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It took a lot of drugs before Quroth felt clean after meeting with the engineers, but he had their votes, that’s all that mattered. He just about forgot everything up until now when he suddenly emerged from the darkness to see a Ilayo pointing a needle at his eye.

Still numb from the bender, Quroth’s mind focused more on the fact that his barbs were prickling against the inside of Ilayo’s rear. The Vulpeculan was riding him, his soft-furred thighs squeezing against his master’s shaft.

Exercising extreme misjudgment, Quroth’s attention swept to the pile of wood and shingles lying on the floor next to the bed.

“What happened there?” Quroth asked.

“Roof collapsed.”

“Ah.”

Quroth looked up to the ceiling. It was only a small hole, not even big enough for the sun to escape in and rain was rare enough, especially this time of year, on Regulus Prime; not a concern for Quroth.

Blinking, Quroth soon found the point of the needle inches away from the corner of his eyelid. Only now did his brain function as it should, though not nearly with enough alarm that the situation called for.

“What’s that?” Quroth asked blankly.

“A little cocktail I made,” Ilayo rubbed his thumb across the syringe’s plunger. “Heroin, ShootingStar, Taurine, and a bit of capsaicin oil.”

“Capsaicin oil?” Quroth gently grabbed his slave’s wrist. “That shit’s bad for Regulians.”

“Just a little won’t hurt, in fact it’ll give you the mother of all orgasms. You’re gonna need it for today’s meeting.”

“Fuck, okay, shoot me up.”

Pinching Quroth’s eyelids open, Ilayo wasted no time jabbing his master in the corner of his eyelid, right in the caruncle, and shooting the contents in.

Quroth immediately came repeatedly, his cock pulsating like an overheating starship cannon. He couldn’t move, nor even scream with ecstasy, but he felt every orgasm shoot through his body and shake up synapses and nerves he didn’t even know existed.

Flames burst out from his feet and voice cried out.

“LIFTOFF!”

The two took off into the sky, crashing through the roof and twirled across the stars until they landed atop the rings of a gas giant, as solid as they looked in pictures from afar. Every major planet was right there, as big as life, within paw’s distance. From the dusty plains of Regulus Prime, to the tidal locked moon of Lupus, and the blue oceans of Earth. Sirius and Beta Vulpeculae too, both dwarfed by their massive suns!

“We can go anywhere, anywhere, anywhere!”

Ilayo opened his mouth but nothing came out, save for a soft choking noise.

“Shit, right, Vulpeculans can’t breathe in space…”

Quroth briefly considered the fact that Regulians could not either but quickly avoided questioning the premise of the situation.

Leaning in, Quroth kissed his slave, wrapping his massive jaw across his slender muzzle. Forming not even a loose seal across the slave’s face, Quroth exhaled a gust of carbon dioxide down Ilayo’s throat.

Gasping for air, Quroth reared back just in time to see all the planets vanish in favor of the void. There was nothing now, no rings, no planets, no suns, just them.

Ilayo’s maw was open wide, his throat as dark as space itself. Quroth blinked and then his muzzle suddenly stretched forward like it was made of rubber, heading deep into the singularity down the slave’s throat.

“Hooooolllllllyyyyyyy shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-”

The words were lost along with the light. There was soon no Quroth anymore as he became one with the great black hole lurking deep within his trusted slave.

No light. Nothing.

Nothing to do but wait for the galaxy to be reborn.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Quroth was covered in sweat from head to toe, an exceptionally concerning symptom as Regulians only had sweat glands clustered on their paws and nose. A larger syringe was sticking out of his chest, something he was still not used to experiencing no matter how often it happened.

Ilayo pulled the needle out and collapsed onto the bed, which was covered in rubble from the growing, decaying hole in the ceiling.

“What the fuck…just happened?”

“You went too far, your heart stopped again,” Ilayo tossed two shingles across the room.

“I went too far?” Quroth asked genuinely and blinked. “I thought you injected me.”

“Your orders.”

Shivers danced across Quroth’s limbs and he clutched his chest, trying to stave them off. He was freezing but at the same time felt boiling hot.

“I still feel awful…”

“The anti-opiate only stops the heroin OD, you’re gonna have to wait off the rest.”

“This…doesn’t feel like ShootingStar…” Quroth hugged himself tight, “...you sure it wasn’t cut?”

“Who can tell with Shorts?”

“Shorts, you buying from him again? Fuck, I keep telling you to buy legit from the Crown Pharmacy!”

“And then you keep bitching that the consumption tax is too damn high or that the paparazzi have a leak on the sales data!” Ilayo swished his tail. “You can’t keep giving me an order and then complaining when I follow it!”

“Fuck, sorry, sorry, you’re right, I’m a fuck-up,” a headache suddenly began to creep up behind Quroth’s right eye and he pressed at the socket, trying to dull it. “Alright, just lemme nap and-”

The house rattled as a shudding thudding echoed downstairs.

“Tell him to fuck-off.”

“That’s the appointment you told me to arrange.”

“Repeat, tell him to fuck-off.”

“It’s a member of the Imperial Family.”

Quroth’s skin quivered and he dug his claws into his sides, “Ilayo, why the fuck would I invite them over and then go on a bender?”

“As your slave, it’s my duty to obey and not to question.”

“Fuuuuck!” Quroth punched the mattress. “Which representative?”

“You made the call, not me, and you didn’t tell me who.”

“Okay, okay, help me up.”

With surprising strength, considering the difference between them, Ilayo almost single-handedly got Quroth up off of the bed and onto his feet.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Quroth muttered as the room began to spin.

“Hold it in,” Ilayo spoke as he wrapped a shirt across his master’s chest and began to button it up. It was black. “We’ll get you sorted out.”

“I love you, Ilayo, you know that?”

“I love you too.”

Next came a brown vest with gilded floral designs dancing across the breast of it and a pair of silk, black trousers. Quroth couldn’t help but catch a vision of himself in the mirror, finding himself rather fetching before his reflection tilted its head and began to mouth some words.

Snapping away quickly with a shudder, Quroth tried to forget what he just saw by focusing on the current issue, “What about my mane? It’s a mess.”

“No time,” Ilayo said but still snapped open a jar of pommade and slicked a large glob of it across the surface of Quroth’s mane to give it a bit of shine. “You’re busy renovating this place, that’ll be the story of why you’re so dusty and disheaveled.”

“You think this will work?”

“It will.”

“Alright, hide up here,” Quroth gave his slave a nip on the nose. “I wouldn’t want the representative to get jealous of my slave and order me to give you as a gift.”

Ilayo nipped Quroth back and the moment his teeth caught the leather of his nose, Quroth suddenly found himself in the main atrium with the door shaking off of its hinges with every pound.

Wasting no time, Quroth unlocked the door and slowly drew it open.

“MAKE WAY FOR PRINCE JAROTH!”

The doors slammed open, both of them, and Quroth threw himself to the side, clutching his paw to his chest for fear that bowing would be too much exertion. A procession stomped in, a black Ursine next to a black Equuileian wearing nothing but white silk loincloths came forward, carrying a palanquin covered in a gold curtain into the lobby.

Behind, carrying the back, were another pair of Ursine and Equuileian, these ones with white fur and black loincloths. All four had no visible bulge beneath their undergarments, they were castrated, a practice that was not very common for slaves in the Empire except as a severe punishment.

The team stopped in the middle of the lobby and spun, placing the palanquin onto the ground with surprising grace considering how large and rough the eunuchs looked. Only now did Quroth dare to bow and immediately regretted it when his heart almost seized up in the process.

“Presenting, Prince Jaroth, Lord-Controller of the Imperial Investiture Seat of System-to-System!”

The front team of slaves pulled the curtain aside.

The Princeling inside was covered in melanistic fur with only the slightest hints of fuzz for a mane, he was still just a cub. A yellow, loose turban was slung across his head and he wore a matching, silk robe with a strange, flaming bird emblazoned upon it.

“It is an honor, Prince Jaroth,” Quroth punched his chest lightly.

“We’re on a very tight schedule, t’Osgar,” Jaroth flicked the oversized sleeve of his robe and a pocket-watch on a chain fell into his paw. “As the fifth in line to the throne, we have many studies and duties to prepare for, far more than you could ever conceive.”

“My apologies, your Majesty,” Quroth bowed his head. “I would love to hear about your studies one day.”

That was a mistake.

All the talk of being on a tight schedule suddenly vanished and the Prince was all too happy to gloat about his intense academic and decorum studies that very day.

“...For you see, one can never be truly certain which nobles of which species might attend a party, thus maximizing scent for both masking of your personality and increasing positive reception by olfactory glands, even human’s, is essential. This is the main principle of Chemical Decorum and it’s one of the most difficult courses in my tutelage as one has to acquire…”

A tight churning grew in Quroth’s stomach and the floor began to spin ever so slightly. He couldn’t stand gifted cubs or those who put on airs of being one. It was enough to make him sick being around his brothers when…

Wait, which of us got the best grades again?

“...In fact, allow me to test out my thesis formula. DELTA!”

Quroth rose his head just as one of the black Equuileians towered before him with a comically tiny bottle in his meaty hand. With a quick point and a click, a light mist shot straight at Quroth’s face.

“AGGGGGH!” Quroth heaved over, paw on his chest. Bile rushed up his throat and he forced himself to swallow the acidic fluid, burning his chest.

Don’t puke…don’t puke…

The smell was indescribably vile. It would be putting it lightly to say it smelled of every creature in the galaxy’s anal secretions put into a fermentation vat. In some ways, it would not be hyperbolic to say that the Prince had managed to make entirely new notes unheard of even in a battlefield full of rotten corpses.

Not in front of…

Quroth retched and pale green bile flooded out onto the floor. His stomach felt like it had been stabbed over and over with each new rush of puke and then hurt even moreso when he had no more bile left and only heaved dryly..

“We take it that it’s not to your tastes?” the Prince tilted his head with a wrinkle of his nose.

The drugs might have made you sick.

No, don’t say that!

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever smelled. Save it for your Chemical Warfare studies,” Quroth spat into the puddle of vomit.

The four Equuileians stomped their hooves and crossed their arms.

Quroth fully expected to be drawn and quartered and braced for the worst.

A tiny set of paws clapped.

“Well done! Well done!” Jaroth snapped his fingers. “Stand down, slaves!”

The slaves uncrossed their arms but continued to stare at Quroth in silence.

“Honesty is a rare virtue in the Empire, especially for one beneath our station. Very well! You have my time, where’s your parlor? We shall discuss our affairs there in private.”

“Uh…”

It would have been impossible for the Prince not to have noticed the humble state of the manor. Although just a few days ago it had been stylish in the fashion of a century ago and still favorable in a nostalgic manner, it was impossible not to notice that the black bricks in the atrium now had multiple holes in them from objects being flung around. While the bricks were not the most durable of its type in the Empire, they weren’t exactly made of glass either.

And worst of all, Quroth wasn’t quite sure just how bad many of the other rooms were.

A thump echoed through from above. Quroth’s ear perked towards the bedroom. More of the ceiling had collapsed.

“The servants are busy upstairs…” Quroth muttered, “...follow me.”

Quroth spun around and slowly stepped down a side hallway. Instead of walking, naturally, the Prince’s slaves hoisted up his platform and followed behind.

Opening up a door shortly after turning, Quroth looked back as the Prince was carried around the corner.

“I don’t think that will fit.”

“We decide that,” the Prince sniffed.

Quroth felt nauseous once more just looking at the advanced geometry the slaves had to perform to pivot, tilt, rotate, and even almost flip the palanquin upside down just to get it a few more inches into the study. Somehow, with each manuever they managed to get just a bit more in, never wasting a single movement, until the palanquin was fully inside. The four slaves stepped out, snorting at Quroth in disapproval and flanked the door.

Inside, the Prince’s palanquin had been seated atop a billiard’s table that took up most of the room. Bookshelves lined the far wall, filled with fake books put there for show. A rack with cues and balls was to the left.

“Now…” the Prince lifted his chin, “...we believe it is customary to offer a guest a drink?”

“What would your Majesty wish?” Quroth bowed and looked over at the micro-bar in the corner.

“Absinthe and Adderall.”

“Ha! Your Majesty jests so well!”

“We are fifth in line to the throne and if my slaves were to tear your limbs off, it would only be a simple call to write it all off,” Jaroth sniffed and grumbled. “Did you think we couldn’t smell the chemical cocktail reeking from your mouth?”

“Yeah and if your father found out that I gave hard booze and drugs to a minor, he’d get the Emperor to have me flayed.”

“My father allows me to partake.”

“Then your Majesty will have to ask him.”

“DELTA!”

The door slammed open and the four Equuileians barged in, blocking the exist with their wall of meat and muscle.

“Give our friend a round of applause.”

Quroth’s eardrums popped as the massive hands of the slaves slapped together, the noise bouncing around the small room.

“Very good, now out you go!”

The door slammed shut again.

“Another test?” Quroth asked.

“Yes, quite petty if you ask me, but we felt the need to do it once more.”

“Whatever drugs I do in my spare time, it doesn’t stop my mind from working,” Quroth pointed to his forehead and pulled up a chair, sitting down on it across from the felt-covered dais the Prince was atop. “I’m functional, at the very least.”

“We would like a drink though, your finest mineral water.”

Pushing himself off of the chair, Quroth opened up the bar fridge and pulled out a plastic bottle. He flipped a glass tumbler into the air and caught it in his paw.

“Ice?”

“No.”

Quroth poured the water into a glass and placed it on the table, bowing before his Prince.

“It is from a place on Earth called Dasani. I am told it’s the freshest water they have to offer.”

The Prince picked up the glass and swished it around.

“It reeks of ozone, disgusting.”

Shit.

“This will be a fine science experiment.”

The Prince sipped it gently.

“Earth truly is a polluted dump,” he shook his head.

“I can get you-”

“No need, this is quite enlightening. You’re an excellent host, far better than we expected from a t’Osgar. Did you spy on my interests before inviting me?”

“No.”

It was the truth, at least as far as Quroth could remember. If he had done his research on the Prince, he had certainly forgotten along with who he had even invited.

“That sounded truthful,” the Prince placed the glass back on the felt and crossed his legs. His black tail slowly twitched behind him. “What do you want from us?”

“Your vote for interim CEO.”

“It is polite tradition for the Crown to abstain from chair votes unless absolutely urgent,” the Prince took another labored sip of his glass. “Free enterprise must be allowed to flourish without the Crown meddling too much. Basic Caravan Economics.”

“Ah, but Throne Economics emphasizes that Crown intervention should be normalized whenever possible in order to keep investments stable!”

“We did not take you for an economist. What’s your take on our Great Uncle’s critique of pure Caravan Economics and how do you feel that relates to the current decentralization of the economy under our Uncle’s reign, in particular the advancement of private colonization in distant worlds? Surely the Crown cannot expect to manage all of those directly?”

“I…” Quroth cleared his throat, “...am not an economist, not even a businessman. But I got my father’s intuition, I will keep things chugging and moving, and if the Crown needs a favor, well, you’d probably have more luck with me than anyone else, especially that human of father’s.”

“Human?”

“Valerie, his slave/secretary. She’s his Regent until the vote, basically.”

“Regencies, hm…” the Prince shook his head, “...those rarely end well. They’re fucking?”

Quroth nearly choked on his own spit. While the facts of life were usually taught around the Prince’s age, it was still rather frank for him to speak so crassly.

“We think so.”

“The Imperial Harem forbids slaves from even leaving their rooms. History taught us the hard way what happens when you let slaves have even temporary power over another.”

Am I actually nailing this?

“We can’t give this vote away for free, mind you…”

“Well…” Quroth poured himself a glass of water, resisting the urge to jinx the toast with alcohol and because he felt any more drugs would kill him right then and there, “...what can we do for you, your Majesty?”

“The Crown demands half of Haven.”

Sold.

Quroth raised a brow, “That’s an odd request. The planet is useless and I thought you weren’t inclined towards Throne Economics and Nationalization?”

“We want this, we don’t need it. We have all sorts of science experiments we could conduct at a station there and we don’t wish your ranch to interfere with that. You may have full reign over your half.”

“And it gives the Emperor a little base for him to snoop on us on family vacations?”

“We have to give the Claw and the Court something in this deal, don’t we?” the Prince lifted his glass. “If you’re here wishing for a deal with our sole seat on the board, surely this means our vote is valuable?”

“It is, so then…”

Quroth pushed his glass forward.

“Deal?”

“I think we have a deal, Mr. CEO.”

The two glasses clinked together.