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The screams of a fellow slave and the air-splitting crack of the driver's whip echoed through the corridors of the slave chambers and filled Abbas's head. His ears splayed and he lowered his head to keep himself from glancing into the flogging room as he and his temporary handler passed it. Whatever Eisa had done to earn himself lashes, Abbas was not interested in observing his acquaintance's punishment.

Coming to a stop, Abbas' handler called over his shoulder. "Glad that's not you, eh slave?"

"Yes, sir." Abbas nodded, pausing to wait while the lion pulled a key off his waist and unlocked the door that blocked their path. The cold dampness of the mountain tunnels seeped through his threadbare robes, and he shivered.

"Been too long since you were punished, if you ask me." The lion answered, ushering him through the door before locking it tight. Abbas' current handler relatively was new to the castle, and unabashedly voiced his opinion of the slaves he kept in line. "Just because a slave is fairly competent at manual labor doesn't mean he shouldn't be driven like a mule."

Abbas nodded in subdued agreement as he took up his place behind the taller feline. He didn't answer, out of apathy rather than obstinacy, and the lion snorted in response. He was not surprised at the lion's cruel sensibility on the treatment of slaves, and he was aware that it was even stronger due to his being a thylacine. Content with the silence, Abbas busied himself with counting the various branching corridors that split off from the path they took, long halls whose lanterns did nothing to disturb the darkness they intruded upon.

They took many turns that Abbas did not bother to try and remember, and it wasn't long before he was led to another door. The lion knocked on the door three times and backed away, jostling against Abbas roughly. The door opened after a moment and Abbas was not surprised to recognize the sinuous lion that waited on the other side.

"Here ya go," Abbas' handler said gruffly, shoving him through the door and into the care of his fellow. "Not much of a talker, but neither are you. Maybe you'll get along."

His new handler replied with a grunt, and the former snorted in response. Abbas watched the lions' interaction with faint amusement before the shorter, newer guard decided he had better things to attend to.

Abbas patiently stood by while his new handler closed and locked the door. Taking a moment to ensure he had his equipment, the much taller lion put a large paw on Abbas' shoulder before ushering him forward.

The two walked in silence for a long while, much like with the previous guard, but eventually Abbas began to recognize the turns they took and the features of the doors they passed. The familiar guard kept his eyes straight ahead as he led the way, though Abbas was sure that he could lead the way himself, if for whatever reason he was given that opportunity.

After ten minutes more of being steered through the labyrinthine bowels of the palace of tigers, Abbas was led to another door. The lion quietly unlocked the door, his keys jingling quietly in the darkness. Abbas shivered.

Abbas was led quietly down yet another hall before following his guard up a set of spiral stairs that he knew led into a private corridor of the castle. At this time of night, no thylacine would normally be permitted into the castle, and most were restricted from certain areas unless their designations specifically called for their attendance, but as Abbas watched the lion's tufted tail flick back and forth while they climbed, he contemplated what he assumed his duty would be on this occasion.

Eventually Abbas and his ever-present sentry reached a landing and exited the stairwell. At this point, Abbas knew the corridors well enough that he could lead his guard past the long halls adorned with tapestries of wars long won and opulent paintings of tigers long dead, but he held his position behind the lion patiently while they walked. The echo of their pawsteps on the cold marble floor were the only sound in his round ears as the pair climbed a final staircase. Abbas followed his guard half the length of another hall before coming to a standstill at a large door of imported cherry wood. Upon pedestals on either side of the door were marble busts replicating the queen's countenance in incredibly accurate detail.

Abbas' tawny-furred guard glanced at him as if to gauge his preparation; Abbas nodded, and the lion knocked slowly upon the door three times. After a moment's pause, the lion opened the door and ushered his ward into their queen's quarters.

Through various doors and any number of rooms claimed by testimonies of various interests the queen had, Abbas was led into Sunan Fatimah's bed chamber. The tigress sat on her queen-sized bed with her legs curled to the side, leaning on one elbow. Her green gaze held Abbas as he settled himself in her view; his guard took his place standing several feet behind her.

Fatimah watched him in silence, and for the first time that night, Abbas was uncomfortable with it. His lady was a thickly muscled tiger who stood much taller than he, and wore only a thin, sleeveless gold satin gown that did nothing to disguise the curvature of her breasts. She was nothing less than a beautiful feline, and Abbas was unashamed to feel himself thickening in her presence.

"It's been a while," Fatimah finally addressed him, eyes tracing his short but well-muscled frame. She reached out and curled her finger, beckoning Abbas towards her; he was removing his robes in anticipation before she'd finished her sentence. "Unfortunately, this visit is not purely pleasure."

Abbas hesitated in his disrobing, paws coming to a halt as they untied the drawstring on his trousers.

"My lady?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow inquisitively. Behind her, the guard stood impassively, watching the conversation without intent of intervention.

"Undress, pet," Fatimah beckoned him once more, inviting him to her bed. "Join me."

Abbas swallowed hard, letting his drawstring come undone before sidling his way to his queen's bed and embrace. She welcomed him onto her silk sheets, making room for his less-bulky form. He was acutely aware of the guard's hard eyes watching them, but he focused on his queen as they lay face to face.

"I have to ask your advice," Fatimah began, emerald eyes hold his own like a vice. Her paw found its way to Abbas' hip and idly ran her fingers through his short fur. Abbas kept his eyes on his lady's face, not letting the tingle of excitement distract him from her words.

"Idris hasn't much to say on the subject, and I don't wish to bring this to the council, Abbas." The queen spoke evenly, while the guard in question grunted; had Fatimah's paw not been mere inches away from his steadily growing erection, Abbas may have chuckled. "I hoped I might gain your insight on how to deal with my son."

Abbas coughed and knew that his confusion was displayed plain on his face, but in such proximity to his queen, there would be no way or time to disguise it.

"My lady?" He began, doing his best to hold the queen's piercing gaze. "You know that I have no experience with children. It was under your order that I be barred from the breeding program."

Fatimah's answering smile revealed her gleaming predator's teeth, and Abbas' discomfort with the conversation's direction grew as her paw trailed down and traced his disfigurement, causing him to itch.

"Of course. But I felt it reasonable that your yearning for fatherhood might give you insight that has escaped me, pet." Fatimah's paw gripped the base of his erection, and Abbas throbbed. She propped herself on her arm, looking down at him. "Unless your yearning for progeny has recently died?"

Abbas was quiet for a short moment before her paw began to stroke him. "No, my lady."

"As I expected." Fatimah leaned close and kissed his cheek softly, her rough tongue lathing his tawny ruff. The tiger's proximity allowed Abbas to inhale his queen's scent; she had recently bathed and had done so without perfuming the water, leaving her natural, heady smell to intoxicate him.

The tigress levered herself to straddle Abbas, and he was made intimately aware of the fact that Fatimah wore no undergarments as she slid his aching hardness against her vulva, teasing him. Abbas glanced past her at the lion who watched them silent, but intently, his brows furrowed and arms crossed.

"The issue that has arisen," Fatimah began, forcing Abbas to divert his attention from the moist friction against the tip of his cock and the words she directed to him. "Is that my son has not been made aware of the impending arrival of Prince Benjamin Lupin of Siria."

Even as a slave, Abbas was aware of the state of affairs between Sunatra and the canine kingdom of Siria. Guards gossiped, and slaves had open ears, so many of the thylacine caste knew of the rising tensions. He had even heard talk of a canine noble writing out to roust his people against Fatimah's reign, though as of yet it hadn't amounted to anything significant. This was due to the fact that Siria had its attention stretched thin, with the canines' exploration and colonization of the continent to the far southwest. The house of Lupin could not afford a war with its neighbors when so much attention was going overseas. Even though it was a war the felines would surely win, Abbas' queen was doing her best to avoid such a thing.

"Raden Mas Bhima doesn't know of the trade." Abbas stated, his concentration waning as Fatimah's deft paw angled him and began to descend upon his erection. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he was briefly blind, only coming back to attention when the tigress' claws gripped his throat. "Raden Mas Susilo has lived in their palace for half a year now."

"Bhima has been left out of the arrangements at the advisement of the council." Fatimah said when she was sure she'd regained the slave's attention. She rose and fell on Abbas' cock, her soft, well-tended fur mingling with his, with her thinly veiled breasts moving in time. "I fear my son will not take kindly to this, though. The council does not believe it to be his place."

"Because he is a hybrid?" Abbas asked, voice rasping. He was aware, as were all citizens and slaves of Sunatra, that hybrids could hold no official ranking. What this meant for the eldest son of the queen, was that he could never assume the throne.

Fatimah's green eyes held Abbas' and the gyrating of her hips on his ceased; he was aware of a faint growl coming from behind them. The tiger's strong paw released his throat and snapped to Idris, and the lion ceased his voice of displeasure immediately.

"No." She answered, signaling for Idris to approach the bed. From Abbas' vantage point, he could watch as the large lion began to undress. "Because he is a bastard."

Fatimah leaned over Abbas, kissing him deeply. As their tongues mingled, he had the deep, primal urge to thrust into his queen's warm depths, but he had years of experience to dissuade him from such an action. When she pulled away, Abbas was not surprised by Idris' familiarly nude and erect form standing beside them.

The queen was quiet as she removed Abbas from inside her, eliciting a low hiss from him. With a low chuckle, she reached out to fondle Idris' heavy scrotum, and Abbas shivered, once again aware that he was there for her entertainment and not his own pleasure. After a moment, she moved away to lean against the grand headboard of her bed with her legs spread wide. She did not comment when Abbas sat up and Idris pulled him into a quiet kiss.

Abbas was struck with the familiar strangeness of kissing a man who had no tongue. His own wet appendage explored the lion's mouth, running over sharp teeth while the maned feline groaned loudly against him. He did not protest as the muscular feline's strong paws explored and groped his sides, claws pricking against his ribs.

It did not take long before Abbas was being moved bodily off of the bed to stand while Idris took his place, sitting on the side of the plush bed, legs open and fully erect member standing at attention. Had Abbas the agency of a free man, he would have protested such a vulgar invitation, but with his queen's emerald eyes on him and Idris' orange orbs speaking volumes more than the lion ever would, Abbas knelt and shut his eyes, taking the guard's cock into his maw.

Abbas had to admit that he was lucky that he did not find such an act as repulsive as a free man would; the musky scent of Idris' nethers comforted him more than he would ever admit. He would never consider the thought that the lion was handsome, but he could easily acknowledge that the cock he pleasured was more imposing than his own.

Above him, Idris rumbled loudly; in his peripheral vision, Abbas could see Fatimah idly rubbing herself as she watched. He let his paws appreciate the broad expanse of Idris' well-muscled stomach, and took the lion's cock with practiced ease. He did not gag, but comfortably bobbed his head along Idris' nine inches.

"Enough," Fatimah said, halting their carnal actions. "We aren't done. Come before me, pet."

Abbas complied with his queen's orders, pulling off of Idris' spit-slickened cock and climbed onto the bed. He respectfully held Fatimah's gaze as he slowly approached her on hands and knees; the large, plush mattress dipped behind him indicating Idris taking his own position to await Fatimah's direction.

The large room was quiet as Fatimah gazed over her guard and slave, prized possessions and confidants. With a nod of her head, Idris pushed forward, gripping Abbas' hips and pressing his aching erection against him. Abbas did not break eye contact as he was penetrated, only letting out a slow groan when the lion bottomed out.

"What do you think should be done, Abbas?" Fatimah asked, interest lighting her eyes while Abbas braced himself against the lap of her guard. It did not escape his notice that she had addressed him by his name, though he did nothing to indicate that realization.

Swallowing hard, Abbas answered quietly as he slowly grew accustomed to the familiar fullness and discomfort of Idris inside him. "With the acknowledgement that I am no father in mind, my lady, and all due respect, I believe your son should be told of the trade, and of his role in it."

Fatimah snapped her fingers, and Idris began to withdraw himself from Abbas' depths. Abbas could not restrain his groan of pleasure as the lion began to thrust slowly, and his head hung limp while he clenched the silky sheets between his paws.

The tigress did not hesitate in grasping Abbas' head in her paws and bringing his mouth to the folds of her vagina. No instructions were needed for him to begin slowly lapping at Fatimah's clitoris. The spice of her musk enticed him, and he was harder than steel. The room was soon filled with the husky moaning of Fatimah while she held her labia aside for Abbas to attentively and painfully slowly administer to. The breaths between Abbas' long-stroked tonguing were punctuated with gasping huffs while Idris used him carnally.

"W-what.... What is to be gained from him knowing of the trade," Fatimah spoke slowly, struggling to form words with her short breaths. "If he has no part in it? Bhima.... Bhima is prohibited from... any part in political activities."

Abbas was reprieved from answering immediately as his queen gushed over his bottom lip and chin, flowing onto her sheets unabashedly. He did not halt in his patient suckling of her engorged clitoris the same way Idris seemed to have no inclination of slowing the pace with which he fucked Abbas until he had either finished or was ordered to stop.

His erection refused to flag while he leaked precum incessantly, and while he was aware of the anatomical reason for such tenacity, Abbas wished for an innumerable time that his disfigurement had not been inflicted upon him. However, he would never argue with his queen's decision to do such, as he was gifted with the opportunity to please her in ways no other slave could attest to. The same went for Idris, though Abbas could never fathom the cause or connection between the guard and his queen to necessitate silencing under such a circumstance. Nonetheless, Abbas dared reach a paw down to grip his thick inches to perpetuate the sweet torture he endured. When his orgasm arrived, only a quick spurt of fluid escaped him, and he gasped at the familiar ache it brought.

Fatimah came twice more before she pulled Abbas away from her, shaky fingers cinched into the fur on his head while he gazed upon her reverently.

"What must be done, Abbas?" She asked with panting breaths.

"He has the right to know, my lady." Abbas rasped. Idris had come twice, and now he was contenting himself with tracing the slave's intricate brand that replaced most of the fur on Abbas' upper back. "I would want to know."

"It will not change Bhima's anger at exclusion." His queen's gaze did not change, but all at once as she caught her breath, her regality seemed to be replaced with the melancholy of one whose shoulders grew tired their burden but could not escape it. "He does not wear his brand of bastardry as well as an adulterer or a slave."

Fatimah's stuttering gaze did not escape Abbas' notice, nor did the grumble of what he took to be discomfort from Idris behind him. He did not understand the glance he assumed they shared, but he did comprehend his lady's statement. His species' burden of slavery was one long accepted despite not even being felines, and so none of them fought like many ounces or lynxes or ocelots did when sold. A bar sinister could not compare to a brand or scarlet letter.

"It may serve as damage control, my queen." He answered, bowing his head.

The room was silent for a long while, Idris' large paw slowly massaging the diamond of lightning branded on every slave's back. Fatimah seemed to grow uncomfortable with the warmth of the room and her state of dress, quickly removing her gown and tossing it to the floor. Abbas' green eyes hungrily swept over her.

"I have taken your opinion under advisement, pet." Fatimah said quietly, gazing at Abbas and the lion who knelt behind him. "Next time, perhaps, will be a visit of mutual pleasure."

Abbas dressed quickly and quietly, and stood by the door while he waited for Idris to lace his boots and escort him back to the slave quarters. The walk was as silent as before, and Abbas was thankful for the cold floors beneath his bare paws after the heat of Fatimah's quarters. He did not allow himself to contemplate the issue his queen had requested him to advise her upon while he walked.

When he was returned to the thylacine quarters at what had to be at least an hour to sunrise, he requested and was permitted a bath, and Idris invited himself to join. The lion drew their hot water, and Abbas watched quietly as the lion undressed. When the two stepped into the large basin, he was unsurprised for the lion to purposefully sit beside him and stretch out. It was not unusual for the two to have conversations with Idris tracing letters into his fur. He was however surprised by what Idris traced onto his back in slow, precise strokes of his finger.

_ My son._