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God loved sinners. To the righteous men he sent trials and tribulations to test their faith, but to the wicked he brought luck to remind them that he still cared for them. Such were Alois’s thoughts as he walked the squalid streets of the capital’s seedier parts, with Reynard hurrying up behind him to match his pace. The two of them were approaching the bordel that the marquis was known to frequent on his stays in the capital whenever he had matters of state to handle, the hoods of their cloaks drawn up as if they were repeat patrons ashamed of their infidelity.

On the morning after the assassination attempt Reynard had made his teary-eyed goodbyes to Maria, and urged her to take a detour to her father’s castle, while he and Alois went out on a hunting trip without guards and without intent to return to the barge. Their sudden disappearance from the court had started a rumor that the prince had ran away to have a forbidden tryst with his chancellor, which fomented dissatisfaction at the court and unrest in the provinces. Landed gentry expected a visit from the royal couple, and the feasts and decorations prepared by the local burghers were wasted, but what was done was done.

Gervais of Holstein had been bragging in the court about bedding a maid, but he did not know that she had been recently betrothed to a young man with a fiery temper. Finding him had been easy, for he worked as a stablehand at the royal riding yard, and convincing him that Alois could act as the hand of his vengeance had been even easier. Alois had given the young man a small pouch of gold and strict instructions to flee the country with his bride on that very night of their meeting, and in exchange he had bestowed him with his knife. It was a working man’s tool, worn from use but kept sharp. It would do the job.

Alois stopped in the front of the building, standing in the muck of the alleyways and letting the night’s darkness hide him as he studied the people coming and going. It was a two-story wooden building, its facade running almost the length of the street, its doorway discreet yet inviting. Drunken music and the smell of stale wine wafted out whenever gentlemen of good breeding entered, in boisterous groups or as furtive loners. What they could not ask from their respectable wives, they sought it here.

Reynard fretted next to Alois. “What if someone sees us enter?”

“This is a place where everyone does their hardest not to see.”

“But this is a place of ill repute!”

“Exactly.” He moved on, forcing the prince to follow.

Inside was a raucous drinking hall, the air heavy with sweat and shouting, with a quartet of tired looking musicians trying to power through the noise in one corner and a debauched dance act in the other. Patrons in various stages of drunkenness were entertained by scantily clad girls, though Alois suspected they weren't all female under their dresses, caressing and joking with them despite being groped, their laughter shrill as they encouraged their chosen men to follow them upstairs. Alois did not recognize the matron who came to greet them, but after a suitable amount of money had changed hands she allowed the two of them to occupy a room on their own, and they took the stairs without anyone paying attention to the passing of their prince and chancellor.

They entered their room, close to the royal suite, and Alois made Reynard put out all the lights inside. He cracked open the door ever so slightly, and then watched and waited. After an indeterminable time two prostitutes exited the suite, looking annoyed as they adjusted their torn clothing, and once they had disappeared from view Alois moved swiftly into the corridor. Not wanting to be left alone Reynard followed him, his stomach pinched tight with nervousness. He wanted to ask the older man for reassurance but did not dare to raise his voice as they slipped in the royal suite silently.

The rooms were upholstered with dark red velour and folding screens decorated with erotic scenes created tasteful little nooks and crannies for intimacy. Wine purple silk cloth hung from the ceiling as if they were inside a giant canopy bed, with the light of paraffin candles shimmering on them and leaving the room in a sensual dusk. In the middle of the room Gervais loitered in a wooden bath tub, with a warm towel over his eyes and his naked body relaxed in the fragrant, warm water. On his left hand he held a crystal tumbler with liquor, while his right hung over the rim and almost touched a silver bowl with grapes and exotic fruit. A string of semen floated lazily in the soapy water, still attached to his massive canine erection, rivaling even that of Grigori.

He did not seem aware of the newcomers, and as Alois shut the door quietly the noise of feverish merrymaking outside became muffled, leaving the three in a bubble of their own.

One quick slash across the throat, a stab to the heart and the distasteful job would be done. Alois tightened his fingers around the handle of the knife, took a step on the carpeted floor and then stopped dead in his tracks when Reynard’s wavering voice rose behind him.

“Gervais… Please don’t move and listen.”

The glass slipped from the marquis’s hand and fell to the floor with a thud. Alois swore and hid the knife under his cloak just as Gervais pulled the towel from over his face.

“What? Who’s there? How dare…”

His eyes fell on the intruders. He blinked, opened his mouth, blinked again and then babbled.

“You- your highness? And you? But-”

“I need to hear it from your own mouth,” Reynard continued, stepping forward to take hold of Alois’s arm, “Did you and Oliver do it?”

The doberman was starting to take stock of the situation. He gripped the rims of the bathtub, as if making ready to spring out of it. Then he noticed Alois’s right hand, ominously tucked out of sight, and he smiled and raised his palms in appeasement.

“Your highness… Ah… This is most embarrassing. I am afraid you have caught me with the proverbial pants down, and in a place that is hardly appropriate for someone of your dignity or mine… But aren't all men made of flesh and blood? I am sure this is something sir Alois himself is all too aware of.”

He took the towel as he spoke and arranged it over his crotch to hide his sex from sight but it kept floating away. Reynard drew closer, his hands joined in something that looked like supplication.

“Gervais, please do not deflect, I must hear the truth.”

“Your majesty, I do not know what this man has told you but my family has served the crown for generations. I would never ever dream of taking part in an attempt on my sovereign’s life.”

“His majesty never said anything about an attempt on his life.”

The smile dropped from the doberman’s narrow muzzle. His hands rose again, this time to plead.

“Your highness, Rey… you, you have fallen under the influence of a jealous man. Let me get dressed and…”

“And call for men of your regiment to escort us to the palace? No, I suspect a tragic incident would happen to us on the way,” Alois interjected, “Step away my friend, this man wanted to kill you and never had the slightest qualm about it.”

The blade gleamed in the light of the candles. The water in the bathtub sloshed over the edge when Gervais recoiled.

“This is madness, you can’t let this half-savage murder me here without even a fair hearing. I have a wife and children, they’d be devastated if I died…”

His eyes locked with Reynard’s, and he extended a hand to the prince like a drowning man reaching out for a rope.

“Rey, no!”

It happened so fast Reynard had no time to utter a scream. With speed and strength that were as decisive as they were calculated, Gervais clenched Reynard’s hand and pulled him in one swift gesture.

“Get no closer, or I’ll cut his throat!”

The doberman was holding the prince close to his body, a gilded fruit knife pressed to the white fur below his jaw. He stepped out of the bathtub, naked and dripping, without taking his eyes off Alois or relaxing his grip for a second.

“You drop that knife,” Gervais barked, “You drop it right now.”

“You give up yours and I’ll let you go.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Drop it or he dies.”

Blood pearled on the blade and seeped through the fluffy hair that covered the young fox’s throat. ‘Wait’ Alois said with a gesture of his hand, and he dropped his knife.

“You double-crossing mutt,” Gervais snarled, “I’d love to take my time with you but I’ll have to settle for something quicker.”

He walked backwards to the window, knife still at the ready to his hostage's jugular. When he got there he hooked his elbow around Reynard's neck and with his other hand lifted the hatch and pushed the window open.

The small pistol hidden in Alois’s sleeve dropped into the palm of his hand, and the instant the marquis turned his head to raise the alarm he brandished it and took the shot. The bullet lodged itself in the dog’s shoulder and the knife and hostage slipped from his grasp. Alois bull-rushed him, grabbed him by the throat and with a roar of effort shoved him bodily through the open window. Gervais hit the cobbled pavement with a thump, and when the fox glanced into the street he saw from the sickening angle of his neck that the marquis would not be calling anyone for help.

“I… I didn’t want to…” Reynard tottered and gripped a burgundy curtain for support.

“No time now,” Alois grunted and stabbed the stablehand’s knife on the windowsill, then grabbed his companion by the collar.

The house’s staff and guests knew to turn a blind eye to the strange happenings around them, but a gunshot and a naked man falling to his death from a window were pushing things a bit too far. They ran into the corridor where heads were already sticking out of door frames with expressions that ranged from fright to morbid excitement. The sight of Alois’s gun convinced them to mind their own business, but a loud clatter of rushing steps was coming up from the stairs. Alois shoved Reynard into their suite, latched the door shut behind them and unlocked the window. Whatever angel was looking out for them that day had made it so that their room overlooked a courtyard with a low-roofed shed that was just a small jump away. They made it to the ground and then to the street without breaking any bones, and after running and then walking for ten minutes straight felt confident enough to stop and catch their breaths under a porch.

“I’m sorry I put us in danger, I just wanted to give Gervais a chance to explain himself, I thought maybe we could…” Reynard sniffed, tears choking his voice.

Alois took the young fox’s head between his hands and raised it to inspect his throat by the faint light of a streetlamp. Clotted blood clung to the fur but the cut wasn’t more than skin-deep and had already stopped bleeding. He sighed in relief, laid his left hand on the prince’s shoulder and slapped him hard across the face.

“Are you mad? How many times must you escape death before you understand?”

Alois’s eyes were damp, his anger having left him as fast as it had come. He hugged the other man tightly and covered him in kisses. Reynard sobbed in his embrace. “I know. I am not strong like you, I should have stayed behind…”

Alois stood back and looked Reynard in the eyes, giving him a solemn stare.

“No. I wanted you to witness what it takes to keep you on the throne. This is the cost of power, and you will have to pay it many times in your life. The sooner you understand that the better it is for everyone.”

“But I didn’t ask to be on the throne!” Reynard was in tears as he spoke. “I didn’t want to be the king, I’m just…me. I don’t deserve it.”

Alois wanted to slap him again, but instead just squeezed his upper arm tightly. He fixed Reynard with his stare.

“Do not. Say that. Ever again.” He inhaled and continued with a low, urgent voice. “If you say that then it means that everything I’ve done is for nothing. That I got shot for nothing. That the marquis fell to his death for nothing.”

“But why me?” Reynard whimpered. “Why trust me with it over any other person in the world?”

Alois sighed. “Because your father the king put his penis inside your mother the queen, and then she gave birth to you. That means that God wants you to rule over the land, and that is all the justification you need.”

Reynard did not answer but just looked at Alois, his chest heaving as he drew breath in deep. His sobs had subsided, and Alois drew him in his arms again, kissing the tears from his eyes.

“Starting tomorrow you will learn fencing. We don’t have much time, but at least you will have an excellent teacher.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

--

The next morning the two of them were standing on a field next to a river. It was so early that the sun was just a suggestion along the horizon, and the mist rising from the river’s sluggish waters had a bite of cold to it. The lush grass was beading with dewdrops, giving their boots a damp shine. Somewhere nearby, hidden by the mist, the slow clanking of cowbells could be heard, but otherwise the world was just theirs to share. Despite the chill they had taken off their cloaks and coats to practice, and wore just their shirts with rolled up sleeves. The prince had received training in swordmanship, but it had been mostly for show and served only limited practical use. Alois had him go through the forms by following his example until his arm grew tired, let him rest for a moment, and then made him do them again.

When it was time to spar both of them had worked up a sweat. Alois let Reynard’s rapier make contact with his, the blades hissing against each other like snakes as he circled around the prince.

“Guard your midline. Keep your arm relaxed so it is free to move in any direction.”

He stepped forward, making Reynard stumble backwards as the tip of the blade rose towards his eyes.

“Your stance is too wide. Present only your strong side to your opponent.”

He swatted the prince’s blade aside and made a little thrust at him, making him detach as he scrambled away. The young man was breathing heavily, but whether from nervousness or physical effort Alois could not say.

“Always seek contact with your opponent’s blade. That way you know where it is without needing to see it. A blade that you don’t feel is the blade that cuts you.”

“That applies to more than just fencing, doesn’t it?” Reynard asked cautiously.

“Correct.” Alois walked back and took a neutral stance. “Now come at me.”

Reynard made a genuine attempt to attack Alois, which he parried with ease. He shook his head.

“Do not strike at my blade. Contact with it is just a means to an end. Aim at a point behind me, so that you need to strike through me to get what you want. Now try again.”

For a moment they spoke only with the clang and shine of their swords as Reynard attacked his teacher, not with the gusto of a young man but as a dutiful student wanting to impress his master. Alois kept parrying but suddenly counterattacked, forcing Reynard to retreat and break his attack.

“Much better.” He caught a smile on Reynard’s lips, before the young man retreated back to his timid shell. “Do it again, but this time as if you meant it.”

They resumed their fencing, but now Alois made an occasional riposte to keep Reynard on his toes. Then, without warning, he let his guard down and allowed Reynard to slice him across his bicep. The cut was shallow, but enough for blood to burst out and stain his white shirt with red. Reynard’s eyes widened and he almost dropped his blade. Alois rushed in and punched the prince in the stomach with the hilt of his rapier followed by an elbow to his face, sending him reeling.

“I, I cut you!” Reynard stammered on the ground, holding his smarting face with one hand.

“Yes, and then I would have killed you in a real fight. Use your entire body to strike at your opponent, not just your blade. Kick his knee if he forgets to guard it. Grasp his collar or sleeve if he lets you.” He stepped back and resumed a neutral stance, switching his rapier to his other hand. “Now get up and pick up your blade. Come at me again.”

“At least let me bind your wound first?” Reynard’s shirt was soaked through with sweat and dew, and his pants bore a grassy stain as he got up and awkwardly tried to wipe it off.

“Only if you beat me. Now come at me!”

This time Alois met Reynard’s attack more aggressively, pushing back with each counterattack and keeping the prince off balance. Even with his off hand he could bind the younger man’s blade and guide it aside. He pressed on forcefully until his chest was touching Reynard’s, the crossed blades framing the prince’s face on both sides. He was about to curl his lip in disappointment, when Reynard’s foot slipped behind his ankle and pulled it from under him. Alois lost his footing on the muddy ground and he grasped Reynard, pulling both of them to the ground with Alois on the top. The two men breathed heavily, their eyes locked in an intense stare as they tried to decide whether they were still fighting, or just playing. Neither had lost their grip on their sword, so when Alois reached out to kiss the prince on the mouth he had to do it between the sharp blades. It was a breathless, hungry bite of the forbidden fruit that had little care for gentleness, and it made Reynard melt on the spot, his body relaxing and his fist releasing its hold on Alois’s shirt.

“Well done,” he panted, “you’re a quick learner.”

“I have such a good master to show me the tricks,” Reynard replied, his voice husky with desire.

They kissed again, hungrily, their sharp teeth clicking against each other as they huffed and panted and drank in the taste of saliva on their coiled tongues. Reynard hastened to unbuckle their belts, freeing their red hot erections from the confines of their pants, and ran his hands under Alois’s sweat soaked shirt and along his firm, soft-furred chest. Alois smooshed the prince under his weight and grinded his throbbing cock against his crotch, warm and moist from the exertion, and buried his nose in the fur under his chin and on his throat. He smelled good. He smelled delicious.

The knife cut on Reynard’s neck was still a red welt and barely healed, and when Alois licked over it he was taken over by an electric sensation that lept on his tongue and along his spine. It was so overwhelming that he had to stop to let the shiver of desire pass through him like a spasm, a sharp and cold desire that dug its claws deep in his chest. It sang in his blood, urging him to clamp his jaws on this prey-male’s soft throat and bite in deep, to savage and tear and sate his thirst in a red wet feast. The smell of iron and frozen moon filled his nostrils ever stronger with every breath, and as he loomed over Reynard panting and trying to regain control, the young prince stopped and looked up at him with a sudden fright in his eyes.

“S-sir…?” he asked, timid and weak and filled with tender flesh to violate and open and to sink in and to bathe in…

Alois growled, a deep rumble that rose from the pit of his stomach and up his hackles. He threw back his head and rose to a sitting position, grasped Reynard tightly by his waistline and pulled him up on his knees until their crotches pressed against each other. There was only one urge stronger than the need to hunt, one just as primal, that he could tap into to save Reynard: his lust for him. He thrusted his throbbing erection in him, his thickness hitting the mark on the first try, parting the soft pucker in one, continuous push and making the younger man shout out in surprise. He did not heed his protégé’s words but kept hammering deeper into him, reducing him into yelps and gasps that soon turned into breathless moans of pleasure. The prince’s erection bobbed between them along the rhythm of his hips, sprinkling droplets of precum on his belly, and when he closed his hand over Reynard’s muzzle, the younger man nibbled and bit his fingers as if he was trying to suckle him.

Their furious ride near the cow paddock did not last long. As Alois’s breeding urge took over he felt a warm, protective need towards Reynard rise again and spread throughout his body he sighed in relief, letting himself relax and start enjoying the feeling of prince’s tight asshole massaging his engorged member. He slowed down, focusing on grinding his knot against Reynard’s prostate, and when he finally shot his load of thick cum into that receptive hole, he could feel the prince clench and climax at the same time. His royal seed spurted in several wads on the pale white fur of his belly, and Alois collapsed on top of him letting it become soaked in his fur too.

Breathless, Alois cradled Reynard in his arms, his knot still lodged deep in his ass, and murmured nonsensical praises into his ear. It did not escape him that he had pulled Reynard’s face into the fresh wound on his bicep, forcing his snout to make contact with his life’s blood, but by accident or instinct he could not say. Reynard breathed softly in his hug, not pulling away yet not making eye contact either. He could feel his heartbeat throb around his knot. He swallowed.

“Lesson’s over,” he said with a hoarse voice.

Reynard circled his arms around him and pulled him tighter against himself, not saying a word, and rested with him on the dew-covered grass and hidden by the mist.

--

Alois pressed some change into the hawker's palm and looked at the pamphlet. The printing was crude, and the subject matter was even cruder. The Prince Turned Princess: Being a True Account of the Debased and Godless Fashions at Court, the title promised in bold letters. A caricature provided a helpful summary for the more literary-challenged members of the public. The picture showed Reynard, recognizable by his crown despite wearing a dress and wig, being carried away by a very lusty-looking Alois. In the background princess Maria lay on the deserted nuptial bed, already spreading her generous legs to console herself with a long line of suitors.

“What is this?” Reynard asked and craned his neck to look over Alois’s shoulder.

“Nothing fit for your eyes,” the older man grumbled and crumpled the paper into a ball before tossing it into the gutter. “It’s getting dark, time to get moving.”

Time was getting short indeed. The broadsheet had dispelled whatever hope Alois had of being able to resume his duties as chancellor. I will go down in history books as the rascal who claimed the royal tail, I doubt they will make me a statue, he thought with regret, reflecting upon a life of sacrifice and endless dedication to the all-consuming State. But more was at stake than one man’s legacy.

The viscount’s opulent mansion stood on the better part of the capital, close to the delights, intrigues and business of palace and city life but comfortably removed from the smells and cacophony of the crowd. Oliver had not been seen at court or at any of his favourite pleasure-dens since Gervais’s death, so the fox had resolved to pay him a courtesy visit.

“Won’t he be expecting us?” Reynard asked, trotting behind Alois through the darkening streets.

“Perhaps, but time is a luxury we can’t afford.”

Raunchy songs and stories about the real and imagined mores at court were circulating openly through the capital. They made many people laugh in good cheer, and they made many more indignant. The regiments stationed around the city would normally have kept the grumbling confined to the taverns and markets but Gervais’s death had thrown the soldiery into disorder, and Alois noted with alarm the number of uniformed men making merry and brawling in the alehouses with no officers in sight. A sense of tentative normalcy returned when their steps took them to the leafy suburb in which the wealthy dwelled, but even here tension was palpable.

An impressive fence of wrought iron separated the street from the mansion’s front courtyard. The ornate, sharp spikes at the top were enough to convince Alois that climbing was unadvisable — especially with regards to the continuation of the royal bloodline, he thought while feeling a pang of anguish between his legs. To make things worse, the entrance was guarded by two servants armed with clubs.

Reynard looked at his companion, as if expecting him to have a plan at the ready. Alois's face remained a stone mask while his mind raced. The building was dark, but there was light on the second floor. Tonight the viscount was home, perhaps debating the wisdom of staying in town or fleeing to his estates.

“Oliver might be gone tomorrow. We’ll have to bluff our way in or, failing that, get rid of these two…” Alois muttered to himself. Then a movement across the street caught his attention. A figure split from the dark bulk of the mansion, vanished for a few moments and reappeared in the park that flanked the property. The shape was sinewy like a snake, and tailless.

“Here’s our invitation. Follow me, and be careful.”

The silhouette moved quickly through the park, went down a deserted street and disappeared from view around a corner. The two canines followed, walking as silently as they could on the moonlit cobblestones. When the blade flashed in the dark and broke against the breastplate that Alois wore under his cloak the fox was ready. Before the lizard could regain his balance he grabbed his arm, pulled him close and smashed the base of his palm against his jaw until he went limp.

Alois held the reptile by the collar while Reynard went through his pockets for hidden weapons.

“We have unfinished business with you,” he said when the assassin coughed up a mouthful of broken teeth.

“I’m just a poor servant. I have nothing of value to rob,” he groaned.

“That's right. You are just a hired hand, and you can get us into your master's house without going through the main door.”

“Why should I tell you?” the lizard hissed.

“Because I can kill you quickly, or slowly.”

With a dagger at his throat, the man led the two foxes to a service entrance at the rear of the house. He produced a set of keys that unlocked a door in the fence and then another one that opened into the house itself. Alois took a step forward, holding the lizard closely in front of him like a shield. No alarm rang and no hidden sentry lunged at them.

“Good, I guess this is where we split,” Alois whispered.

“The Demon will get you!” the assassin snarled before the blade severed his vocal cords.

“You send him my regards first,” Alois nodded as he stepped over the twitching body and signaled Reynard to follow him.

They moved down the dark corridor and through the servants’ quarters, Alois holding his unsheathed sword in front of him like a cane. Embers still glowed in the kitchen fireplace but otherwise all was silent, and after a few turns they reached the main hall and the grand staircase that led to the second floor. Alois and Reynard stopped on the edge of the room to listen and observe by the dim light of a chandelier.

The walls were finely panelled with dark carved wood and the marble floors were polished to an almost mirror sheen, but otherwise the place looked abandoned. There were no paintings or rich tapestries, nor objects of art or even rugs to adorn the house. Even the furniture with gold trimmings and luxurious upholstery was pushed aside and stacked ready for transport. Clearly the viscount had once spared no expense to reassure visitors as to the state of his finances, but the man must have cut down on the size of his household staff, as the place was eerily quiet despite the night being young.

“Looks like I was right about Oliver. He is eager to leave the town,” Alois muttered as he walked through the coldly echoing halls.

“He loves his riches even above his personal safety,” Reynard said quietly. “He must have stayed behind to oversee the move.”

Alois raised his eyebrows. He was not accustomed to Reynard being insightful like this.

“The room we saw should be on the left,” Alois pointed at the landing at the top of the stairs, “Remember: we are not here to talk or to listen. We get in, do what we have to do and get out. I expect you to use your blade. Is that clear?”

Reynard nodded and unsheathed his sword, though even in the darkness Alois saw the anguish and doubt in his eyes. He clasped the back of the young man’s head, drew back his hood and kissed him firmly. “I trust you to be a man. For you, for Maria and for your child. Can you do that?” he whispered when their lips parted.

Reynard let out a nervous breath and nodded. “... for you,” he said almost inaudibly.

“I was hoping that you'd say that,” the older fox grinned. He ruffled his lover's cheek, stepped into the room and was immediately gripped by the shoulder, lifted off his feet and thrown across the hall like a bundle of rags.

“Alois!” Reynard gasped.

“Huh, huh, the boss said to expect visitors, but he never said one of them would be such a handsome lad.”

A huge horned form stepped out of a blind spot behind the door and closed the distance with Alois in three gigantic steps. The silver-furred fox had banged his head and heaved silently like a stranded fish as he tried to get up. What approached him was a large, muscular bull with a black hide and dressed simply like a dock worker.

“They call me the Demon,” the bull laughed as he towered above the canine, “And here's my introduction.”

The hoof caught Alois right in the solar plexus. The fox collapsed, his entire body reverberating with a pain he had never thought could exist.

“Now, my little darling…” the bull said and turned towards Reynard.

The prince’s eyes ran from the body of his lover to the giant that stood between them. The Demon took a leisurely step towards him, his brown eyes relishing the fear his huge frame inspired. Reynard stepped back and raised a trembling blade.

The bull guffawed and took another step. “Give me that thing or I'll use it to tear you a bigger hole.”

“Step back,” Reynard hissed, his ears flat against his skull and his little white teeth bared.

“How cute. I bet you'll scream good,” the bovine said, nostrils flaring in anticipation as he drew closer.

“I said step back.“

“Enough. Give me that, I don't want to break you, not before I-”

The sentence ended with a sound that was somewhere between surprise and pain. The Demon stopped right in his tracks, lowered his head and stared dumbly at the blade that was sticking out of his gut.

“Wha-...” he began before Reynard pushed the sword deeper and twisted it with a grunt of effort. The giant opened his mouth and reached out, but the small fox had already jumped out of the way, leaving his sword firmly buried in the mountain of muscle.

“You little…”

The bull looked as bewildered as a cat bitten by a mouse, but fear crept on his face when blood, thick and dark, began to pour out of his wound. He grasped the hilt of the sword, let out a groan and fell to his knees.

“Master, help me!” he bellowed, “...please.”

He raised his eyes and saw Reynard, wild-eyed, a hunting knife in hand. “No, no…” he babbled.

The blade rose, fell, rose, and fell again and again. The Demon collapsed, his pleas turned to whimpering moos and then to indistinct gurgles.

“Alois… are you injured?”

Alois’s head was spinning. His dented breastplate had saved him from having his chest crushed like an eggshell but it was constricting his breathing now. It was only after Reynard had helped him to his feet that he realised that his friend’s hands were smeared with blood.

“Cracked a few ribs, I think. What happened?”

“He hit you, I thought you were going to die, and I…”

Reynard gripped Alois’s shoulder and was violently sick.

Alois looked past the retching prince. He had trouble standing upright due to the pain, and he could not move his sword like he wanted to, but he could not stop now. Would not stop now. He unbuckled his now useless breastplate and let it fall onto the floor.

“We have to get going before Oliver escapes.” He looked at the bull laying on the floor. “He must be somewhere within shouting distance.”

Reynard wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked pale. “I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

Alois took him by the arm, partly to walk him out of the room, partly for support. “Stop listening to yourself then. It’s bad for you when there’s time for action.” He winced when he drew breath. “Besides, it has to be you. I’m in no fighting condition.”

Reynard looked miserable, but did not argue against him. If nothing else at least he had lost that childish trait, Alois thought to himself as they left the light and dipped into the darkness overseeing the mansion.

They caught up with the viscount in his private office.

The room had not yet been stripped of its wealth, and all the trappings of power and prestige loomed on its walls to impress the visitor. A single oil lamp set on a mahogany table did little more than cast shadows, but it was enough to illuminate Oliver. He was standing on a chair to access a wall mounted strongbox, shoveling fistfuls of jewelry and letters of credit into a pillowcase, sweat beading under his wig and down his pudgy forehead. Of the wolf, to Alois’s relief, there was no sight.

“Lord Arras, I have come to arrest you for high treason,” Reynard spoke with a quiet but steady voice and presented his rapier. “Do not resist and you shall not be harmed.”

Alois wanted to slam his face with his palm, but he followed Reynard to the middle of the room so that Oliver could see who was accusing him.

Oliver squealed and tried to back off, but fell from the chair with a loud thud. He scrambled up and gestured wildly with his trembling hands.

“No! Just let me go, I can pay you a fortune if you do!”

“It didn’t have to come to this,” Alois shook his head. “You wrote your own death warrant when you sent those assassins after the prince.”

“I didn’t do it! It was Grigori’s doing, you have to believe me. We had a deal!”

“And you broke it!” Alois snarled, but then clutched his side when his broken ribs protested. “Do it!” he managed to hiss at Reynard while bent over.

Reynard approached Oliver without saying anything, making the hound retreat into a corner. When his back touched against the wall his pleas became frantic.

“If you kill me then there will be revolts all over the kingdom! I keep my peasants in check, but with me gone they’ll start taking their revenge on the landlords and tax collectors.”

“I will give you my word as the trueborn heir of the realm that you shall receive a fair trial.” Reynard had followed him, keeping him at sword point at a respectful distance.

“Screw your realm and screw the rotten cunt you fell out of!” Oliver’s demeanor suddenly changed when he saw who was behind Reynard.

Alois followed his gaze to the doorway. The two burly servants who had been guarding the front gate were there, looking stern with their clubs, but even they were overshadowed by Grigori looming behind them.

The wolf stepped forward and pushed through the guards with ease, looking amused as if he was picking a treat from a tray. He gave Alois a wide berth, treating him with a smile and a little bow as he passed him, walked past the hesitating prince and around the mahogany desk, and stopped to admire the nighttime view from the window with little care for what was happening in the room.

Every instinct of Alois fired up and told him to act, but he knew that he could not fight off the two guards on his own. Any sudden movement on his part would put Reynard at risk, and he could not count on him to defend himself. He needed to bide his time, so he let his sword arm rest by his side and stayed quiet.

“Thank God you finally decided to show up!” Oliver spat out the words with righteous indignation. “Where were you loitering? Never mind that, we have to get rid of those two for good!”

“Do not take His name in vain.” Grigori turned his shoulder away from Oliver.

“Coward! I knew it, you utterly useless coward…” Oliver snapped his fingers at the guards. “You two! Kill those two faggots and make it snappy. Get to it!”

But as unpopular as Reynard was, he was still royalty, the State itself in the shape of a man. Alois saw a moment of hesitation in the eyes of the guards, and he made his strike.

“Does he pay you enough?”

He aimed his words at the closest guard, a pit bull with muscular build and a black blotch over one eye, and kept his voice to a conversational tone.

“I bet that it’s a fraction of what you could find in any of these rooms,” he continued, “and there is no one left in here. Just us, who won't talk, and he who doesn’t live to see the dawn.”

The pit bull took a step towards his direction, but he lifted his blade and put up a brave face.

“The first one who takes a swing at me I’ll stick like a pig, make no mistake about that. Would you like to be the one? Or does your friend want to take the honor?”

“What are you waiting for, just get him!” Oliver bellowed from the corner, getting angrier.

“There’s a house full of riches for the taking. Grab what you want and disappear.” He glanced at Oliver. “Or you can lose your life in his service. Your choice.”

The pit bull and his companion looked at each other, their expressions talking loudly in the silence. They started slowly withdrawing from the room, not wanting to turn their backs on Alois yet not meeting his gaze either.

“Where are you going? Cowards, cowards all around me!” Oliver seethed but did not dare to move while Reynard blocked his escape. Instead he turned his rage on Grigori.

“Are you just going to stay silent? Make them come back! They’ll listen to a preacher!”

“Have you heard the parable of a miser and Heaven?” The wolf asked him with a soft voice. It chilled Alois to his bone.

“What on earth-” Oliver sputtered, his jowls jiggling as he fumed.

“Let me tell you.” Grigori went to the desk and searched through its drawers until he found what he was looking for. “There are people who are misers,” he pulled out a flintlock pistol, “and they don’t get to go to Heaven.”

He shot Oliver in the head, splattering his brains on the priceless gold damask wallpaper.

Reynard made a shrill yelp and fell backwards. Alois rushed to catch him, but a sudden jolt of pain made him stumble and he ended up on one knee with the prince in his arms. He could feel his body trembling as it pressed against his.

Grigori let the pistol fall to the floor with a loud thud and turned to the window again, then pulled off the top half of his robe and tied its sleeves around his waist. The lean muscle of his back was marred by countless scars, lash marks both old and fresh, and they rippled as he flexed and greeted the rising moon.

“I haven’t always been a man of God, but I bet you already suspected as much,” Grigori said, his lips curling to reveal yellowish fangs.

“You are, and always have been, a vile beast, that much I know,” Alois growled.

“Tsk, I will not have a blood-brother utter such drivel.”

He walked across the room with feet that looked like they were made to tread on snow and rotten leaves rather than lush carpets. With a grimace of pain Alois reached for his fallen sword and raised it. The wolf let out a cackle and pinched the tip of the blade between his fingers.

“No, no, that is all wrong.”

The fox commanded his arm to move and run Grigori through. It didn't. Smiling an ever-widening grin, the monk clenched his fingers around the tip of the sword until a trickle of blood ran down the blade, and then snatched it from the fox's grasp.

“You must let go of your fangs of metal and embrace the gifts of nature,” he continued, holding the sword like a toy confiscated from an undeserving child. He tossed it away and his bloodied hand wrenched Alois from Reynard. When he was forcibly separated from his charge the older fox let out a panicked cry that Grigori answered with a growl of disgust.

“Fool! You still haven't learned.”

He shoved the weaker canine to the floor. “Leave us alone…” Reynard wept from his corner of the room, “I’ll give you gold, titles, anything…”

Grigori cackled and with a wave of his arm sent a priceless vase crashing to the floor. “Gold? Titles? I’ll make a bonfire of your vanities…”

He grabbed the prince by the throat and lifted him up, holding him against the wall. “Let us see what you call manhood, your highness,” he snickered. He ripped Reynard’s pantaloons open, freeing the prince’s white-furred sheath. His scrotum was taut from fear and a whine escaped his lips when the monk’s hot, moist breath caressed his exposed parts.

“I'll kill you, I'll rip your tongue out if you touch him,” Alois snarled from the floor, one hand clutching his side and the other clawing at the carpet in impotent fury.

“That is what I like to hear,” Grigori replied without turning his head, “But your thirst is misdirected.” He buried his nose into Reynard’s privates and huffed deeply. “Ahhh, such a morsel of choice, sweet and tender.”

His tongue began its work, licking, sucking, forcing the young fox’s penis out of the pocket of furred flesh in which it was hidden. Reynard sobbed, all fight snuffed out of him by the terror that flowed like water from a burst dam. Alois tried to get up, stumbled and had to grip the edge of the desk for support. His ears and lips were drawn back in rage but as he inched closer to the wolf and fox he found the focus of his anger vacillating.

_Weak, weak! Is that how you repay all the things I’ve done for you? _

Reynard let out a moan of anguish. His legs kicked feebly and tears dribbled down his face as the disheveled man raped him with his mouth. The sight fanned a growing fire inside the older fox’s bosom.

Why can’t you fight? Do I have to beat it into your fucking skull?

Grigori drew back his head. A rope of goo reached from Reynard’s glistening penis to his smile. “Some the Creator made hunters, and some he made prey. And this one is prey.”

He lowered his snout, pinched a fold of Reynard’s sheath between his teeth and bit down. The small fox yelped and writhed when the fangs pierced his skin but Grigori’s wiry arm held him pinned against the wall without the slightest effort.

“Many times I have extended my hand, and many times you have disappointed me, but I will give you one last chance to join the fold. Here, be hungry and eat.”

He relaxed his grip and Reynard fell to the floor, his rump hitting the carpet with a thud. His pants were torn, his legs were spread wide, and a bright red patch was growing on the pure white of his crotch. Grigori stepped aside, leaving Alois to face the young man.

My work, my body, my life, all gone to waste because of you, because you are such a helpless wimp.

He took a step forward, breathing heavily, anger smothering his pain. Reynard looked up to him in search of protection but found only loathing. The room stank of blood, gunpowder, charred fur and ravenous lust. Memories flashed through Alois's brain, scents and sights from the morning when a flicker of hesitation had prevented him from pushing the prince in the path of the assassin’s bullet.

I should have killed you that day, fucked you like the little girl you are and then torn you to ribbons.

Alois was growing hard. He unbuckled his belt as he walked closer and closer to the prince, his other hand clenching the desk and leaving claw marks on its varnished surface. Reynard heaved and a bubble of snot blew from his left nostril. Fresh tears welled up in his eyes, the tears of someone who had tried his best to rise to the expectations of his beloved and disappointed him utterly.

“I am sorry,” he cried softly, “Oh Alois, I am sorry…”

“Feast on his weakness, your weakness, and become strong. You know you want to.”

The malevolent aura that radiated from the monk’s grin tickled Alois’s neck like a spider crawling up his spine. The fox shivered, looked at the young man whose life he had sworn to protect, and then at his own lust. An unbearable feeling of shame and disgust made his stomach churn.

“I am not like you,” the fox hissed between clenched teeth, “I will never be like you!”

A growl rose in the wolf’s throat. Alois snatched the oil lamp that sat on the desk and with a mad cry threw it in his direction. It shattered on the wall a mere few inches from Grigori’s head with an explosion of liquid fire, turning his growl into a shrill hiss. The consecrated oils on his fur caught fire, leaping along his arm and lashing at his face, the smoke billowing from him smelling of beeswax and myrrh. He howled in fury and threw himself against the wall, the floor, in an attempt to stamp out the flames licking at his flesh.

Alois grabbed Reynard by the collar.

“We’re leaving, now!”

Pulling the younger man up was too much for his wounded body, but he managed to tug him along the floor towards the door like a scared cat. It was enough to shake Reynard from his paralysis and he clambered up on his own, pulling up his ruined pants with one hand while grasping Alois for support with the other.

Flames and the wolf’s howls pursued them as they tottered into the hallway and towards the stairs, and when they heard the sound of breaking glass behind them they did not stop to look back. By the time the pair managed to enter the mansion’s gardens the fire had already spread to the entire second floor. There they collapsed among the azaleas in the blessed coolness of the night, all the while the blazing fire painted the leaves with dancing highlights of yellow and orange.

A crowd had already gathered behind the iron wrought fence, and instead of running in to help fight the fire they all watched the spectacle of destruction with a giddy glee in their eyes. There were cheers and shouting for more when the roof suddenly collapsed and erupted in a cloud of billowing embers, and the mob grew emboldened. There was a sense of justified anger in the air, in the expressions, in the speech; a sense of retribution that was like ice water in the veins of any ruler.

There would be violence.

It was both a promise and a threat, and Alois knew they needed to flee the city. He groaned as he forced himself to stand up from his bed of soft, moist soil. They were hidden by the harsh shadows, and the mob had started to move out after picking up whatever they could use as weapons, so their opportunity to leave was at hand. He looked down at Reynard who was futilely trying to cover the huge rend at his crotch with his hands.

“Never mind that. Someone seeing your cock and balls is the least of your worries. In fact, it might distract them from recognizing your face.”

“I…I can’t go on like this.” He sounded hollow, his mind still in shock.

“Not your decision to make. Now come.”

Alois lurched forward, without looking back to see if Reynard followed. He would.

They made their way through the night time city, ducking from alleway to alleway like rats, avoiding groups of rioters and looters. There were sounds of breaking and burning, but little of fighting. Whatever resistance the city officials provided had either been quelled or withdrawn quietly. Once they crossed paths with Grigori, but luckily from the distance of a town square. He was at the head of the mob, half burnt and all feral, whipping them up into a frenzy of bloodletting and ruin. He was preaching at them, spitting fire at the rotten establishment and the venal nobility, his lean frame shaking with righteous fury and his ash-torn robe clinging to him like shed skin. A cannibal prophet for a consuming age, he had them by the body and the soul, and his infectious joy could not be contained. Alois and Reynard quickly turned away and made themselves unseen.

It was not until the small hours of the morning when they felt safe enough to stop and rest. They had made their way onto the hills outside the capital, shielded by the shade of a small orchard and a dry stack stone wall. There were plumes of smoke rising from several places in the city, the one at the mayor’s palace the largest and the one at the barracks the most recent. Alois made a detached estimation how many of the royal guard would have needed to join the rioters for that to happen, and did not like his calculation. He slid down with his back at the wall to sit beside Reynard. The young man had a numb look on his face, but Alois could tell that he had been thinking. He always got that little furrow between his eyebrows when he was deep in thought.

“If I had been killed on that hunting trip then none of this would have happened,” he said with a quiet voice.

“Reynard, don’t start with this nonsense aga-”

“If you had killed me on that hunting trip,” he cut him off, speaking more forcefully.

“Don’t you dare, not after all I’ve done for you.”

“Did you think that your meetings with those three would go unnoticed? People have eyes, and I have ears.”

Alois needed both of his hands to lecture him. “Your highness, I am your chief minister. Of course I would confer with the-”

“And then Oliver let it slip that you had a deal.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that I’m wrong.”

Reynard’s expression was completely emotionless, an accusing void that laid heavy on Alois. He suddenly realized how tired he was, tired of everything, and his facade faltered. He turned his face away slowly.

“How long have you known?” he asked without looking at him.

“Not until now.”

“How long have you suspected?”

“Since the first assassin died.”

They sat in silence until the sun started to make its presence known. The air was humid with dew, and smelled of herbs and apples and distant smoke. Alois was the first one to speak.

“Now what happens?”

“We finish your plan.”

Reynard detached from the wall and sat on his knees in front of Alois, not letting him look away. He spoke with newfound confidence.

“I mean it. That Reynard died in the fire, leaving the realm in his wife’s capable hands. She is carrying his child after all. After a suitable period of mourning she remarries a neighboring king’s eldest son, thus securing a strong alliance.”

Alois swallowed.

“And you?”

“And we live together in a quiet corner of the country where nothing ever happens and no one recognizes us. If you still want me.”

By now tears were coming into Alois’s eyes, warm and heavy, and he reached out to pull Reynard to his chest, cradling his head under his chin.

“Yes. Please.”

He could feel Reynard exhaling deeply, melting against him as tension left his body. He could feel the dampness of the young man’s tears spreading on his shirt, and despite it hurting he felt like laughing and soaring into the air.

They stayed there embracing each other, warm and bruised and alive, until Reynard’s weight made Alois’s thigh go numb and he had to let him go.

“Where to next?” Reynard asked.

“We should travel to your, hrm, Reynard’s wife’s lands. She deserves to know. And she can hold a secret.”

“I’m going to need a new pair of pants to make myself presentable to her.” He stuck a hand under his belt and out of the gaping hole, looking at it wistfully.

“And I’m going to need medical attention.”

“Can you make it?”

“I don’t know. You need to arrange the transport. And everything else.”

“I’ll see what I can do. There’s a farmhouse further down the road, I’ll go ask for help from them. Wait for me here, please?”

“I will. Good luck.”

Reynard leaned in to kiss him on the forehead, and then hurried off. Alois decided to take a nap and bask in the warmth of the new day. He had, after all, just conspired with Reynard to murder a prince, and in his experience that was always a very complicated and tiresome affair.