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A master's servant

The day starts with the thankless task of getting Kieran's fox fur out of my own coat. My winter ermine has come through completely now, meaning that the dear lunk's all black fur shows up all over. I brush carefully at all the spots which may be visible, until I've got almost a whole other fox stuck to my wire brush. My tail takes the longest. It's only a short, stubby affair, a weasel tail is thankfully relatively easy to handle. But it still claims most of my morning, which means I often have to get up before dawn. Today, especially so. It'll be a busy one and I've no time to spare for his morning antics or playful, foxy attitude. No matter how enjoyable it is.

My chores are simple enough that I can do them all in a row without pausing for consideration, or consulting a list. But the master of staff still feels it is his duty to arrange a break-of-dawn briefing, presumably so that, in the absence of our master, he can take responsibility for my efforts. C'est la vie.

The discernible gentleman is one of those brown spotted Dalmatians. His minor stutter has not impeded him in his occupation, though. Naturally, his breed has helped him along where that impediment might otherwise set him back. So, I make sure to treat him, and anyone else with spots, with the utmost respect.

"Master Kit," he calls as I enter his office on the main floor behind the royal hall. "You seem spritely today."

"Do I, sir?" I ask, smiling and balancing on my heels. "Why, thank you, sir. I strive to be in a spritely mood every day to provide a joyous atmosphere to all who require me."

"Of course you do," the hound responds disinterestedly. "Have you got everything you need?"

"Indeed, sir." Without having to refer to my list, I recite the errands I have in brief to him and receive his wave of approval. The signed paper he gives me affords me credit, to be dispensed on the various establishments with whom the Royal household have business.

"And another thing," he says before I'm about to leave. "As his Grace is indisposed, it is understood that his duties and authority fall to you for a short time. Do you understand what this means?"

I nod. The dalmatian hands me a paper with a gold seal.

"I had this drafted up for today. Should anyone prevent you from doing your duty, this letter should inform them of theirs."

I take the letter, studying it as I walk along the castle hallways towards the gatehouse. The seal is His Majesty's, the brother of my master. He's the only one allowed to use the golden wax, so the credentials should be clear to any citizen here.

His Grace is in the care of the royal barber surgeon, operating out a bad tooth, leaving me to attend to his duties on my own. He has explicitly instructed me not to bother him today, even when I know a thing or two about surgery myself. A rare occurrence. Because he has grown rather dependent on me and because I'm good at what I do, I've been trusted to do all the chores he usually only requires my assistance with, all by myself. A golden opportunity. The list of tasks I have is very long, and will likely claim the whole day. However, I am forced to amend the list when I encounter a problem.

My dear fox, who is for the most part never a problem for me, is unfortunately that today. Emerging from my room, using my brush to get his unruly head fur straight, pulling on one of my clean shirts, my fox catches sight of me and wanders over. His right ear, halved by an old duelling injury, has only just started moving properly, but still lends him the rakish look of a pirate. He's slept on his left one so that it's folded over and wonky, too. A smile spreads on his lips with an almost audible creak, putting me in mind of the castle's old drawbridge opening. Rows of white soldiers stand to attention in his jaw, behind their two golden canine officers.

"There's my little candy tuft," he says through his grin. "Up early, are you?"

"Early?" I scoff, pushing his shoulder. "I've been up for an hour already, and had breakfast. You lazy fox."

"I work late," he says simply. I sometimes marvel at how lightly he can speak, considering what he does for a living. He certainly never speaks of what he does, but I know enough.

"Well, I'm working early," I tell him, flicking at his folded over ear so that it pops up. "I haven't got time to chat."

"I know," he says. "I'm going with you."

"The hell you are, fox. This work isn't suitable for you."

"Uh-huh, I do." He grins at me as if he's somehow getting one over on me. "Your beloved dalmatian- "

"I told you not to call him that where people might hear you, Kieran,"

"-Has furnished me with instructions to act as your minder."

I barely contain my laugh. "He did not say that."

"Minder, helper, carrier, guard, call it what you will."

"He said you'd be helping me?"

"He did indeed, your weasel-ness. At your humble service."

Kieran presents me a rolled-up paper, on which it says, in an all too familiar paw, that he is indeed to act as my protector for the day. I've never needed a guardsman before. I've always been with His Grace, and we've never been bothered. But going against direct orders is not something he's prone to overlook when considering my performance.

"You could stand to be a little bit humbler," Kieran ponders, before snatching me in a headlock and rubbing at my head fur. He's godawfully strong, but so completely and comprehensively inappropriate.

"Kieran, stop that, honestly!" I grumble at him, before he releases me.

"Now you look more like a fox's companion." He kisses the bridge of my nose before I can push him away, licking me across my brow, further upsetting my grooming. "Come now, Kit, tell me you didn't hope for this, secretly."

"I will be honest-"

"I knew it," he helpfully concludes before I can tell him exactly what I think.

I mean, I do enjoy his company. However, his lack of convention is exactly what I don't need when I'm going about official business, dressed in livery and finery. Exciting, different and fun are not words I think will help with my day's many chores.

Because, for all his better qualities, he's still a fox. And for all my love for him, undying and eternal, his being a fox will make this day... more complicated.

"Well, what's the first item on the list, boy?" he asks, slapping his thigh like a farmer calling his animals over. I ignore his gesturing, reminding myself how he moans when he's under me.

"We need to visit the tailor, first of all."

"What for?"

"His grace's summer outfit for the next year will have to be amended."

"He's put on weight?" Kieran asks, far, far too loudly.

"Kieran, silence!" I growl at him. "This is a sensitive issue."

"Nonsense, if there's two things the spotted dog hasn't got, it's sensitivity, and issue." He snickers at his own pun. "In fact, you're the closest thing he has to a son, all you need are the black spots."

"You don't speak loudly about him when we're out and about, alright?" I tell him. "It's my neck on the line if any of that talk comes back to me, you hear me, fox? I'm trying to make an impression here."

"I joke around about him all the time, with the other agents."

"And I don't," I snap at him. "If you're going to help, help me keep my bloody job, why don't you? Don't help me into hot water."

"Alright, alright." Kieran shrugs, then his smile sort of dies on his lips as he looks into the middle distance. "Wait for me by the gate, I just need to fetch my things."

"What things?" I ask, a sense of unease settling over me. "You know I'm just visiting shops and things, right?"

"That's your job. I have mine. Wait for me."

Despite, or perhaps due to my better judgement, I do just that. Kieran doesn't often tarry when he sets his mind to something, but I'm already running behind on my schedule, and waiting the fifteen minutes I do by the gatehouse only makes me more late.

Kieran joins me, dressed in his black half-cape and jacket combo. There's very little royal about his attire, he instead prefers the scruffy sailor look. But his clothes are at least clean, and not inoffensive in their style and shape. At a glance, one might mistake him for a common citizen. What does offend my sensibilities is his penchant for carrying weapons. No firearms, the fox doesn't like their smell. But he carries two blades on his left hip, one rapier and one long stiletto of a particularly nasty design. And those are just the ones he keeps visible. My fox is very likely strapped up like a travelling farrier. His orders, indeed, his whole industry, rests on his skill with these tools. And I don't want to mention it and risk an unpleasant argument. It's one thing criticising him for not dressing appropriately, which he has done with a thin margin for error. It's another thing to make him feel bad for being who he is.

Because Kieran wasn't always like this.

He never grew up to be a soldier. Up until his eighteenth birthday, he'd never held anything more dangerous than a kitchen knife.

He was a slave, when I first met him.

He has been thrust into his duties due to chance, or luck if you think of it like that, desperation and love. Love for me. The only way to ensure our safety back then was to accept the life-long contract to learn and become one of Dalmatia's shadowy protectors. It afforded him freedom, in the legal sense. And a fresh new hell, in every other. In his mind, he drinks of the cup of heroism. But when there's no more to drink, the truth rears its ugly head. At the bottom of that cup, there rests a deep unhappiness that things have become how they are now. He'd have liked to do pretty much anything else, but his unhappy past has not given him skills in anything to make his paws pay his bills.

The reason I don't like seeing these weapons strapped to my fox is the same as the reason I don't like seeing people with debilitating illnesses or impoverished by massive debt. It speaks of a burden I wouldn't wish upon my most hated enemy.

Following a short visit to the tailor to deliver my instructions, and whisper His Graces new measurements outside of Kieran's hearing, we head to the court jeweller. His Grace's signet ring has grown rather too tight these days, so I deliver it over to the master himself while Kieran feigns disinterest while looking at the jeweller's wares from outside the shop window. He owns more rings than he has fingers and he's got money to buy more, but he's not... wanted... in there all the same.

Like with most shops catering for the middle and upper class, there's a discreet sign above the door. A hangover from the old times, which is long overdue for a change. Since shopkeepers count as landowners by the law, and a landowner can still legally bar anyone on any grounds from entering their shop. And there's an antagonism towards foxes, from just about every other species, for some reason. Some stupid reason, I bet.

Kieran always avoids bringing up that point of conflict. He tells me that he's simply come to appreciate the quiet introspection, and if not acceptance, a grudging coexistence with the rest of this unfair world. He wants to keep his head down and let the world change around him, while he labours to find the little moments we can share. That's what he believes his life is about. I'm sure there's more to it, but it's not my fight.

My next errand takes me to the master vintner's shop, a man Kieran finds very agreeable. The vintner is a skunk, and is one of the few masters of the city who has no issue with my fox. He supplies the court from a dozen nearby vineyards, and I suppose about six of every ten bottles wind up in my fox's possession. A sizable haul follows us out of the shop, courtesy of my fox.

"You'll carry those yourself," I tell him, tucking my wicker basket safely in the crook of my arm, while he stuffs several bottles into a black leather knapsack slung across his back.

"The burden is all the easier when I know where they're going."

I roll my eyes, but I know he'll probably wind up wanting to share with me, and he is ever so cute when he's about half a bottle down and tipsy, so I'm not about to complain.

"Planning on opening one of those?" I ask him, conversationally, as we walk down the Campagnia towards my next appointment.

"Maybe, if there's time," he mumbled. "And I'm in the mood."

"When are you not in the mood for drinking?" I ask, nudging his side. I expect a smile, but I'm instead rewarded with his distant stare.

"I try not to use the wine as a medicine for my moods," he says finally. "If I'm in the right mood... depends on what we have to do today, I suppose." He shrugs, then forces a smile, meeting my eyes with his. "I'm sure today will be perfectly splendid."

"I see. And if it's not?"

"Wine keeps more than a day," Kieran says simply. Then he takes my paw, squeezing it gently.

The sun crests noon as we make our way to the court baker. This is the first place Kieran is firmly instructed to wait outside. He's probably heard it so much that it doesn't bother him as much anymore.

I mind though. I'm not out and about with him that often, I'm not often privy to these little humiliations my fox has to endure. It really does hurt.

But I swallow it down. Official business. I have to prove that I'm professional enough to handle these instances. Kieran is stronger than I'll ever be. He'll survive.

I am furnished with a selection of baked goods to which his Grace is partial, and for my fox, I take a tasty sweet roll out of the basket. Just to spite the baker who refused him. It's a small gesture, but Kieran's smile makes it worth it. My fox has a sweet tooth almost as bad as his taste for wine.

From there, my trip goes to His Majesty's custom office, where I pick up a daily report. It's written in a code I could have the fox decrypt easily enough, but it's not meant for my eyes at this point, so I tuck it into my basket, seal intact. Then, I visit the offices of the harbourmaster, the court lawyer, and the arsenal headquarters, gathering up various bits and pieces of information about the comings and goings which His Grace requires for his work. It's all a bit too dry for my fox, and I trust his judgement when he says he doesn't mind waiting outside. But I still feel a pang of guilt whenever I see those signs without speaking up.

It's not my fault that they're there. I have expressed my displeasure at these laws on multiple occasions, but I haven't got a real say in the matter. I even had the situation explained to me once, not very convincingly, by His Majesty himself.

Castellania begrudgingly accepts Dalmatia's existence, but they deliberate on that issue every day. And with every new report His Grace receives, it seems that we're edging towards their bad side. Nations on the bad side of Castellania are often subject to... incidents of diplomacy which are swiftly and bloodily concluded. Rarely in the favour of the victim. For now, they enjoy our trade connections and our art and culture. They disagree with our personal liberties, and the way Dalmatians can choose to sleep with whoever they please, regardless of gender or rank. But their ever so strange line in the sand is whether foxes are "kept in their place", and they insist Dalmatia ensure "the rights of freed men to assert themselves" are maintained. I assume they too notice the relatively recent efflux of vulpine population from their nation, to, among many places, Dalmatia. It's as unpleasant a reasoning as one can get, in my mind. In all senses but the literal one, we're a mere vasal state. Can't afford to upset our masters.

There's one line of defence in Dalmatia which is unassailable to anyone. Our extensive spy-network, and His Grace's ruthless use of assassins. Kieran's role will be critical to the liberation of his kind, one day. He says he prefers to wait until the time is right. He won't say when that is, but I know one thing. Kieran never picks a fight he isn't sure of winning.

I catch up with him once I'm done with all the paperwork errands. He holds out the crook of his arm, and guides me towards Dalmatia's raised, seaside promenade.

"Sit down, Kit," he says, selecting a stone bench under an awning of a gnarled old oak. "I'm getting exhausted just looking at you." He dips a paw in a nearby fountain and brings it to his brow to cool. "You've been busy today."

"And busier I shall be," I say, but I take the proffered spot all the same. "It's nice to sit down for a little though."

"I got us some lunch while you were gone," he states, digging in his sack. I let the basket rest besides me, and stretch out the muscles in my arms, which have grown sore from the uneven load. Kieran pulls out the fresh bread he's bought, rips it into chunks, and dips it in jam or honey, and sometimes both, washing it all down with wine drunk straight from the bottle. His tail wraps around mine, as we dip bits of bread and feed each other with them.

He's got this way of making something as humble as a bite on a stone bench feel so much more than the sum of its parts. That's what seems to be his passion. Not the food, I mean... he enjoys doting on me more than anything. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but I wonder why it resonates so strongly with him. The only cherry to top this day would've been a glass, but I can't have red wine with my white fur. It'll stain. And I'm on official duty. The reminder draws a sigh out, which I explain away as exhaustion to my fox.

It's bad enough catching my reflection in a mirror or a window, and spotting another black strand of fur my fox has left on my muzzle or cheek, and having to pick it away. I love my job but I hate whenever it places these thoughts in my head. In an ideal world, my coat would be half black with his fur, and his would be half white, and nobody would care.

Kieran chews on a stringy piece of sausage, washing bites down with water from the nearby fountain. He seems so effortlessly contented. I just wish I knew how he does it. How can he, of all people, be so calm? I wish I could tap into some of that for myself, but my job just occupies too much of my mind.

I love him to bits, and I love his species too. But in my job, I am not at liberty to lend weight to my opinions. When I'm on duty, I'm an extension of His Grace's office. And that hasn't always got my fox's interests highest on the priority list. It's at times like this when I realise how abrasive my work can be to my own sensibilities, and how difficult I must seem to him. And even if I could get over that, I can't really relax, because this next bit is going to be very uncomfortable.

"We're going to have to part ways here," I tell him, when we enter the Street of Saints, situated on the hills overlooking the harbour and market. A decidedly "fine" street. "I'll have to visit a place down the road from here... it's-"

"Just say it," he mumbles. "Morbidelli, isn't it?"

I nod, looking over my shoulder, down the street, to avoid his eyes.

Kieran sighs and shakes his head. "I was told to not leave your side, my love. Those are my orders."

Oh, fox, any other words than those, please?

"Kieran, please," I plead with him. "I know your orders, but I swear, it's safe, you don't have to protect me here."

"Of course not," he folds his arms. "But I have to."

"I'd rather not have this argument."

Kieran looks into the middle distance again. "There's no argument, Kit. We're enjoying ourselves."

"This is my job, fox," I complain.

"If Morbidelli the apothecary refuses his Grace's personal servant for any reason, that's a message he sends to the court. The Dalmatian should've thought about that before giving me instructions to guard you, don't you suppose?"

I hesitate, because that's simply not something I've considered up until now.

"I don't know every thought in His Grace's head." I frown. "I've already got a fully packed day ahead of me, even when the errands here are done. Can you please just... this once, please do what I ask. I swear I'll make it up to you."

Kieran shrugs and leans his paw on his sword. "Sorry Kit." His tone is flavoured with spite.

Well, what am I going to do? I can't really complain.

In fact, he's so within his own rights to insist that he come along, that I feel bad for even entertaining an argument. But I know the apothecary is going to be particularly vindictive, and it's going to be really unpleasant. Alas. If I fail in my duty to his Grace, I'll look like I'm not competent enough to take care of his errands. Even running boys can fetch a prescription. I need to assert myself as His Grace's finest servant.

I'm a professional.

But Kieran's words nag at me as we make our way to the northern part of town. It does feel odd that His Grace would assign the fox, one of the more valued agents he has, to this relatively simple task. Duke Reis of Dalmatia is not like other nobles; he's shrewd, pragmatic, and completely and utterly devoted to his office. He can't possibly have missed this detail.

He knows that this is not the fox's first encounter with Morbidellis' Apothecary.

Two years back, on a mission, Kieran had taken a bullet to his thigh while chasing some smugglers through these very streets. Someone had the sense to run to the castle for aid, where I was the first soul they saw. I'm something of a field surgeon for the fox, whenever he's working together with my master, so I came as quick as I could.

Stemming the flow of blood wasn't hard. The hard part was getting Kieran back to the castle. The streets here are too narrow for carts, and it was too far to walk. I wasn't strong enough to carry him, and I didn't dare leave his side for even a moment, as he was on the verge of passing out. At the time, there was only one option open to us, so I helped him limp over to Morbidelli's. Anything, I told him, Just something to take the edge off the pain, or a large bottle of brandy, or even, God forbid, that hideous poppy stuff.

But I was refused.

I tried everything. I told him who I were, I pleaded with the money I could pay him. I showed him the grave wounds on my love. Morbidelli slammed the door in my face and told me to get lost, not believing a word. I stayed with my fox until the morning, when I felt confident we could make it back. But the shame and indignation stuck. Morbidelli never apologized to me in our later encounters. Didn't even acknowledge what had happened.

I don't know how Kieran can stand it. And being refused with a half dead lover in my arms had been such a firm slap across my muzzle that I had no words for a long time after.

At the time, Kieran had been the one comforting me.

But the worst part of it was that the apothecary had not done anything illegal. I didn't show him my credentials. He was, as the lawyers would've argued, well within his right to refuse us. As His Grace explained it, if he didn't want blood on his own, personal carpets, the law couldn't force him to do let Kieran and me inside. He's not bound by the Hippocratic oath, he isn't a doctor, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Kieran follows me up to the apothecary's door. I haven't got the will or the words to stop him. His expression is hard, as if prepared for a fight. Maybe today is the day things change? Should I hold him back? Or should I push him on?

Predictably, we're stopped at the door by a stocky built hedgehog with a liveried waistcoat, the apothecary's seal sewn on his breast. Admirably, he carries no weapons. In this street, even the hired help keep within the law. But with those nasty quills, I wouldn't favour any law-abiding opponent of his.

"Hold up," he growls in a brusk voice. "What's your business here?"

"I'm on an errand for his Grace," I tell him.

"Of course you are," the hedgehog says, not offering his name or asking for mine. "And that lout there-"

"That fox," I correct him, "is accompanying me."

"I discerned as much." The hedgehog folds his arms. "I suppose you'll be showing me some kind of faked credentials now, then?"

I'm in the middle of pulling out my letter when the words he said hit home, and they hit right on a sore spot.

"Excuse me?" I ask. "You don't know who I am?"

"Yeah," the hedgehog snorts. "You're not welcome. Master Morbidelli does not peddle in gutter-drugs."

He puts a lazy paw on my shoulder, shoving me backwards.

I stumble, too shocked to remember my balance, but Kieran catches me before I trip. I don't even have to turn my head to know that he's lifting his lips, giving the guardsman his restrained growl. But he stays put.

I turn to my fox, making no show of hiding my frustration. Prior to now, the fox might shrug his shoulders in a "what can you do" fashion; so long as he's on Duke Reis' errand, he has to behave accordingly. But I'm acting in place of Duke Reis today, and I'm not about to let this insult stand.

"Kieran."

He nods, placing himself between me and the hedgehog.

"Have you heard about me?" he asks, getting right up into the doorman's personal space. The hedgehog visibly recoils. It's like a reflex with these people. Only a canine or other similarly snouty person would manage to find fault in my companions' scent. But people learn from they're very young that foxes smell and that they're shifty and not to be trusted.

"Stand back... fox," he growls. "I don't care what sort of circus attire you're dressed up in, I see through it. Foxes are not allowed inside. Be glad that's all you're not allowed to do."

"I think you'll find..." Kieran says with a very level tone. "That the gentleman here is not of a vulpine persuasion."

"Foxes, and their company." The words are spat out with a venom that makes me wince. "He's as good as a fox, if he's with the likes of you."

The hedgehog leans forward, lowering his brow confrontationally, letting the quills on his neck raise. Kieran looks back at me for confirmation, before turning towards the hedgehog. His hackles raised, and his tail bristling.

"That was a very rude thing to say."

With lightning reactions, he unsheathes his stiletto before the hedgehog can get his paws free of his elbows, pushes the blade right up against his snout, leaning his whole weight against the hedgehog's neck and smashing the hedgehog against the wall. The surprise catches the larger male off balance, and he stumbles, groaning as a crunch of snapping quills emerge from behind him.

"Say one word," he growls. "Make it a distasteful one. And you'll share company with the others who never knew me."

I look around the street, but we seem to be alone for now.

"Thank you, Kieran," I say. "Be good and don't draw any attention to us." The fox nods.

"I do actually have a royal seal," I mumble, getting closer to the doorman. "Had you not been so quick to insult us, we could've avoided this embarrassing situation."

"Orders-" the hedgehog squeaks as Kieran pushes his blade further up.

"He has not granted you leave to speak yet," the fox growls. The tip of the dagger slowly passes inside the hedgehog's small snout, resting against the sensitive skin there, making him wince and shut his eyes tightly. "Let's hope you don't sneeze. You haven't been granted leave to do that, either, you know."

"I don't think your orders are to accost Morbidelli's customers, sir," I clarify for the now terrified hedgehog. "Even if they were, I don't believe those orders trump mine, today." I pull out the golden sealed envelope, and show it to him. I don't want him to know how angry he makes me, but it's hard to hold back. I need to remain professional. I can defend my use of Kieran if I have to, but not if the fox draws blood, or starts something without the due process being followed. But I get this weird feeling that somehow, we won't get in trouble for this.

"This is his majesty's seal," I clarify as I hold the letter up in front of him. "I am acting on behalf of his brother. That's Duke Reis of Dalmatia. I'm sure you've heard of him, no?"

Realisation slowly trickle across the hedgehog's expression.

"His Grace has granted me leave to perform his duties, and my companion to ensure I am not hindered in doing my job. Would you say those credentials sound fair enough?"

The hedgehog nods.

"Unfortunately," I continue. "I feel very hindered. I need my companion with me. He is very concerned about my safety, and he simply wouldn't be able to let me out of his sight for a moment." I shake my head as if this can't be helped. "And I fear he might have felt you went a bit overboard in the way you addressed me."

I see Kieran's tail flick at that. He slowly withdraws his dagger, allowing the hedgehog to draw a shaky breath.

"And," I continue, "I'm very sorry to inform you of this but he is an agent of the crown too. You might have occasion to get close enough to see the ring on his paw, yes?" The hedgehog's eyes move from me, to Kieran, to his paw. Then he shuts them tightly again, his lips moving in a silent prayer.

"It's good that we understand each other," I conclude. "Mind your words in the future, because you don't seem to understand what damage you could do with them. Whatever qualms you have against foxes, whatever they have done to deserve it, I don't' know. But from now on, I suggest you employ the same polite tone when greeting all of Dalmatia's citizens, great and small. This would probably be the safest option for you, don't you agree?"

The hedgehog nods again. For good measure, I get up real close to him. He recoils even more from my presence, but this isn't learned.

This is instinctual.

"I won't give any moral lessons," I tell him as I pass him. "But remember this fox. He has very good memory. I'm sure an amicable understanding will benefit you in the future, as soon as our vulpine friends have been elevated to the same rights as you and I."

Kieran releases his grip on the hedgehog's collar and sheathes his blade, before folding his arms, and leaning against the other side of the doorway.

"The way is clear, sir," he mutters, sarcastically.

"I'm going to have to insist that you enter alone, though," the hedgehog says, glancing nervously at the fox. "The rules are... I'm sorry, but those are the rules. The law- I mean. Please understand, sir. No offense meant."

"It's fine, Kit. I'll keep an eye on him, for you." Kieran smiles that smile which he thinks I can't see through. But I've been with him for years now, and I know his moods. I know when he's all but resigned himself to his lot in life. He's made it far. But there's a barrier that he perceives he won't cross in his lifetime. But this... all of this... isn't just a collection of random happenstances.

This is the first, slippery stepping stone on a tumultuous river crossing, that providence, or a certain Dalmatian duke, has led me to. If I don't jump to the next now, I'll never get across.

"Kieran," I demand of my fox. "Your orders are to watch over me where ever I go. Fall in line, soldier."

"Kit, I-"

"That's sir," I snap, waving the letter. "Don't forget who your superior is today, fox. Follow me. Now."

"But-"

"NOW!" I snap my fingers, determinately not looking at the hedgehog, who doesn't dare look at me. Kieran's shock soon turns into confusion, but his curiosity gets the better of him.

"And stand straight, too. You're on business for the crown. Try to look like it."

Kieran splays his ears, but straightens his back and lifts his muzzle, and follows me inside.

As we enter, a bell at the door announces our arrival. The apothecary's front room is dominated by shelves and shelves, all containing small drawers with little labels on. There are so many smells in here that I almost regret bringing my boyfriend's sensitive snout in. He non-too-subtly covers his muzzle, but I can also tell that there's a little wonder in his eyes. I want him to see this. I want him to know that what he's been missing is accessible to him, not impossible. These people's actions aren't a result of the laws. The laws are a result of the people and their prejudices. People change. His Grace changed. I changed. Dalmatia will change. Not because of some law, but because of a fox.

"Morbidelli?!" I call out, "In the name of His Grace, Duke Reis of Dalmatia, you will show yourself!"

"Oh, dear me," the otter calls from his back room, muffled by the door between us. "One moment, one moment."

Through a door obscured by yet more shelves, he emerges, wearing a white apron stained with yellow. He's not changed much since last I saw him. A few stray, grey whiskers, but otherwise the same long-coated, beady eyed Morbidelli. His eyes widen when he sees us, the effect exacerbated by his eyeglasses.

"Good sir, the fox will have to wait outside, these ingredients are sensitive to-"

"To what?" I cut in bruskly. "My companion is fastidious with his grooming. What ingredient could he possibly upset?"

He picks at his whiskers, frustratedly.

"Sir, the sign on the door clearly states that foxes will have to go elsewhere for their custom. It is understood that the sensitive ingredients used in many concoctions respond poorly to the particular musk, and-"

"My companion comes with me where I go," I say sternly. "and I challenge you to take whatever ruined ingredients to the castle, where we will have the court doctor examine them."

The otter hesitates, and straightens his glasses.

"Mr. Kit, is that not it?" He studies me closer. "Yes. You're not with His Grace today. I wonder what he'd say-"

"I am the depute royal, today_."_ I cut in, before he can get ontop of his high horse.

The otter has no difficulty understanding the letter, once I've unsealed it and shown it to him. He looks up at us with doubt in his features, blinking uncertainly.

"Sir," Morbidelli prostests. "This is highly unusual. What on earth did you tell Omar?"

"The same I will tell you," I say with as much steel as I can muster. "On behalf of His Grace, the Duke of Dalmatia, I will not have my personal guard hindered, be he fox or anyone else. If he perceives a threat to me, or himself, or feels hindered in performing his duty, he stands at liberty to remove that hinderance. I will not hesitate to issue that order. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I must protest-"

"Do that," I tell him warningly. "I am the one who administers His Grace's audiences, and I am good friends with His Majesty's Master of Staff, too. I may not have a title, master, but I have considerably more influence than you do. Carry on. Find some ancient law, employ a lawyer, draft a formal complaint. Spend yourself poor. I will personally make every step on your path a costly one." I level an accusatory finger at him. "Know this, Morbidelli, I do not share your bigotry, and I have nothing but scorn for those who do. And I outrank you, which means this fox, who is in His Grace's employ, outrank you too. Make of that what you will."

"A fox can't possibly make a guardsman."

The otter folds his arms, a last spiteful comment thoughtlessly sent our way. But I'm not going to let him have even that. I will bring him to heel. Behind me, Kieran remains remarkably silent. I let the comment hang in the air for a while, until the point where the otter looks like he's about to speak. Then I take the word from him.

"My legal advice, Master Morbidelli, would be to carry on with your job, not level any more comments at me or my companion, and remember this encounter in the future. Remember where you stand when times change-- and they will change. Mark my words."

That quells the otter's protest for now. He goes about his business with a curt, unfriendly tone, collecting all the medicines I've got on my list. When I've gotten what I came for, I leave a note of credit to be claimed at the castle. I'm sure he'll make a fuss when he takes the trip up the hill, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

"And a last piece of advice," I tell him, having ushered Kieran out of the door. "Legal advice it might not be, but heed me, Master Morbidelli. Take down that sign. In this day and age... it's not required. Soon or late, it will be a thing of the past, and the blank spots and the nail marks will lose their meaning to those who come after us. But for as long as we live, we will remember who kept them up. My fox will remember, and you might find it hard to regain his good graces if you don't change your ways. Change is coming, Morbidelli. Castellanian foxes keep finding our shores, warships keep finding excuses to harry our traders, the empire's politicians keep finding ways to denounce our society. Maybe appeasement of our vulpine brothers will have more value to Dalmatia, than these old, Castellanian-inspired laws ever did."

"What is that supposed to mean, exactly?" the otter demands, but I don't acknowledge his sarcastic tone.

"Dalmatia is the sunflower of the Medimare. She will always turn away from her shadow, and grow stronger for it. Make of that what you will."

With that, I leave him, and snap a sharp command to Kieran, who still seems a bit taken aback with my sudden determination. I can't help it, I really can't. Having this kind of power is dangerously addictive. I'm glad it's only for one day.

He follows me in silence, carrying most of my things without even me having to ask him. I notice in the corner of my eye that he's walking with his ears splayed to the side, when he's usually excitable and distractible. He doesn't talk, he just keeps at my heels, as one might expect from a subordinate, but which is very strange for my boyfriend.

When we get back to His Grace's apartment, where the dog is still in absentia, I confront him about it.

"What's got you so down?" I ask, shedding my jacket and hanging it on a nearby coat hook. "You've been quiet all the way from Morbidelli's."

"Have I?" he asks, suddenly willing his good ear up. "I'm sorry, I've just been a bit lost in thought."

"What have you been thinking about then?"

He pauses, biting his bottom lip while stalling.

"That was pretty... pretty... nice."

"Nice?" I ask, some of my latent frustration eeking into my voice. "Explain yourself, fox."

His ears flick, and he smiles a private smile, looking away from my eyes. I've not really noticed, but I'm still staring him down.

"Can you do that more often?" he asks.

"Do what?" I demand. "Stand up for you? I've always had your side, fox, I hope you didn't doubt that. I've just never been in a position to do anything about it."

"No, no, that's fine, Kit." He shakes his head, twiddling his thumbs. "I'm not expecting you to do anything about that, I mean... no... no, that's not it." Then, my partner, one of the court's finest assassins, looks up at me with the shaky, hopeful smile of someone half his age. "Can... can you use that tone with me some more? Call me soldier, and order me around?"

"Fox? Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm alright." He giggles, his left ear flicking uncontrollably, and his scarred, right stub doing it's best to follow. "Kit, you're... so attractive when you use that authority. God, I don't know what to call it, but I'm loving it."

"Well, I don't usually like making a fuss or anything, but-"

"Kit, you have to do that more often, I'm telling you! That was... amazing."

"I told you, I don't have that authority, regularly. I am beholden to what His Grace instructs me to do. And I don't often have you with me, do I?"

"No, no I mean..." Kieran's tail is wagging all out now, his left ear pointed at me, and judging from the pink in his ears, he's blushing deeply. "You can... pretend to order me around a little, every now and then... When we're together, I mean... Tell me that... uh... tell everyone that I'm your subordinate and uh... make me stand at attention and such."

I can smell his excitement now.

"Oh, my God, are you serious? Kieran?" I tilt my head, but there's no mistaking his smell. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He nods at me, smirking. "Look, I... I appreciate that this was just a one-time thing, but if you could pretend, tonight, that you were... that I was your-"

"That I'm a captain and you're my midshipman?"

"For example." Kieran practically vibrates with excitement; his tail is going crazy behind him. "I want that, Kit, if that would be okay with you?"

"If that would be okay with me, what?"

I manage to emulate the tone I'd used earlier, which returns to me as if it has been mine all along.

"Wh-

"IF THAT WOULD BE OKAY WITH ME... WHAT, SOLDIER?"

I give him a serious expression, which makes him throw his ears back momentarily. Then he catches on.

"Sir," Kieran squeaks, his wag even stronger. "I mean... would that be okay with you, sir?"

I get up close to him, paws behind my back like a field marshal inspecting his troops.

"I see how it is," I tell him, keeping my authoritarian voice intact. "Stand up straight, Fox."

He straightens his back, shooting his chest out and beaming with undisguised excitement.

"Oh, Gods, I desire you, Kit."

"Sir,"_I bark at him. "I am _SIR to you. Understood."

"Understood, sir."

"Now, put away your arms and armament, and rendezvous at your own chambers in two minutes. I wish to inspect my troops. Be sure that you're ready for me, soldier."

"Yes, sir," Kieran salutes before hurrying out of the room. I'll be honest, his eagerness has put me in something of a mood, and with all the chores which had to be done in the city out of the way, I can afford to spend a few moments disciplining my fox.

Kieran meets me in his room. He keeps his surroundings in excellent condition, sweeping the floor every day and taking his laundry out as soon as necessary. For a fox? No, for anyone's standards, Kieran is exceedingly clean. However, his mind is not. He salutes as any soldier should, but he is completely undressed, so he stands to attention in more ways than one. His presumption makes my newly found authority perk to attention, along with other parts of me.

"Fox," I bark at him. "You've undressed without my leave!"

"Oh," he cocks his ears to the side. "I thought you meant-"

"Excuse me, what was that?" I demand. "Did I instruct you to interpret my motives, or did I give you a clear order?"

"I mean, I'm sorry sir," he mumbles. "Forgive me."

Oh, it's hard, but I keep the act up.

"I will consider it," I tell him. "Come here."

I close the door behind me and beckon him over. "Undress me."

With his ears tipped back, but his tail wagging, he gets to work. He's got a deft, light paw, my fox has. However, I can tell that he's not used to unbuttoning and unlacing me without the heated, unrestrained desire which always precedes our nights together. Either that, or he's struggling against it, himself.

He undoes my cravat with a loving touch, stroking my cheeks, and almost taking my resolve with him. But I want to give him this. For the life he's given to the crown, I can give him a day of fantasy fulfilment, if that's what he wants.

My shirt comes off, and I instruct him to fold it properly, as is expected of all my clothes. With the added proviso, he grows even more excited, as the folding takes time, and I can see his mind play at all the likely outcomes as he works.

I take a seat at a small ottoman, and let him unlace my boots. He does so with the utmost care, placing them in his cupboard after giving them a wipe with a rag he has.

Then, I finally allow him to unclasp my belt, and unlace the fastenings which hold my trousers on, above my tail. As he kneels to pull my trousers down, I stroke his ears affectionately. He'd make a good soldier, but he's never formally been one. I run a paw down his neck and brush the fur out of the way, revealing the scar of an old slave collar, and marvel at how he can stand, let alone find enjoyment in all this. The ways of the mind are ineffable to all but God, I suppose.

"Stand up, soldier," I demand. He looks up at me with his gorgeous eyes for a moment, almost melting my heart again, before he stands up.

"Kiss me."

And he does. Kieran's a great kisser. That muzzle seems so incompatible with mine, but his long tongue makes up for it. It's long and insistent, and falls easily into old habits, which I almost let myself be carried away by.

I pull apart from him before we're done, catching him by surprise. His tongue hangs limply from his muzzle for a moment, before he opens his eyes again.

"I did not instruct you to use your tongue," I say, letting him hear the full brunt of my authority.

"My pardons, sir," he responds. "I thought you'd like-"

"Yours is not to reason why, Kieran," I explain. "Yours is to do or die. Any questions?"

"No, sir." He tips his ears back.

Then I take another kiss from him, forcing my tongue in between his teeth just to underline who calls the shots here. I'm starting to enjoy this, too. With a firm push, I separate the kiss again.

He can barely keep his tail still and I can feel his heart going crazy under my paw. He's enjoying this more than he's enjoyed anything we've done together, I've never seen him like this. He'll have to work for it, though.

"On the bed, fox," I tell him.

"Yes sir," he responds. "How would you like me?"

"On your knees." His smile tells me I've guessed exactly what he wanted. "Make it quick, fox. I have duties to attend."

He gets up on the bed, swaying his tail happily from side to side. I wander up with stiff back and muzzle held high, inspecting his efforts.

"Hold that tail up, soldier," I exclaim, and he lifts his tail higher.

"Muzzle forward, keep your back straight. Have some pride, fox!"

My fox follows my instructions, giddy almost to the point of giggling.

"Spread those legs out, let me see you."

He's dripping on his mattress. The smell of fox comes through firm but untainted. He cleans every part of himself well, but the day will never come when he can rid himself of this smell.

I run a paw over his back, letting it slide down is flank, and through his tail, before I grip around the base of it and pull him towards me. I'm damn hard myself, feeling my own cock twitching with unrestrained need. I know where he keeps his oils, but Kieran deserves a little extra treat before I get to work.

"Head down, soldier," I say, pushing him down by the neck while I'm holding his tail with my other paw. I climb onto the bed, and get on my knees behind him, spreading him out. Then I lean in, and kiss his tailhole. I would never have done this with any other man in my past, but Kieran is a treat. Not only is he clean, he's malleable too. Remarkably sensitive and receptive. Equally skilled giving as receiving, which makes giving him a treat all the more pleasurable. My kiss is followed by a muffled moan from my fox, but I yank at his tail which makes him squeak again.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you!"

He moans louder, as I lick at his sensitive spot, guiding my tongue around and around until he's slick, relaxed and willing. His moans become louder too. I reward him by sticking my tongue through, letting him feel me inside. Like a teaser before the main act.

I slip a paw down between his legs, and feel out for his cock where it swings lazily from side to side. Sliding my thumb over his tip brings out another moan, clear and intentional. My fingers come away sticky.

"Clean me up, soldier," I say, parting from my passionate kiss and sticking my fingers near his muzzle. "And when you're done with those, I have another thing for you to clean."

Without warning, I shove my fingers into his muzzle, pulling his lips back and pushing past his teeth. He yields, moaning as he lets me finger his throat and play with his tongue.

"Your teeth are sharp and fine, soldier. Well done. That tongue, though. It certainly needs something to busy itself with, lest it grows idle. See to it that you correct this."

Kieran nods, ears back.

I shift around, positioning myself in front of him, and let my cock brush his muzzle. But as he opens his muzzle to accept it, I smack it across his snout and reprimand him.

"No, Soldier. You ask for permission first. Say it."

"Kit, ah," Kieran moans. "May I-"

"Sir," I bark. "Louder."

"Sir, please, let me suck your cock!"

I put a paw on the scruff of his neck, lifting him up to his elbows, smearing my sticky shaft across his muzzle.

"Permission granted, soldier. Step to your duties!"

The act is difficult to keep up at times like this, but I keep coming back to how happy, and how horny Kieran looks like this. We must give of ourselves to please others, as they say.

Kieran slips my cock inside his muzzle as if he's been aching to have it there, like a sailor to a bottle, letting out these self-satisfied little moans as he goes to work. His diligence has come out strong with this play act going on, because he slides up and down my shaft with an enthusiasm which he's never shown before, making up for his lacking skills in this department. Kieran prefers getting straight to the point, normally, whether it's being fucked, or fucking me. I've tried to teach him the value of the foreplay before, but it seems my lessons have only now caught on.

"Show pride in your work, Soldier," I bark at him, "keep those ears up, and keep your tail raised. You're the finest soldier I ever inspected. Act like it!"

He struggles to do it, but he manages eventually, arcing his tail prettily. While he massages me with his tongue, I lean over and let him feel my intent for himself. The fingers I stuck inside his muzzle are still slick with his saliva, so I trace them over his tailhole, and push inside without too much hesitation. He moans, but muffled by my cock, he can't object. I feel him twitching a few times, but lets me explore him freely.

Kieran isn't a very experienced cock sucker, but he's an enthusiastic one today, and that, combined with his needy moans and his eagerness is slowly pushing me towards an orgasm. So before I bring our session together to a close, I slip my cock free of his muzzle, and order him to resume his head-down-tail-up position, while I stretch him out.

It doesn't take long before Kieran is mewling like a cub, begging me to go further. But I silence him with an authoritarian bark, and he lowers his ears again. Then I growl at him and he forces them upright again.

"I'm telling you this only once, soldier," I growl when he's been corrected one time too many. "I fuck you when I decide to fuck you. Am I clear?"

"Y-yes sir," he moans.

"Louder."

"Yes, sir! Do with me what you please, sir."

The toughest fox I know, prostrate and begging me for release like a bitch in heat. I find that there's something so unspeakably desirable about him in this position. On a leash, so to speak, subjugated. Knocked down a peg.

In his place?

A part of my mind chides me for those thoughts. Nobody has fought like Kieran to be where he is now. In a just world, he'd be resting on a lounge, being fed grapes by naked beauties. But my thinking mind steps in to halt that line of thought.

This is his reward, so to speak.

This isn't something he suffers for my benefit. This is something he allows me to do because he trusts me, and he really wants me to do it with him. And that's my reward. He trusts me enough to let me play with the balance of power between us, while he allows himself to be vulnerable, and show a part of himself that nobody else gets to see, and show me that even that fox is a resilient, strong and self-assured one. He's come a long way. I won't hurt him just because I don't treat him with silken gloves. He's brave, like that. Maybe this is good for him in some way? I'm no philosopher or man of God, so I can't say what is good for the soul. But I can tell when my fox is enjoying himself, and that's all I care about.

I can't keep up the pretence. If I don't push myself inside, I'll spill my load in my paws.

I position myself behind him and rest a paw on his shapely flank. He flexes his thigh for me, and wills me on with the sheer force of that hungry gaze he throws over his shoulder. I need to satiate it, this isn't about the play act anymore, it's an urgent, animalistic need within me.

We're both well practiced, and none of us are particularly challenging to accommodate for the other one. We've found that the pleasure we feel is similar, and the amount of effort it takes to bring us over the top seems to be equal, too. However, thanks to my skills in persuasion, and Kieran's exciting vulpine anatomy, often as not he winds up being in the position I am in now, fucking me. So he is a little out of practice.

I don't let him have much time to adjust. He's already slick and ready for me, and I'm dying to bring forth his release. I hold him against me as I push inside, deeper and deeper. My left paw slips down between his legs, and I push my left and middle finger down either side of the root of his cock, pinching it lightly.

"At ease," I manage to call out between panting, as the warmth envelops my whole length. "You're so tight."

Kieran's scent pushes me on. He's leaking all over my wrist, my fingers and his own sheets, until he smells just as strongly as the fox everyone else sees. I lean over him as I thrust, letting him feel the weight and warmth of me across his back. He grips his sheets as he tries to adjust to me, but I push more, thrusting, slapping against his rump, tightening my grip around so that chest drop onto the matress.

His moans take on a different pitch, as I use my free paw to stroke his length. "That's it, fox. A dutiful soldier deserves his reward."

Kieran whines, closing in on his limit.

"What's that?" I ask, muzzle right next to his ear. "I can't hear you."

"Y-yes, sir... c-cum in me, sir!"

I squeeze around the base of his knot, making him cry out with passion, while I take the paw I stroked him off with, and entangle it into his lush scruff, leaning my weight on him, pushing him into the mattress harder. And increasing my pace.

"Soldier," I pant between breaths. "That's... 'can you cum in me, sir'... to you... Learn some... Discipline."

Kieran doesn't respond, he just hunkers down, left ear flat against his head, tail wrapped around my waist. His moans rise and rise in pitch, until I hear his distinctive foxy yip, and then I reach down and bring him all the way over the top. He cries out, cursing loud enough to wake the dead. I feel the warm trickle of his cum on my fingers, and the way he clenches around my cock. The whole scene is enough to bring me to my limit. I slam myself all the way in, filling the fox's tailhole with my cum.

The afterglow is, conversely, very languid, quiet and sensual. Kieran is a specimen of physical prowess, and I'm not. Panting and laying on my back, I slowly regain my voice. I can't remember the last time I raised my voice at him, or shouted at him for this long, and I guess... Maybe I needed that. I certainly feel much lighter than I did. Less stressed, more relaxed. His little habits, the little points of annoyance with him, when I think about them, don't grate so much as they usually do.

Kieran lies on his side, stroking my belly. He doesn't need to tell me that he enjoyed it, I can smell it all over his chest.

"So..." I mumble out into the air. "Are you okay?"

"I'm very good, Kit," he says. "Very good. That... was intense."

"You can say that again," I tell him. "I only wanted to apologize for that scene at the apothecary earlier. That... wasn't me."

"You don't like bossing me around?" He smiles at that.

"I honestly don't know, Kieran. I'll admit, it feels wrong to give you orders. We're equals. But in bed, it was much easier. Because... you seemed so happy."

"Maybe it's the fact that you consider us equals that makes it so much fun for me?" he ponders. "I couldn't say. I didn't think very much about it. I just heard you... and it struck a chord with me."

"Was the whole 'soldier' thing alright with you?"

"If you're worried about bothering me, don't. I'll let you know if you go too far, don't worry."

"That's good. Thanks, Kieran."

We're equals in my eyes. But I'm not sure we're equal in his. The world has left a scar in him, and even if it's not bleeding, it'll always be there. But his scars are part of what draws me in; he is my enigmatic fox, and I will never tire of his many quirks and oddities.

"So, next time," I theorise, "you'd like to be addressed as a lieutenant, and I can be the master at arms? You did well today, maybe you got promoted or something?"

He laughs at that.

"Or the quartermaster?" I take a hold of my now limp cock, swinging it with thumb and forefinger. "I'm not signing off on any more lances before you've cleaned this one. You left it in quite a state!"

Kieran's tail bats at the bed, and he snickers along with me.

"Or, what about master at arms, and master of staff?" he runs a finger from my belly, and up through my chest fur, across to my heart. "Heh. Master of staff."

"Oh, dear, fox. I'll not be able to look him in his eyes."

"Or how about you play His grace... and I-"

"Okay, I'm going to stop you there," I laugh, licking at his muzzle.

We cuddle for a bit, before I have to get going again. I don't mind brushing his fur out of my coat, and I relish the traces of scent he's left on me. It almost pains me to wash it off, but well, I can just order him to put some more on me tonight.

My fox might feel the need for a nap, since his only duty is to kill people and nobody needs to die today. But my chores aren't over, and there will be more still tomorrow. His grace's personal servant can never rest for long.