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Disturbing Thoughts

Chapter 35

Azrian didn't waste time. She reached the queen's bedchamber before Primus and took on her shape. By the time Primus had returned with a fresh pitcher of wine, Azrian was sitting up in bed, the spitting image of Donica, a wineglass in her paw, pretending to be drunk and tired. She had already read the letters on the desk. She knew that Donica was expecting her niece to arrive at Wychowl any day now. She also knew that Donica planned to have Corene taken by the soldiers of King Louis, only the letters didn't say when, and she found it flabbergasting that Corene didn't think to tell her. For all they knew, the soldiers were already in the castle, lying in wait. And indeed, Corene and Flavia were both gone the very next day. And Azrian didn't know what to think. Either Corene managed to run away or the soldiers of King Louis had gotten her. Azrian could only assume the latter. And if King Louis was anything like his sister, it was a disturbing thought.

Primus was no fool. He entered the room and knew almost immediately that Azrian was not his queen. He halted and simply looked at her, his quiet, searching eyes dancing over her face. Then he slowly knelt and bowed his head. He accepted her. And when she showed him the queen's body in the wardrobe, he seemed to accept that as well. They buried the queen in the laundry, and Azrian had Primus take her body away in the middle of the night, out to Lake Sundridge, where he weighed her down with stones and let her sink away.

Azrian went with the slave and stood with him in the rain and the wind, watching with her hood up as Queen Donica sank to the bottom of the lake. She glanced at the slave and had to wonder why he went along with everything so docilely. Was he secretly planning to smother her with a pillow as she slept? She was suspicious and confused, for he rolled over and accepted what had happened to his queen with something bordering indifference. Even Decius, though accepting of Azrian, had taken the loss of Etienne with some degree of sadness, regret, despair. Primus showed no emotion. It was unsettling. And if someone came along and killed Azrian, he would probably roll her up in a carpet with as much indifference and feed her to the furnace on command.

"She was your queen," Azrian said after they had been standing in the rain for some time.

Primus naturally said nothing.

"Surely you loved her," Azrian went on. "Surely you regret her loss --?"

"No," Primus said. Simply and softly.

Azrian looked at him, lashes fluttering in surprise.

The big Beauceron stared at the water and said with cold indifference, "She hogged the sheets."

Azrian couldn't help it: she laughed.

They returned to the castle, and in the morning, Primus helped Azrian through the queen's daily routine. He stood behind her as she sat on the council, he waited on her at that afternoon's garden party, he brought her supper to her room. He did everything without waiting to be asked, and thus, she fell effortlessly into the role of Queen Donica.

Of course, the dogs who sat on the council thought she was ill. Her majesty was too hesitant, too thoughtful, too concerned for the welfare and preservation of forests and foxes. Apparently, Donica was quite firm, never hesitated, and was only concerned with the welfare of dogs. The queen had funded a program to get prostitutes off the streets and into honest work, something that baffled Azrian into silence. The queen had funded the opening of several orphanages. The queen was interested in the welfare and wellbeing of the lowest of her subjects. And sitting at the head of the council table, Azrian could not decide if the queen's philanthropy had all been for show or . . . . genuine.

But the fact remained that Donica had cared nothing about the foxes. In fact, an order had recently been put in place to run several tribes out of a few duchies, where the foxes had been blamed for the deaths of several livestock, thievery, and attacks on travelers. Azrian, nostrils flaring angrily, immediately rescinded the order and announced that she would travel to the countryside and look into the claims personally. The council was shocked and sat in silence for a moment, simply staring at her.

After a long pause, a fat old dog named Echridge cleared his throat, took a deep sip from his glass, and folded his pudgy paws on the table. "Though her majesty's concern for the creatures is rather . . . touching . . . one must advise her to remain in Wychowl for the time being. The foxes have become rather bold, your majesty. They speak madness, of the return their gods. They believe they shall rise against us."

There was collective laughter around the table, and Azrian's lips tightened.

"And alas," added a thin female with a very long snout, "for his majesty the prince to have run off at a time like this!" She shook her long head. "I fear for the lad's safety. Her majesty has some idea where he has gone? Surely the mastiffs sniffed something out by now?"

"They haven't a clue at the moment, the fools," Azrian said in her best Donica impersonation. In the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the tiniest hint of a smile curl Primus' lips.

"Of course, he was out in those forests for the Creator knows how long," said yet another male, this one brown and white, with stern, beady little eyes glittering behind golden spectacles. "Our prince could have learned some magic from the heathens, something that would hide him."

Azrian resisted the sudden urge to grit her fangs. "Celan - Crinnington has been empty for twenty years," she said dismissively. "And even if it weren't, my darling Etienne would never succumb to their ways of trickery and deceit. To speak of him thus is blasphemy. Would you liken your prince - ordained to rule by our Creator - to a heathen fox?"

The council sputtered as one and begged Azrian's forgiveness, and Azrian smiled as many of them made the holy sign and muttered prayers under their breath. Religion. Reverent fear. Invoking the wrath of some god. It was the easiest way to make beasts do what they were told. But Azrian knew how empty such threats were. Azrian knew for a fact that the gods did not care, only lifting a finger to punish or bless when it suited them. She thought of Ti'uu and her scowl deepened, furthering frightening the members of the council. Her father had promised Etienne godhood and now he was dead. And she hadn't heard a word from Ti'uu since. After all, she was at Wychowl, as he always meant for her to be. The loss of Etienne - some mortal -- was probably immaterial to him. The thought tightened her fist on her fan and it cracked. She saw one of the council members gulp.

"It is our duty to remind her majesty," said Echridge into the silence, who was fiddling with his gloves, "that her highness Hellene is ever approaching the capital and could arrive at any given day." He lifted his eyes to Azrian's face and slowly smiled. He was the only one at the table who hadn't been flustered by Azrian's threats, and she noted this with narrowed eyes: Echridge knew.

Echridge knew _something._Something wasn't right. And it wasn't something that could simply be written off as the queen having a hangover.

"Her majesty can not afford to leave Wychowl at present," Echridge went on, imperiously lifting his brows as he continued adjusting his gloves. "Unless she wishes her niece to feel most unwelcome upon her arrival."

"What my niece shall feel upon her arrival is no concern of yours," Azrian snapped. "In fact, keep my niece far from your thoughts, and if I even think you are troubling her with your pathetic advances, _my_thoughts shant be pretty."

The council members laughed as Echridge's face went momentarily sour. But he regained his composure with a wide smile and bowed his head good-naturedly at the laugher. "As her majesty commands," he said graciously. But he lifted his head again, and as the laughter continued, their eyes connected. And Azrian knew he wasn't fooled.

Azrian spent the rest of the day wearing a strained smile and making snide comments while following the whispered instructions of Primus, who generously informed her of every bowing noble's name and disposition toward the queen. A noble named Elvira Arvelle had gotten in a row with the queen over a croquet match the week before, and Azrian should greet her with a mean smile and few backhanded compliments. Another noble had clumsily asked for the queen's paw in marriage, humiliating himself in the process when he upset a punch bowl, and Azrian should greet him with much teasing and laughter and allow him to kiss her paw.

And on it went.

By the end of the day, Azrian was exhausted. And she thought if this was what it meant to rule a kingdom, she could scarce imagine ruling the very world. But Ti'uu meant for her to rule the world, she knew this now.

She was physically tired and physically aching after having worn pinching heeled slippers the day through. She was mentally tired and mentally aching after having listened to complaint after complaint from the peasantry, after having listened to complaint after complaint from the nobles, after having to force her face into a smile, into a sneer, into mocking laughter. Being Donica was utterly exhausting. Being mean was exhausting. And so was being hated.

Azrian sat on Donica's throne, and it finally hit home that Donica's philanthropy was very real. The queen sincerely cared about the poorest of her subjects, which in turn made the richest of her subjects sincerely hate her. The rich did not want to live in an equal society, where everyone worked for what they had, shared with those who could not work, and lived side by side in the dirt with their leaders and their royalty.

But that was the way foxes lived. If anything, Azrian found it utterly ironic that Donica - who hated the foxes so dearly - had strived so tirelessly to create a society not unlike the "heathen" society she so abhorred.

Azrian remembered the foxes of the Nahet, living as equals with their rulers, sharing everything they had, helping each other, supporting each other. And as she looked in the mirror at Donica's face, she realized that by restoring the fox kingdoms, she would be returning her kin to a pyramid society. A society where the rich lived on the top and the poor lived on the bottom, trapped in a cycle of poverty generation after generation. Was this really what she wanted for them? For the dogs as well? She looked in the mirror and swallowed her pride and asked herself . . . was Donica, in fact, a good ruler?

Azrian heard Primus moving through the bedchamber behind her, and suddenly wanting someone to talk to, she turned to face him. He was turning down the bed for her and had removed the bed warmer. With the coverlet turned down, he took a step back and calmly placed his big paws behind his back. He was tall, toned, and strong. In fact, he was so big, he could have picked Azrian up by the ankle like a fish. He was older. Mature. Like a finely aged wine. She looked in his face and saw wisdom there - quiet, calculating wisdom. It was because of him that she had survived her first day as Donica. She wanted to reward him somehow, but what could she do? Give him his freedom? He didn't seem to want his freedom or care about obtaining it, and what was more, she needed him. She would surely drown tomorrow without him.

Azrian approached the bed and sat on the edge. "Primus . . . why did you help me today?"

Primus glanced at the door, and Azrian knew he was afraid. But of what? The guards eavesdropping? Corene had killed Donica in this very room, and the guards either hadn't heard or hadn't cared.

"Primus," Azrian began again, "I just wanted to ask - mm!" Her words were muffled to silence when Primus leapt across the room and clapped a big paw over her mouth. He glanced fearfully at the doors again, then pulled Azrian up and led her to a great portrait that hung near one of the bookshelves against the far wall. At a first glance, Azrian would have thought the portrait was of Etienne, but she looked again at the period clothing and realized the portrait was actually of King Antony. A small bust stood on a nearby table of a fluffy fox - a bust that could only be Nadheertia. Primus pushed the bust's nose like a button, and the portrait of King Antony slid to one side. A hidden door.

Azrian lifted her brows, but she didn't protest when Primus took her paw and led her inside. The portrait closed behind them, and Azrian went rigid to find herself in total darkness. She could hear Primus moving through the room, then a match struck, and his dour face was lit from under by flame. He brought the match down, and flashes of more portraits appeared in its light in an arch, dour and haughty faces of kings and queens. Then the candles before him sprang to light, one by one, and Azrian glanced around.

The secret room contained a desk in its center, with portraits of Emerald royalty lining the walls all around. Azrian would not be surprised if those portraits didn't lead to more hidden nooks in the castle. Such rooms probably existed throughout Wychowl as escape routes for the royal family or for the sake of having some private place to scheme and weave webs of political intrigue. How many kings, queens, nobles, and slaves had sat in this room, scheming the death of an Emerald? Azrian glanced around the room at the staring portraits and thought the Emeralds weren't famously unlucky. They were just targets.

Primus pulled out the chair behind the desk and peered at Azrian intently. He meant for her to sit. She obeyed, adjusting the red nightgown across Donica's bright red knees uncertainly.

"You ask why I help you," Primus said calmly. He stood behind her chair, his big paws resting on the back. "I help you because it is the wisest course. The course that ensures my survival. It matters not who wears the crown, so long as I continue to live. You learn not to become attached to the tail that occupies the throne in Wychowl. You learn quickly. Or else you suffer. Like Decius."

Azrian lowered her lashes, thinking with sadness that Decius had been reduced to kitchen help in Etienne's absence. Poor Decius, who missed his master so deeply, who was the only slave who knew Etienne would never return.

"And like Flavia," Primus added with a snort.

Azrian swallowed hard. "What do you mean? Do you know what happened to Flavia?"

"I know," Primus confirmed, his deep voice rumbling up from his chest. "Flavia thought she was so clever. She poisoned the king to win my love, because she thought I hated him, because she listened to rumors."

Azrian swallowed hard and her ears pricked forward. "But what happened to her? And to Corene?"

"Flavia allowed the dogs of Curith to take her and the princess. She thought Donica was sending them to a better life." Primus snorted. "She was always a foolish child. And perhaps she will never learn."

Azrian went very still, her eyes darting. So it was true. Corene and Flavia - and Candy Cane - were long gone to Curith. And if she sent a letter to King Louis asking for Corene back after everything Donica had done to see her off, it would just raise suspicion. She was helpless to act.

"Why do you care what happens to the princess?" Primus asked quietly. He closed his big paw on Azrian's shoulder and gently squeezed, kindly, imploringly. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "She was ever your rival . . . daughter of Skkye."

Azrian blinked rapidly as the heat of his breath touched her ear. "H-How . . .?" she stammered as his big paw smoothed up to caress her long neck. She turned her face away and shivered when his tongue extended and carefully licked her ear.

"I knew your mother," he whispered. "I knew her scent . . . the sweet scent of her pussy. You carry it." He let her go and turned away.

Azrian sat in the chair, shivering under her nightgown. She hugged herself, trying to make it stop. "You knew my mother?" she muttered.

"Yes. She was Donica's slave once. Twenty years ago. I cared for her night and day, and as I cared for her, she told me many things. That one day her child would rule the world. That the child was a daughter of Skkye, the daughter of a god. She was dazed, you see. So she had no mind to stop herself telling me anything and everything. The queen didn't allow me to feed her much. She kept your mother in a box. Under her bed. Like a doll."

Azrian's lips tightened. "I don't want to hear anymore," she said at once. The command in her voice rang through the room.

"No," Primus agreed, "you don't."

Azrian bowed her head and watched her tear drop to the desk, where it darkened the wood in a clear blot. She closed her eyes when Primus squeezed her shoulders in a deep massage, and the soothing touch of his careful fingers relaxed her tense body.

"I didn't bring you here to speak of your mother," he said behind her. "Echridge is wary of you. He has placed spies within the elite guard. They listen outside the door. They watch your every move."

Azrian scowled. "What's to be done with him?" she muttered to herself.

"Nothing," Primus said at once. "Move against Echridge and you will only confirm his suspicions. We will find some other way to displace him. Perhaps lead him into an unsavory arrangement. He is very clever but very vain. If a female were to proposition him, he would follow like a fish on a hook. And then we would embarrass him, and he would keep his head down and his mouth shut. For a long time."

". . . what are you suggesting?"

"Throw a masque in honor of Hellene's arrival. I will fill you in on the rest later."

Azrian nodded, rubbing her arm as she stared at the desk. She never thought in a million years that she would come to rely so greatly on one of Wychowl's slaves. But it made perfect sense: who knew the intricate web of lies and schemes that made up the court better than a slave who had witnessed the game of the nobles all his life?

"Now . . ." Primus pinched out the candles one by one, and as darkness crept in, Azrian felt her heart quicken.

"What are you doing?" she whispered. She could hear him moving through the room. She gasped when his paws jerked her nightgown down, exposing her breasts. They rode with her sudden, breathless cries when his fingers found her sex and carefully massaged.

"Your mother tasted so sweet," he whispered in her ear. ". . . do you?"

"I-I . . ." Azrian couldn't speak. The pleasure tingled between her legs, and she felt her clit swelling to arousal between his carefully stroking fingers. He lifted her by the waist without warning and sat her hard on the desk. It was so dark that it became an easy thing, imagining that these were Etienne's paws on her body. She let his big paw bend her by the neck, until she was lying on her back. He caressed her breasts and squeezed until the nipples were jutting, and then his hungry lips were suckling her deeply. She touched his head and whispered Etienne's name, gasping and sighing as his heavenly fingers pushed her under the nightgown.

The gown was pulled up over her hips and down around her shoulders, trapping her as if she had been tied. And she lay there, wriggling and gasping, as he touched, kissed, licked, and explored. His mouth kissed down her belly and found her sex, and he ate her ravenously, holding her legs wide apart to get at the moist juices that were quickly oozing down her thighs. He licked her thighs and let his tongue glide in her anus, using his thumbs to spread her buttocks and the lips of her sex. Wrapped in her nightgown, she twisted against the pleasure and gasped at the ceiling, thinking it was Etienne, it was Etienne touching her and licking her, kissing her, grunting as he devoured every inch between her thighs.

His mouth pulled away, and she could hear him licking his lips. The cold air slapped her sex, which had been so hot and wet only moments before. She peered at him between her heaving breasts, straining in vain to see him in the darkness. He was moving, but what was he doing? His big paw clapped on her hip, and she cried out when she felt the sudden intrusion of his erection. The head poked her gently a moment - then he thrust in, quickly and deeply, holding her taunt with the throbbing width of him. She arched her back to receive him, thrusting her breasts to the ceiling as he stabbed deep inside. She was so wet that he slid right in to the base, and then he was humping her over the desk, humping so hard that her breasts were flapping. He leaned down close to suckle her, and he did her so hard, the guards surely heard her screaming Etienne's name . . . and had some disturbing thoughts about Queen Donica confirmed for them.