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A Rape and A Half

Chapter 41

"I shouldn't have let you talk me into . . ." Primus sighed and was silent. He knelt before Azrian, guiding her slippers onto each foot for her. His ears were back flat, and she knew he was scolding himself for making love to her. Doing so forced her to take another bath, which meant it took her twice as long to get dressed, and now she was late for the masque.

"But I live to serve you, little goddess," Primus whispered, and Azrian watched as he crouched his muscular body low to kiss her feet.

A tingle went up her leg as his lips pressed her stocking. She touched his black mane, silently grateful for all he had done for her. Where would she be without him? She wanted to say as much, but she knew he wouldn't care for gratitude. He loved to serve. And like all Beaucerons, he literally lived to do so. It must have been the ultimate ecstasy for him, knowing that he was serving a child of Skkye. A child of a god.

Primus escorted Azrian to the masque, and as promised, she was allowed to wear a fox mask - something she wore as a silent jab to all those who opposed her actions regarding the foxes. The band stopped playing and there was silence as she was announced. The room as one rippled in a grand show of bowing and curtsying, and then she was mounting the step to the throne, and everyone returned to dancing and drinking. Only now there was whispering. Glancing. Snide remarks behind fans. Everyone was taken aback that the queen had dared to wear a fox mask, that the queen had dared to directly provoke her subjects after having outlawed the Hunt. Azrian saw many nobles grumbling over drinks and behind fans, whispering, shaking their heads, and she knew if they weren't wearing masks, she would be surrounded by glares.

"I hope you are prepared to face the backlash for what you have done," sighed Primus under his breath. He stood at Azrian's armrest, shaking his head ever so slightly and no doubt kicking himself for allowing Azrian to wear a fox mask.

Azrian jerked her chin and decided not to care. Foxes were going to be recognized as equal citizens whether the dogs liked it or not, and so as far as she was concerned, they had better get used to the face of a fox in the ballroom!

Azrian was surprised when Captain Carnell - the same bastard who had shot Etienne - approached the throne and asked her for a dance. It gave her no small amount of satisfaction when she loudly told him to come again never. Several nearby nobles laughed, curtsied to the queen, and lifted their glasses, to which Azrian deeply inclined her head and returned to observing the guests, her red paw lazily waving her fan.

"You shouldn't have done that," Primus scolded.

Azrian rolled her eyes. "I don't care."

Primus made a tisking noise. "Stop sulking and listen to me. Donica and Captain Carnell were on good terms. Very good terms. You anger him, and he will side with those who oppose you!" He paused and glared at her impatiently a moment. "Have you forgotten the dangerous game you play? After the masque, I will fetch Captain Carnell, and you will explain that you were feeling ill. Perhaps you will fuck him."

Azrian looked at Primus in amazement. He ignored her, instead staring out at the dancing, his handsome face cold.

"The captain clawed his way to the top of the ranks because Donica liked his tongue," Primus went on. "A little more tail kissing and he would have clawed his way even higher. He was . . . very good."

Azrian stiffened angrily. "You can't ask me to . . . not with the one who killed --!"

"Then don't fuck him," Primus hissed over her. "But do make nice with him in some way, shape, or form once the masque is done! As it stands, you would have had to reject a dance with him regardless."

Azrian's eyes drifted unhappily over the crowds. Of course. Because she was supposed to speak with Hellene. Who should have been on her way . . . now.

"Here she comes," Primus whispered. "Remember, Donica called her Hell. And they both doted on Louis, who promised to visit this Fall. And Echridge is a lecherous bug who grabbed her once at --"

"I know, I know!" Azrian hissed. Her eyes dulled when she spotted Hellene coming her way. The young and former queen of Poston was stunning in a black ball gown with shoulders bare and diamonds sparkling around her throat and in her ears. Her blazing red mane was swept up in a magnificent bun, her nails were dyed black, and her breasts rode gently with the graceful glide of her stride. She pushed back her black raven mask, and she was the spitting image of a younger Donica. It was like looking in a mirror through time. And she was utterly beautiful. And she knew it.

"Your majesty," Hellene purred, sinking into a deep curtsy before the throne.

Azrian snapped her fan shut and offered her ring for a kiss. "Hell, darling. Where have you been? I've been waiting all night! Didn't my terrible brother teach you better manners, child?"

Hellene laughed girlishly and took Azrian's paw, and Azrian silently patted herself on the back for the successful imitation of the young female's beloved aunt.

Primus stared stoically into the distance as Hellene gracefully perched onto the empty throne beside Azrian, her black skirts ballooning around her like the rise of poisoned bread. She clung fast to Azrian's paw, her long lashes fluttering as she went on happily, "Oh, Aunty, it's just like you to scold me when you've kept everyone waiting an hour. How is Father? I haven't heard a word from him in what feels like forever! I thought perhaps you and he had some plan for Philomena, that you had her whisked away at the train station and perhaps taken home to Curith for safe keeping? Please tell me that's what you did?"

Azrian felt a pang when Hellene's lashes fluttered and tears sprang to her bright green eyes. She was holding so tightly to Azrian's paw, Azrian knew she wouldn't be able to snatch herself free without possibly losing a few rings and cutting herself in the process.

"Hell . . ." Azrian paused and cleared her throat.

Hellene's green eyes pierced into Azrian's face, waiting.

Azrian swallowed hard. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Primus flicking his tail at the tip, cautioning her to confirm her ignorance. But she looked at Hellene's desperate face and wanted to sooth her with a lie. Any lie. Her paw was almost shaking when she patted Hellene's clutching fingers. "Yes, darling," she said at last. "Your father and I thought it best you didn't know until both of you were safe."

Primus closed his eyes, and Azrian knew she'd made a blunder when Hellene tightened her grip. The former queen of Poston bared her fangs and squeezed so hard on Azrian's paw that Azrian cried out in shock and pain.

"You . . . liar," Hellene hissed, in such a low voice that no one would have heard. It didn't matter anyway: her body language was clearly hostile. She leaned over their clasped paws, glaring into Azrian's face, fangs bare, and the nobles who stood nearby watched it all in amazement.

"Then why," went on Hellene, her voice a sob, "DID I FIND HER BLOODY SHOE!" she screamed. "I KNOW YOU HAD MY BABY KILLED!"

The band stopped playing, and there was a collective gasp when Hellene snatched Azrian's fan and threw it at her. Face tight with rage, she rose slowly from her seat and clicked just as slowly through the ballroom, and the silence during her measured exit was excruciating. Azrian sat tense on the throne, kicking herself for not just asserting her ignorance. Now she looked like a liar and a possible murderer, and all the court had witnessed it - which was exactly what Hellene wanted.

_Score one for Hell,_Azrian thought angrily as Hellene finally clicked out the doors. She was suddenly very sick of paying for Donica's sins.

"Go after her," Primus muttered under his breath.

Azrian waved for the band to start up again. The musicians obeyed. The dancers slowly returned to dancing. She took a deep breath and glanced at Primus, who didn't look at her as he repeated his instructions.

"We have to go on with the plan as before. Get her to a room. I will follow with the drinks."

Azrian blinked to show she understood. Her heart was pounding in her ears when she rose from the throne. Primus whispered for the herald to announce her exit, and after he had done so, the court bowed and curtsied as one to see her out.

Out in the hall, Azrian paused to sniff for Hellene. The Andalusian's scent wasn't hard to follow, and before long, she had tracked the former queen of Poston to a room off the hall. It was perfect. Hellene had walked blindly right into her trap. There were no mastiffs lining this particular hall and thus, no witnesses. Azrian took a deep breath, adjusted her fox mask, and entered the room.

The room was shadowy and dark. There was a piano and a card table, a few couches and ornate lamps. A bookshelf towered to the high ceiling and beside it was a ladder. The balcony doors were open, and the moonlight shone through, bright and blue. Hellene stood on the balcony in the moonlight, her diamonds sparkling, her head bowed. She was weeping softly, her raven mask forgotten on the floor.

Azrian stepped into the room, letting the door close quietly behind her. Hellene looked up when she heard the door and scowled to see Azrian there.

"I don't want to h-hear any of your lies," Hellene sobbed as Azrian approached.

Azrian stopped at the young female's side, and after hesitating, put her paw on the small of her back. "Darling," she whispered. "Don't cry. I'm sorry." And she meant it.

Hellene's lashes fluttered, and she looked at Azrian in surprise. She slowly looked away again, no doubt trying to digest the fact that "Queen Donica" had just apologized to her. "I always knew you and Father wanted to sacrifice Phil to Ayni."

Azrian's mouth slipped open in shock behind her mask.

Hellene blinked out more tears like diamonds. "I just . . . didn't want to believe you would actually _do_it. Everyone kept saying Philomena shouldn't have existed. That giving her to Ayni and killing Gerard was the only way to make it right . . . so I did it. I killed Gerard. But my baby?" She touched a helpless paw to her breasts and her face contorted. She looked at Azrian miserably. "Why couldn't Ayni let me have my child? Anything but her . . . god, why . . ." She stared at the garden far below, and Azrian thought she might jump off the balcony.

Azrian placed a tight paw on Hellene's elbow and guided her back from the railing. "Come, child," she whispered. "Sit down."

Still sniffling and crying, Hellene went with Azrian to the nearby couch without a fuss. Both females sat, and Hellene bowed her head as the tears continued to fall. Unable to stand it, Azrian took out her kerchief and dabbed the young female's face. Hellene took the kerchief from her and wiped her own face. And for a long time, Azrian couldn't speak. She was still in shock. Donica and her family . . . _worshipped_Ayni. Had sacrificed a child to her! It suddenly occurred to Azrian that Ayni was more of a threat than she'd ever fully grasped. Ayni wasn't just against what Ti'uu was doing - she was actively trying to stop him. And through Hellene and her family.

"Aunty," Hellene said after a pause. She fiddled with the kerchief in her slender fingers. "I want you to know . . . I understand why you and Father did what you did . . . and I want you to know. . ." Her face creased in a slow scowl. "I hope you and Father burn in Hell."

Azrian tried to think what Donica would say. She slapped open her fan, fanned herself, and drawled lazily, "There is no Hell, darling. Just here."

Hellene's lips tightened, but before she could respond, Primus entered with a silver pitcher and two glasses on a tray. He closed the door behind him with his foot and came to the couch, where he lowered the tray for them to take drinks. Azrian took a glass, but Hellene shook her head.

"Take a drink, darling," Azrian insisted. "It will calm your frazzled nerves. Look at you. You're a mess. And you have to go back out there --"

"I'm not going back out there!" Hellene said defiantly. She screamed softly when Azrian suddenly grabbed her by the wrist and peered angrily into her eyes.

"After the way you just embarrassed me? You are going," Azrian said through her fangs. "Do you hear me, you whining little bitch?" She shoved Hellene's wrist out of her fingers as if she disgusted her.

Hellene bought the act. With a shaking paw, she took the drink that Primus offered her and downed it in one gulp. Standing behind her, Primus gave Azrian the tiniest hint of a smile.

"Wha . . ." Hellene slurred. She rocked where she sat, and her eyes rolled in her head. "Whazzz innn thizzz?"

Azrian and Primus watched as she sank away over the side of the armrest, watched as the empty glass fell from her paw and rolled away across the carpet. She was out.

"Quickly," Primus said, setting the tray aside. "Get undressed. I'll undress her."

Azrian nodded, reaching behind to unlace her own gown. She watched Primus taking off Hellene's dress with quick expertise, watched as the young female's supple body jerked from every pull of her laces. Before long, the former queen of Poston was lying naked on the sofa. And, my, she was lovely. Round hips and sharp, curved breasts; a long neck and a tiny white spot near her left nipple. Her pink nipples were standing out hard, and her long legs were very shapely, very elegant. Her mane had come half out of its bun as Primus was undressing her.

Azrian took Hellene's paw . . . and became Hellene. She then reached behind the young female's long neck and took her diamond necklace, as well as her earrings, and hastily fastened them on. Primus helped her step into the young female's black ball gown, and she stood still, allowing him to lace her up. She couldn't take her eyes off naked Hellene, who was so beautiful, curvy, and soft, lying there on the couch.

Azrian swallowed hard. "Are you really going to . . .?"

"Yes," Primus said tonelessly.

Azrian laughed flatly. "You get to have all the fun."

"You may watch for a while."

Azrian's mouth fell open.

Without waiting for a response, Primus went to Hellene's naked body and stood over her, calmly touching himself. His large penis slowly swelled in his grasp as he watched her high breasts rising and falling with her gentle breaths. He lifted her leg by the back of the thigh, then slowly eased his big shaft between the tight lips of her sex. Hellene frowned in her sleep and reached blindly as Primus began to ride. She murmured and drooled, dazed and drugged. He kept going, watching with narrowed eyes as her perky breasts jiggled from every thrust.

"Oh, god," Azrian whispered when she felt herself getting wet. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees beside Hellene, hesitated . . . then squeezed her breast. It was so soft in her fingers, giving away to her touch, warm, supple . . . _firm and high._The nipple poked at the air, teasing, begging for her lips and tongue. She suckled gently, and Hellene moaned again, rolling her back against the couch so that her breast was thrust against Azrian's mouth.

Azrian suckled deeply and hungrily, and watching as it happened, Primus became more aggressive in his thrusts. He grunted and growled, moaning in rhythm as he slammed his shaft through Hellene's clenching lips.

"Get . . . back . . ." Primus panted.

Azrian didn't want to obey. Her fingers were curling through Hellene's pretty mane, and she was rolling her tongue against her nipple. She pulled her tongue away in a line of saliva, then licked her lips and suckled again deeply. She felt her arousal come harder when Hellene reacted with pleasure, moaning as she was suckled. But Azrian glanced at Primus, saw his urgency, and backed away.

Primus pulled himself free of Hellene with a soft squelch, and with a choked cry, he squirted his seed on her slender naked body. It slapped her lips, her breasts, her trembling belly. And she lay limp and beautiful on the sofa, her mane mussed, the sweep of her long lashes fluttering. Her breasts were still heaving, and the nipples rolled when Primus carefully gathered her in his big arms.

Azrian stood staring at Hellene's naked breasts with the lips of her sex swollen and throbbing under her gown.

"G-Go," Primus said breathlessly. "I must have her well hidden before you return with Echridge. And myself hidden as well."

Azrian nodded absently but didn't think she could move. Primus commanded again for her to go, and she snapped out of it, turning from the room and leaving quickly and quietly.

Back in the ballroom, Azrian felt too flustered and aroused to focus. She was startled when someone addressed her as Her Highness Princess Hellene and had to remind herself who she was masquerading as this time. Donica, in her haste to wed Hellene to Etienne, had already given the former queen of Poston the title of princess of Varimore. Corene had never stood a chance upon her return. Paws had shaken, letters had been signed, and it was official: Hellene would be the queen of Varimore . . . and Corene would be the slut of Curith.

Something in Azrian soured as she remembered what Hellene had said to her only moment's before. Hellene had killed Gerard. As in King Gerard of Poston. As in . . . her husband. Azrian had to ask herself why she had ever felt sorry for Hellene. Hellene was a tool of Ayni. Tools of the goddess of war, blood, and fire did not deserve pity.

And now Azrian had something to hold over Hellene's head should she step out of line.

"Your highness," said a familiar voice, and Azrian tried not to sneer when she saw Captain Carnell approaching her at the banquet table. The captain was a large auburn mastiff, square-jawed and pompous, with a fluff of fur on his chin like a goatee. He bowed deeply to Azrian and straightened up, eying her with delight as he stroked his chin.

Azrian had no idea how Hellene would react to Captain Carnell, so she reacted the way she herself would have reacted: with disgust. Her lip curled as she lifted her wineglass from the banquet table, and she didn't bother looking at him as she barely acknowledged his presence with, ". . . Captain Carnell."

The captain's eyes widened a moment and he averted them in shame. Azrian smirked. Clearly, he hadn't expected to be firmly rejected by every female at the ball tonight.

"Your highness," the captain went on anyway, "I only wished to inquire as to the wellbeing of your dear aunt? Her majesty seems a bit . . . off tonight."

"Why?" Azrian snapped. "Because she didn't fall into your arms all atwitter?"

Captain Carnell coughed uncomfortably into his glove, and Azrian resisted a smile as she took another drink.

"Yes, well . . ." stammered the captain, "my apologies for disturbing you, your highness . . ."

Azrian watched with bitter satisfaction as the captain forlornly strolled to another table. She was tipping back Hellene's raven mask for another drink when she noticed Echridge approaching, looking self-confident and half-drunk already. The pudgy little dog was actually a poodle - though he preferred barbone: gray, puffy, vain, and completely convinced he was the Creator's gift to bitches everywhere.

Before her first council meeting, Primus had coached Azrian on all the personalities and pass misdemeanors of the council members. One was greedy and their loyalty could be bought easily by bending trade connections. Another was having an affair with Wychowl's priest. And still another secretly studied and worshipped the gods of the foxes.

And like the others, Azrian had received a full report on Echridge. He was sexist and uncouth, often grabbing females by their backsides on the very streets, or else spending all his time in brothels. He believed bitches existed to look beautiful just for him, and if they weren't wearing their dresses low cut so he could see their cleavage, they were not serving their function as females. In his mind, females existed for a male's pleasure and did not belong on the council or especially on the throne of Varimore. As a result, his relationship with Donica had always been strained, especially when she came into full power as regent. He immediately suspected her of King Bastian's death and tried to depose her, when the truth was . . . he just couldn't stand seeing a bitch in power.

Echridge treated Hellene with the same amount of respect: none. But while he wouldn't deign to grab Queen Donica, he had drunkenly grabbed Hellene at least twice at a party. He seemed to labor under the delusion that Hellene wanted him as badly as he wanted her, and he kept pursuing her relentlessly. Hellene's husband King Gerard had not cared and had even laughed when Hellene came to him with complaints about the uppity poodle. To appease his wife, King Gerard issued a threat to pudgy little Echridge and the harassment ceased. But now King Gerard was dead and Etienne had disappeared. Echridge viewed Hellene as free for the harassing and seemed determined to follow through with his advances.

Azrian swirled the wine in her glass and smiled behind Hellene's raven mask as pudgy little Echridge marched her way. He came to a stop before her and bowed deeply.

"My, my, my," he said, straightening up and adjusting his coat tails. "You look ravishing tonight, your highness. Ravishing enough to ravish." His hippo mask jerked, and Azrian knew he was grinning. She thought she felt her skin crawling under her fur.

"Why thank you, Echridge," Azrian returned politely - if not coldly - and inclined her head.

Echridge waved a paw. "No, no, no. It's Baxter tonight."

Azrian tried not to laugh. "Of course . . . Baxter."

"Would her highness like to dance? You look as though you are dying to. As if you were _longing_that I should ask." His hippo mask pulled up as he smiled behind it again.

Why is it males like you always think you know what a female wants? Azrian thought furiously. She set her wineglass on the banquet table behind her. "I had something more . . . intimate . . . in mind, Echridge."

"You were going to call me Baxter," Echridge corrected, amused. "Or. . . ." Azrian stiffened when he placed his fat paw on her waist and gently squeezed. "You could call me Daddy." He leaned close and his breath was stale with liquor. "Would you like Daddy to give it to you? Fuck you in your tight little cunt?"

Azrian set her set teeth and firmly removed his paw from her waist, but her voice was pleasant and purring when she whispered, "Come with me. I'll leave first. You follow. Don't want them to know what we're about, do we?" She winked.

Echridge dropped his eyes, tracing them over her gown as if he were undressing her.

Azrian turned away, and several heads turned to watch as she clicked from the ballroom. She went up the hall at an even pace, and minutes later, heard Echridge following not far behind. She smiled to herself. The fool was so eager to finally sleep with Hellene, he was walking blindly into a trap. Everyone would think he had followed her from the ballroom, perhaps stalking her until . . .

"Ah, so this is where I'll make you scrrrream," Echridge slurred when Azrian stopped at a door. It was the same room in which she'd left Primus and Hellene. She pretended to fiddle with the doorknob, the better to give Primus a chance to hide if he hadn't yet.

"Here . . ." Echridge whispered. "Let big, strong Daddy do that for you . . ."

Before Azrian could protest, Echridge grabbed the knob and forced the door. He staggered into the room, dragging Azrian with him by the arm. Azrian glanced around. The room was empty. There was no sign of Primus or the real Hellene. The pitcher and two glasses were still on the table, waiting for the next victim to have a sip. Echridge clawed impatiently at Azrian's dress, but she gently pried him off and went to the drinks. She could hear Echridge staggering behind her as she poured a glass for him. He was fumbling with his pants and couldn't get them undone.

"Don't wanna drink," he slurred when Azrian turned to him with the glass.

Azrian pushed back Hellene's raven mask and smiled prettily. "Come now, it will --"

"I do' wanna fuckin' drink!" Echridge snarled. He slapped the glass from Azrian's paw, and she screamed as it hit the wall. He grabbed her by the mane and dragged her down on the couch, and tears sprang to her eyes as her scalp tore with pain. She reached to stop him; he caught one of her wrists and slammed it on the armrest. His knee nudged up her ball gown, forcing her legs apart. His hippo mask was crooked and sliding off, and she could see his leer as he finally pulled out his fat little penis.

"No - please --!"

"Shuddap! You know how long I've waited for this? And you think you're backin' out now? You bitches . . . always a goddamned tease . . ."

"No --!"

"I said shuddap!"

He was on top of her in seconds, cursing as he fumbled with her gown. Azrian's heart was beating a mile a minute. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to take the drug and pass out, but instead he was attacking her.

She panicked. She tried to get away. He grabbed the front of her dress. It tore. She heard her corset snap, and as her breasts poured free, he gave her the back of his paw. A scream choked in Azrian's mouth. Her cheek was swollen and throbbing from the blow, her lip was busted. She sobbed and tasted blood. Hellene's lustrous red curls tumbled in her face as Echridge licked his lips and squeezed her shivering breasts.

"So damn pert . . . mm." He leaned down and suckled Azrian, loudly and wetly. She grabbed his poofy mane and yanked.

"Aargghh! You damned whore!"

His fat paws closed around her throat. Azrian gasped, her nails dragging desperately at his paws. And as the darkness clawed at the corners of her vision, she was seconds from blowing her cover and blasting him to hell with fire. But she didn't have to. Primus appeared behind Echridge . . . and knocked him over the head with a vase.