sharing of physical intimacy is just as pure. When the mind feels true love it is only natural for the body to be united with the object of love and become whole.”

Reynard shifted his legs, bending his knees and resting his sole against Alois’s inner thigh, and his heel on his crotch comfortably.

“I…I believe that you have lighted such a love in my heart, sir.” He spoke with a very quiet voice, looking at the older man under his eyes and avoiding his gaze.

Alois slid his hand upwards along Reynard’s leg, and petted his thigh.

“You are a good friend to me, Rey.” He gave him a warming smile, the one that made hearts of maids flutter.

“I must confess…that I am at a loss on how to proceed.” Reynard blushed, but smiled in relief.

“Would you like to practice kissing with me?”

Reynard swallowed and nodded hurriedly, so Alois gestured to him to get up into a sitting position. The prince sat on his knees and looked downwards, flustered, resting his hands stiffly on his knees. Alois had to duck a little to make eye contact with him, and used his gaze to draw the prince to sit upright. He closed in slowly, his eyes half lidded and jaw slightly ajar, but it was Reynard who made the first move. He gave the corner of Alois’s mouth a little lick with his tongue, and when the older man did not resist, he licked him again across the lips. Alois reached out and slid his hand along the side of Reynard’s neck, his fingers sinking into the floofy hair, and grasped him gently behind his neck. Up so close he could taste the prince’s rapid breathing and smell his excitement.

“I feel like I should say something memorable,” Reynard whispered.

“I am all ears.”

“Words fail me.”

Reynard drew closer to Alois and their lips met. The young man hesitated so Alois pushed his tongue past his immaculate teeth. This time he did not need to use much force, and it was a shy yet willing tongue that yielded to the pressure and greeted his own. Reynard was soft to the touch, with a faint aftertaste of sweet wine, and he began to rock slightly in the embrace of the bigger canine.

The young man was out of breath when their lips parted. “Now I understand what my friends meant when they spoke of their sweethearts,” he huffed.

What do I look like, a rosy maiden? Alois thought with a tinge of amusement. He smiled and caressed Reynard's leg with his free hand.

“Now we could stop here for the night, or we could take a first step towards the consummation of this love, if you so wish.”

Reynard swallowed. “I… I do, but…”

Alois raised an eyebrow. “Rey, there is no need to rush things if you do not feel comfortable.”

Reynard looked away. “I very much wish to. It's just… I worry that it will hurt, or that I will fail to satisfy you.”

Alois was taken aback for a moment. Then he understood and, smiling, craned his neck to look at the other fox.

“Young man, I do not know who or what put that idea into your head, but I would rather take another bullet than hurt you.”

“No! I didn't mean you'd ever hurt me…” Reynard replied with a sudden alarm. “But once, late at night, my friends started joking about how two men could… do it. I didn't believe them at the time, but it sounded painful.”

“And do you think these drunken fools knew what they were talking about?”

“No, I suppose not,” Reynard responded with a mix of relief and embarrassment.

Alois’s hand travelled further up the prince's thigh until it touched his crotch. His fingertips traced patterns on the young man's groin, teasing the manhood beneath the taut fabric. For all his coyness Reynard was very much aroused, and when Alois undid the laces that held the front of his pants he was greeted by a plump little sheath from which a pink length was already showing. He did not want to embarrass his self-conscious companion by staring at his intimate parts, so he nuzzled his snout against his snow-white throat, breathing in his scent, and let his hand fondle the youth to a full erection.

Reynard let out a low whine when Alois started stroking him. His right leg twitched rhythmically, like that of a sleeping dog, as his member expanded, with his knot forming two lumps the size of strawberries at its base. He began to squirt pre on Alois's clothing where it mixed with the dampness that issued from the older fox's own erection. Alois's bulging manhood was awfully cramped again, so it was a pleasant surprise when he felt a hand fumble with the buttons of his pants. His engorged member slid out of his sheath with ease, its surface red, white and criss-crossed with purplish veins, and his knot filled Reynard’s entire palm.

“Your highness… ow! careful with the claws…”

The young man's eyes were closed. He didn't seem to hear Alois, lost as he was in the ecstasy of receiving pleasure and giving it. Pre was now coming in thick erratic jets from his tip and it wasn't long before he brought his muzzle close to his mentor's ear.

“Alois, oh Alois…” he sighed, and the older man felt a sticky wetness fall on his shaft. Reynard’s fingers clutched and squeezed rhythmically with the highs of his climax and to Alois's own surprise the sexual frustration that had been building up in his loins exploded in a sudden orgasm that anointed his lover with an abundance of warm semen.

They panted, kissed and silently petted each other until the sticky discharge that covered their laps cooled off.

“You wouldn't believe how long I dreamed of this,” Reynard whispered, head pressed against the bigger male’s chest and eyes staring dreamily into nothing.

Alois caressed his brow. “I needn't be only a dream anymore, my dear friend, but it must remain our secret.”

The corridor leading to the royal apartments was frequently patrolled, so they slipped into the bedroom that adjoined Alois's office to change and clean themselves. The older fox picked two dressing gowns from his wardrobe and gave the nicer of the two to Reynard. It was too big and nowhere near as richly decorated as the silk kaftans that the prince favoured but it would do. Alois stripped in a few gestures but Reynard self-consciously fidgeted with the collar of his gown until his companion gave him some privacy by turning around.

“I know we were just intimate, but somehow I felt…” Reynard grinned sheepishly as he adjusted the belt of his gown.

Alois laid his hands on his shoulders and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Do not apologise for being modest, it is a virtue that is sadly in short supply among young men these days. Now I suggest we part for the night before someone sends a searching party.”

Reynard nodded slowly, as if reluctant to go. “I will see you tomorrow,” Alois reassured him. He stood in the ajar doorway, looking at the bare-footed lithe figure who pit-patted down the corridor until it turned a corner. It is good to feel young and full of sap again, the greying fox mused before he slipped under the bedsheets .