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Not His Eyes

Chapter 31

Azrian wept the entire carriage ride to Wychowl. She wept silently and in anger, staring unseeing out the carriage window with her paws - now unbound - in her lap. She still looked like Etienne, and the mastiffs - now convinced that she was their prince - treated her with utmost reverence. They stopped at an inn every night. Corene did everything for Azrian. The princess fed her. She bathed her. She even bought Azrian new clothes. She let Corene help her step into the new pants, let Corene help her into the new shirt, but refused to cast aside Etienne's coat: the necklace of shells and pearls was still in the pocket. She went to the mirror and put the necklace on, and she had to admit she looked ridiculous in it - or rather, Etienne looked ridiculous in it. Corene stood behind her and looked on in bewilderment, but she never asked about the necklace. And then they went to bed, and Azrian was surprised when the princess kissed her cheek and cuddled against her.

Corene was enamored of Etienne, that much was clear. She looked at Azrian with large, admiring eyes; her paws were always gentle and caring, her words soft and soothing. And she called Azrian "darling" and "love" on a regular basis.

As Azrian grieved Etienne, she felt soothed by Corene's kindness and gave herself away to it. She would weep in the carriage, and Corene would cradle her to her breasts and stroke her mane, thinking that she was actually Etienne mourning his vixen friend. She would whisper that she was sorry the vixen was dead - though Azrian knew she was not. No doubt Corene saw Etienne's "vixen friend" as an obstacle, yet another opponent she must cast aside in her desperation to maintain some hold as future queen. She killed Etienne believing he was Azrian. And without a thought. With this in mind, Azrian was sometimes cruel to Corene. She would call her a vicious name, slap her beseeching paw off, and relish in the crestfallen look on her face. And the way Corene just rolled over and took it told Azrian it was behavior she was used to from Etienne. But it was no less painful. Oh yes. Azrian would enjoy tormenting the wicked little princess during her stay at Wychowl.

After all, why should Azrian escape? It was the plan all along that she should go to Wychowl. Running away now would mean Etienne had died in vain. And that was the last thing she wanted. In fact, his death only made her more determined to arrive at Wychowl, slay the queen, and conquer the wretched doglands once and for all.

And though Azrian thoroughly enjoyed tormenting Corene, she couldn't escape the guilty side of the pleasure. Corene was already tormented, after all. The spirit that had attached itself to the princess hovered ever at her shoulder, smiling at Azrian, whispering in Corene's ear with the red gash across its throat jerking on every word. Corene tried to ignore the spirit but could not and was prone to furious outbursts that drew the stares of the mastiffs.

Azrian never spoke to the spirit and the spirit never spoke to her. She didn't like them. They were shadows, mere fragments of something that used to be. The real Candy Cane - as the spirit called itself - was dead and gone. This thing that was tormenting Corene was a just a reflection of it. An angry memory holding on to anger, not yet ready to move on. Only the gods could live as fully empowered spirits. Mortal spirits were just remnants of what was . . . like bones.

They had been traveling for weeks when the spirit finally spoke to Azrian. They were in the carriage, and WychowlCastle was only a few miles up the road. Corene sat stiff and silent at one window while Azrian sat hunched at the other, and between them, the red dog sat in her bloody dress, staring at Azrian with eyes like white candle flames.

"Why d'you ignore me, Queen of Varimore?" the spirit said to Azrian.

Azrian's head rested against the side of the carriage, near the window. She was looking out at the dogs standing in the streets. Word had spread that the prince was returning to Wychowl. Females waved kerchiefs and curtsied as the carriage passed. Corene encouraged Azrian to wave to their subjects, but she ignored her, so Corene alone waved out the window and smiled. Every now and then, the princess tossed a few coins to the crowds, and the peasants cheered. Shouts of "Long live the princess!" rang to the azure blue sky.

"Because you should be ignored," Azrian answered under her breath, but Corene heard her and looked her way.

The spirit laughed. "They'll find out who you really are. Eventually. And it won't be pretty."

"You read the reflections of the sky to see what tomorrow's sky will bring," Azrian said, unimpressed. "Foxes can do the same with the water. It won't stop me from doing what must be done."

"And what must be done, Queen of Varimore?" the spirit answered. "Shall you burn the world in the name of your kin? Bring blood and fire to the doglands? Or to Heaven itself?"

"You tell me," Azrian said without looking over.

Corene looked at them both in amazement. "You . . . can see her?" she said to Azrian. She breathed a relieved sob. "Really see her?"

"Aye," laughed the spirit. "She could always see me."

Corene frowned uncertainly. "She?"

The carriage bumped and they fell silent.

Corene looked out the window again, the dread sweeping over her face. Her voice was tiny and broken when she spoke again, this time to the spirit, ". . . you told me the wrong one."

The spirit laughed nastily. "Aye."

Corene's head snapped around and tears were streaming freely from her glaring eyes. "Why would you do that! Etienne is dead because of you!"

"No," said the spirit with a sudden scowl. "He's dead because of you. I told you to leave off the prince. I told you to let it go. You didn't listen. And now he's gone. And if you don't want to be blamed for his murder, you'd best let the real queen of Varimore take the reins. In case you're confused as to who that is . . . it isn't you." She jerked her head at Azrian and her big red mane tumbled. "It's her."

Corene's eyes went to Azrian, who was watching them both quietly. "I should have known you weren't him. Your eyes are not my love's eyes. Etienne would never weep in front of me. Or else . . ." she laughed miserably, "he would be ashamed to do so. You weep for him?" she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "Did he love you?"

Azrian looked the princess in the eye and answered quietly, "Yes."

Corene looked out the window and sobbed softly as her tears continued to fall. "What have I done . . ." She pulled out a kerchief and wiped her face, but the tears and sobs kept coming, and she looked so pitiful that Azrian wanted to hold her. Almost.

Azrian looked out the window again, and it suddenly occurred to her that the princess of Varimore was little more than a lost child - a child wrapped up in political intrigue and danger that was too much for her. Corene was smart but not smart enough. She was ruthless but not ruthless enough. Azrian had wanted to paint her a villain on sight . . . but she didn't know many villains that cried.

Azrian flattened her ears as Corene's sobs continued and asked herself what Ti'uu would want her to do now. The original plan was that she would pretend to be Corene and infiltrate the royal family by marrying Etienne. She was to then murder Donica and take the throne of Varimore, creating a better life for the foxes while wearing the face of a dog. And if Etienne played his part well, Ti'uu had promised that he would know eternal life in the paradise of Skkye. Only now . . . Etienne was dead. And Azrian was left alone with Corene . . . the very one she was to have murdered. There was a simple enough solution, though no less horrifying: she would have to masquerade as Etienne and marry Corene.

"W-Who are you?" Corene whispered. Her eyeliner was running and she dabbed it away.

Azrian looked out the window. "As far as you're concerned, I am Prince Etienne. Make the world believe it, and we'll both keep our heads."

Corene nodded dismally, and Azrian knew she was thinking of Queen Donica. "Y-You're a fox," she said. "You know about spirits, don't you? Can you make this one go away?"

"No. Only a god can do that."

"You're a god, though, miss," said Candy Cane to Azrian. "Or least ways, you're part god."

Corene stared at the spirit. "What?"

"Pay no attention to it," Azrian insisted, "and it will go away. You're feeding its energy by letting it get to you."

Corene nodded dismally and bowed her head as she continued to wipe her tears. "Foxes have healing powers . . ." she said slowly. "What if you brought Etienne back?"

Azrian shook her head, hating herself when a tear escaped her left eye. "There is no bringing a mortal back. I could have healed him at the time, only I'd been shot by one of your dogs. I had no magic."

Corene dissolved to sobs. Azrian watched out of the corner of her eye as the princess bowed her head and wept into her kerchief. Her white mane had been pulled back in a bun, but now it tumbled loose in streams. She was a mess. Azrian reached over and started fixing her mane for her. Her arm actually went through the spirit, and it scowled.

"Hush," Azrian said to the princess. "You can't arrive at Wychowl crying. They will wonder."

Corene shook her head. "No, they won't. Etienne made me cry all the time. It's you who shouldn't be crying." She lifted her face and looked at Azrian with soft eyes. Her slender finger caught Azrian's tear. "You look just like my darling, and now he's gone from me . . . they'll expect us to marry and have children. But I can h-hardly stand to look at you . . . oh god . . ." She bowed her head and blinked out more tears. "What have I d-done?"

They rode the rest of the way to Wychowl in silence. And Azrian was glad. Corene kept crying, and eventually, Azrian's resolve broke, and she hugged Corene tight, allowing the princess to weep into Etienne's strong chest. But as if she couldn't stand the sight of Azrian, Corene squirmed away and leaned against the carriage wall, crying brokenly as she avoided looking her way. Azrian looked out the window and flattened her ears to drown at the wretched sound.

It was the middle of the night when they finally arrived at Wychowl. The carriage rolled through the golden gates and up the great drive, rolled smoothly through parallel lines of armed mastiffs and white trees, and came to a stop. Servant dogs were waiting at the doors for Corene and took her cloak from her. They bowed and dropped their eyes before Azrian, some even falling to their knees in what looked like worship. All of them were sleek, black, and beautiful. Naked. Wearing collars. Slaves.

"If foxes had no magic," Candy Cane whispered to Azrian, "your kin would be the slaves. They are trying to make a drug in Curith. Something that will take a fox's magic. Permanently."

Azrian frowned.

Two big male Beauceron slaves led Azrian and Corene through the grand castle, marching them along with swinging penises. They never spoke, so Azrian could only assume they were taking her to Etienne's bedchamber. Her suspicions were confirmed when Corene spoke.

"They will lead you to Et -- your bedchamber. Her majesty the queen will want an audience with you in the morning," Corene hissed under her breath as they passed up the corridor. "I shall call on her tonight. I shall tell her you are ill and angry about your capture. If you are behaving oddly in the morning, she will believe it is for this reason. Say very little to her. And do not let her provoke you to anger. She is like most of the dogs of Kingdom Curith: she has a very low opinion of foxes and will say snide things."

"And what about you?" Azrian whispered darkly.

Corene's lashes fluttered. "Me?"

"Yes," Azrian whispered angrily. "You called us magic rodents! You were prepared to murder me without a second thought --"

"Because you _are_rodents," Corene sneered.

Azrian felt her fur threatening to ruffle. Her lips tightened and she looked away.

Corene took a guilty breath and said in a calmer tone, "Do you know what history says about the foxes? You brought fire and blood to the world, and the dogs cast your evil down. The Creator smiled on us and punished you. If you think I'm going to roll over and let you - a bloody fox -- do what you want once Donica is out of the way --"

"Ha," said Azrian softly.

Corene glared at her. "Ha?"

Azrian smiled. "Where is the cunning viper Etienne told me about? You never show your opponent your paw. If you meant to be rid of me, now I know enough to preempt you." Azrian shook her head. "And here I thought we might work together."

Corene grumbled under her breath. "Preempt me? Where did you learn a word like that? You really have been learning from Etienne, haven't you?"

"I'm thinking of a not-so-nice word at the moment --" Azrian began derisively but fell silent when the Beaucerons opened the doors to Etienne's bedchamber. They fell to their knees as one, paws on the smooth floor and heads bowed under their long manes as they waited for her to enter.

"Go on," Corene said impatiently. "Get some sleep. I will find you tomorrow after your audience with Donica. And we will begin our lessons."

Azrian cocked a brow. "Lessons?"

"Princely lessons, of course," Corene snapped. "You can't hope to pass yourself off as Etienne if you don't know the first thing about acting like him. Or acting princely, for that matter. Have you ever eaten with a spoon? Do you know anything about a male's attire? Or attire at all? What did you wear in the wild? Leaves?"

Azrian gritted her fangs at the offhand insults that Corene gave without even realizing. "Good night," she said simply and stepped into the room. With her back to the corridor, she waved her paw, and the Beaucerons obediently slammed the doors in Corene's face. She almost laughed.

The room was warm and lit by firelight. A couch and two chairs faced the fire, standing at angles around a dark blue throw rug. A desk stood in the center of the room, on which stood piles of books, ornate quill holders, and an inkwell. The great closet was open, and Azrian could see Etienne's enormous collection of coats, shirts, pants, and boots for all occasions. The balcony doors stood open, and their white curtains lifted translucent on the cool night breeze. An immense canopied bed was against the far wall, and Azrian stiffened when she noticed the male sitting on it.

The two of them were alone in the room, for the Beaucerons who'd brought Azrian to the bedchamber had not entered with her. Azrian went to a chair beside the fire and threw Etienne's coat across it, her eyes fixed on the male on the bed. He was beautiful. A bit older. Perhaps thirty? His sleek black fur glistened with oils, as did his soft penis. It lay large against his thigh, and he sat on the bed with his legs closed, thigh to thigh, leaning his weight on one arm while a delicate paw touched his chest. His long black mane fell loose behind his shoulders, and he watched Azrian's every movement with silent longing.

Ah. So it was true: Etienne liked males. It was something Azrian had suspected since the moment in the forest when he sucked the penis she grew. He had done it with such desire, with such skill. And now she knew where he had developed such skill. The prince had a lover waiting for him all the time he'd been with her. A male lover. A slave.

Azrian didn't even know how to be angry. All the Beaucerons were probably used for physical pleasure. It was probably a common practice in Wychowl. And the way the one on the bed was looking at her with such anticipation, she knew the slaves thoroughly enjoyed being used.

Azrian glanced around the room and suddenly felt awkward. She didn't even know the slave's name and silently cursed Corene for not telling her. The male was obviously Etienne's servant: he had made the entire room comfortable for the prince's return, and now he sat on the bed like a present waiting to be opened. Not knowing his name would raise suspicion.

Azrian came to the bed and sat heavily on the edge. She suddenly felt too tired to undress and was startled when the slave climbed from the bed and dropped to his knees before her. He lifted his head slowly and smiled into her eyes, then with careful paws, he removed her boots.

Tired and miserable, Azrian sat still and watched him. He moved with such quiet reverence, such careful devotion. When the boots had been removed, he leaned close, and Azrian gasped when he started undoing her belt with his teeth. He stopped to look at her, almost as if awaiting admonishment. Azrian didn't know what to say. Did Etienne normally have the slave remove his belt with his teeth?!

The slave looked at Azrian a long time, and finally he said in a hoarse whisper, "You aren't my master." The words were spoken simply and without accusation.

"No," Azrian admitted. She started undoing the belt herself.

The slave peered into her face, bewildered. "Magic?"

"Yes," Azrian confirmed. She slid off the belt and her pants sagged open. She moved to the buttons on the shirt next.

"Are you my master now?" he whispered.

Azrian held back tears as thought of Etienne's last cry of pain. "I suppose I am."

The slave swallowed hard. "Will you make love to me?"

"No."

"What if I want you to?"

Azrian stopped unbuttoning and stared at him.

The slave looked at her miserably. "I waited so long for my master to return. I would like to know his arms around me again . . . even if it is a lie."

Azrian's eyes softened sympathetically. Ah. The slave loved Etienne. He was more than Etienne's plaything: he was his lover. His friend. Possibly more than his friend. Without thinking, she touched his long black mane, dragging Etienne's big paw down to cup his cheek. "What is your name?"

"Decius. I am your slave now. I will dress and undress you. I will feed and bathe you. I will do other things to you . . . or let you do them to me. I am yours now . . ." He leaned down and kissed her feet.

"Don't you wonder what happened to Etienne?"

"No," the slave said, lips brushing her sock. He sounded bitter. "I do not wish to know."

"I understand."

Decius unbuttoned Azrian's shirt for her, and she sat watching him, wondering what sort of hurt he was living with. Did he enjoy being a slave? What was it like for him, living in the castle and wondering if Etienne would ever return? If he would be sold to a new and perhaps cruel master?

Decius carefully pushed Azrian's shirt off, his admiring eyes tracing over Etienne's broad chest. His eyes went to Azrian's face, and he touched Etienne's long golden mane, pushing it back from the prince's thick neck and powerful shoulders.

Azrian saw the slave's big penis slowly pump upright. "How did you know I wasn't Etienne?" she wondered.

Decius cast his long lashes down. "Your eyes. Your eyes are not his eyes - even if the color is exactly the same."

Azrian looked away thoughtfully. "Ah. I hope others aren't half as perceptive."

"Why do you wear his face?"

"Because I must. Did you love him?"

Decius blinked to hear her use past tense, and she knew he was holding back tears as the realization hit him: Etienne was dead. "With all my soul," he whispered to the floor.

Azrian smiled sadly. "Me too. Help me take the throne of Varimore, and we will avenge him together."

Decius looked in her eyes and whispered, "I will."

Azrian touched his cheek. "Good."

"Master . . . I wish to suck your dick," the slave whispered. His eyes peered into hers, bright and hungry.

Azrian didn't answer. She watched with a thudding heart as Decius pried her pants open. His careful fingers pulled out the large, soft organ that Azrian had loved so much to lick when with Etienne. The slave flared his nostrils to take in the familiar scent, then his tongue slapped out . . . and slapped her penis.

Azrian moaned as Etienne's thick phallus swelled upright. Decius licked his lips and continued to lick, dragging his tongue along the shaft from head to sack. Over and over. Slow, carefully, and hot. He wrapped his mouth around the head and sucked slowly, tightening his lips as his paw slid underneath and rolled the heavy sack. Azrian frowned helplessly as she watched his head going up and down in her lap, and it was just like that moment in the forest, that moment of terrible ecstasy, when she had almost come in Etienne's mouth. She felt the penis heaving and flinching not to release. Decius choked on her but didn't stop. He sucked slower, wetter, even stopping to spit on the head and let the hot saliva run down the shaft. Azrian saw his arm moving and realized he was touching himself as he fingered and sucked her.

"Mmm . . . oh master . . ."

Azrian bit her lip. After a long time of straining, she realized Decius was trying to make her release. He stopped and looked at her, his black lips glossy with spit. "Master always let me swallow," he said. "I want to taste you. Or you could come on me."

Azrian stared at him, appalled. "Don't ask me to come on you!"

Decius smiled. "But I like it." Before Azrian could respond, he licked his paw and ran it up and down her throbbing shaft. She winced and curled her toes as Etienne's enormous shaft flinched against his fingers and squirted. White cum slapped Decius in the face, his eyelashes, his lips, and the sculpted pectorals of his gleaming black chest. White cum oozed down Etienne's great shaft and Decius eagerly licked it off, gulping and sucking as he closed his mouth on Etienne's phallus again.

"Ah . . ."Azrian whispered breathlessly. She could feel the penis threatening to get hard again, for Decius was ravenous as his head moved in her lap. The great penis collapsed on her thigh beneath his hungry licks. On Etienne's hard, muscular thigh.

"D-Decius . . ."

"Oh, master . . . I'm sorry . . . I miss him so much."

"I miss him too," Azrian whispered hoarsely. She took her shirt off the bed and dabbed the cum from the slave's front. She was surprised when Decius looked at her sadly - then threw his arms tight around her middle and hugged her. Like a child. Tears rose to blind her, and stroking down his silky black mane, she kissed him on the head. And held him.