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Lovable You

Chapter 48

Etienne was glad to retire to his room for a bath and much needed rest. They gave him the same room he had occupied the last time he was at Howlester Manor, and the familiarity allowed him to relax immediately.

He was keenly aware that Hadly had not been allowed to wait on him, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know just how everyone had learned of their tryst. The youngest maids were all aflutter when they came for his dirty clothes, giggling and laughing should he make eye contact with Hadly if she passed the open door.

Brooke came by with lunch, and she was all blushing and stammering the moment she saw Etienne. And she was still fresh and young and pretty, her golden mane falling loose past her shoulders, her perky breasts shivering. And she was still shy, dropping her eyes and blushing harder should he look her way.

Brooke waited on Etienne that afternoon alongside another young maid named Judith. Judith was a fluffy black Affenpinscher, with hair so wild and long it fell in streams over her eyes and ears, splitting only to reveal her black nose. Etienne thought it was a wonder the girl could see or hear. Her tail was as long and stringy and heavy as her mane, and she was quite short, with small sharp breasts poking behind her apron. She was very shy and rarely spoke and always kept her head down. And she seemed to be afraid of him. Etienne found it a bit baffling, but he supposed it made sense. He was the crown prince of Varimore, and Judith was a young, shy, fuzzy maid who scrubbed floors in a little duchy.

Etienne tried to sleep that afternoon but dreamt of dark places and dark floors, torches, bars, scattered straw, a black severed head staring into space. . . and small red feet. Azrian's feet? He awoke with a start and stared breathless at the ceiling, trying to push the dream away. It took him a while to realize he had been seeing the inside of a cell. . . . through Azrian's eyes.

Or through Azrian's eye. Etienne hadn't been able to see out of his left eye throughout the dream, and it sudden occurred to him that Azrian had lost her left eye. He sat up and gingerly touched his eye, but it wasn't swollen or aching. Just wet with a single tear.

"Is everything alright, m'lord -- I mean, your majesty."

Etienne looked up to see Judith entering with fresh towels. Brooke was no where to be seen.

Etienne started to reply but sneezed instead. "Aaaahchooooo!" His sneeze was more a roar, and fire leapt before his eyes, dancing across the coverlet and scorching it. Judith dropped her towels in shock -- then picked them up and ran to the bed and beat the flames out with them. Etienne fumbled to help her and was surprised to realize the fire didn't burn his paws. He couldn't even _feel_it.

With the fire out, they panted into the silence and stared at the great black scorch across the bed. Etienne could feel the heat in his nostrils, could see the smoke furling gently from his face and realized . . . he'd just sneezed fire.

Judith swallowed hard and hastily gathered the coverlet. "I'll just . . . quietly dispose of these, your majesty . . ."

Etienne caught her arm as she was turning away. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Aha. . . " he laughed weakly. "I just sneezed fire and you aren't the least bit horrified?"

Judith ducked her head down and smiled. "I serve the great god Ti'uu, your highness." She leaned closer and whispered, "I know who you are."

Etienne stared at her, but before he had a chance to respond, Brooke entered the room with tea. Judith ducked her head, hastily hid the scorched sheets against her chest, and hurried out. Brooke watched her go with large, blinking eyes, then her eyes danced over Etienne suspiciously.

Etienne sat up and turned his back to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. He'd slept in his smallclothes that afternoon, as they still hadn't a nightshirt that could fit him. His chest was bare, and she had a full view of his broad shoulders, the tight muscles of his back, and the deep line of his back sinking away into his drawers. He pinched his nose experimentally and hoped he wasn't about to sneeze flames again as he listened to her setting the tea down.

"I brought you tea, your highness," she whispered with slow enunciation and he could hear her curtsying.

Etienne smiled to himself. "You've been practicing," he said in amusement. She used to blunder awfully, calling him "m'lord" or forgetting to curtsy and show reverence upon entering a room that he occupied. Unlike educated Hadly, who had been groomed in the ways of propriety, Brooke was a simple country girl, a golden dog of a herding breed from the country, who was at once baffled by Etienne and in awe in of him.

"I have, my prince. I only wish to please you," Brooke whispered, and Etienne blinked when she appeared before him and slowly knelt between his thighs. She looked up at him, but her eyes kept flitting back to the bulge in his drawers. "I've been . . . practicing other things."

Etienne swallowed hard when she reached for his drawers, but he caught her by the paw and stopped her. "Practicing? Who with?"

Brooke looked up at him, frightened, "M-My prince, forgive me! I only w-want to p-please you --"

"Hush," Etienne whispered and touched her cheek. "I'm not angry, Brooke. Just curious." He laughed. "It wasn't Jonathan, was it?"

Brooke still seemed afraid of angering him and shook her head, her gold mane tumbling long around her. "Oh, no, your highness! Never! I swear!"

"Then who?"

Brooke cast her eyes down shyly. "The gardener . . . He said he'd teach me how to please you . . . so the next t-time you visited . . ."

Etienne laughed softly. "I think the gardener just wanted his dick sucked."

Brooke lifted her large round eyes and looked at him innocently. "You think so, my prince?"

Etienne looked down at her and wondered why no one was teaching her about males or protecting her from being used by them. Then he remembered: he had used her too. But it certainly hadn't felt that way at the time. She could have refused to participate in what he and Hadly were doing. But she came in the room and took off her clothes. Still, he looked down at her and felt a pang of guilt. She was like a pup who needed a mother.

"Help me get dressed, please, Brooke," Etienne said wearily.

"Right away, my prince," Brooke cried, though Etienne thought she looked a little disappointed.

As Etienne got to his feet, she went to the wardrobe and pulled out more of King Bastian's old clothes. He was standing behind the dressing screen when she came to him with them: she had left the door wide open. And he didn't feel like being seen in his underwear.

"My prince . . .?" Brooke whispered as she buttoned Etienne's pants for him.

"My lady?" Etienne returned softly. He held out his arms and stooped a little so she could rise up on tiptoe and help him into his shirt. She buttoned the shirt for him with clumsy fingers, and when her eyes fluttered up to see he was watching her, she blushed bright as an apple.

"I j-just wondered . . . is it true?" Brooke whispered. Her eyes darted in the direction of the door, as if she feared someone would hear them.

"That I pick my nose when no one's looking? Of course."

Brooke laughed nervously. "No, my prince . . . is it true you . . . . lived with the savages? And had sex with them? Master Jonathan said you'd come back smelling like fox . . . fox . . ."

"Pussy," Etienne finished wearily for her.

Brooke's eyes clouded as she helped him into his waistcoat. "Did they force you? Did they hurt you?" Her eyes darted over his face and she smoothed her small paw over his chest, peering up at him sadly.

Etienne smiled. She was so young and sweet and innocent. So completely lovable. She was going to make someone very happy someday. And Jonathan was right: a war probably was coming with the foxes. And dogs like Brooke would be caught in the crossfire. They would rape her and kill her. He closed his eyes, not wanting to think of it.

"My prince?" Brooke whispered, confused to see Etienne suddenly so sad.

Etienne touched her face. "Where are your parents, Brooke? How'd you come to work here? Tell me. Tell me everything about you." Now fully dressed, he moved past her and took a seat in a nearby chair. His mane was still tousled from sleeping, and he would need her to brush it. On the table nearby, the grooming implements waited: combs, brushes, scissors, oils and creams. He felt his chin and realized he'd been growing extra fur off it, and he hated beards.

Brooke came up behind Etienne's chair and took up the oil. She massaged it with careful fingers through his golden mane. "My prince . . . why do you wish to know about me? I am nothing . . . no one," she whispered sadly.

"That's not true," Etienne told her gently.

"I don't underst-stand," she whispered, and she sounded afraid.

Etienne knew Brooke had every right to be frightened. Anyone who got caught up in royal politics usually wound up royally dead. That Etienne was taking an interest in her flattered her, but it alarmed her as well.

"It's alright," Etienne said soothingly and reached back to touch her apron. "I only . . . wish to know who I'm fighting for."

Brooke was silent a moment as she brushed his mane. Finally, she said in a quiet, even voice, "My name is Brooke Tilcott, your majesty. I've spent all my life in Howlester Duchy, and my family has been here for generations, serving the Kingsleys with their wool, and serving you, the prince, with our hard labor. My mum died when I was a little pup. So I had to walk to town for Papa, to sell our wool. We was herding dogs. Papa was against what was happening here at Howlester. He didn't want no males living together like . . . regular folk. He led a mob against the duke . . . he was killed in the struggle." She sniffed. "I came all the way to court. Brought the entire flock of sheep with me. I looked at Duke Richard sitting up there on his throne and I said to him, 'M'lord, you took everything when you killed my father. Here is what I have left. Will you take that too?' I was angry and crying and the guards wanted to remove me. But I didn't care. I dared the duke to take my sheep. To kill me too and be done with it."

"That was brave," Etienne said. "What did he do?"

"Duke Richard looked at me," Brooke went on sadly, "and he pitied me. Said he'd give me work in his home, that I'd never have to want for anything again."

"And the sheep?" Etienne wondered. He could hear the smile in Brooke's voice when she whispered, "He took them."

They fell silent, and Etienne listened to the clock ticking on the wall as Brooke continued to groom him. Her careful fingers were gentle and loving as they smoothed his long mane into a ponytail. She took up the scissors to trim the ends for him, and it took so long, he blinked as he realized just how long his mane had grown out over the last few months.

Brooke also trimmed down the beard Etienne was growing, and when she was finished, she set the scissors aside and brushed him off with a towel. Her pretty eyes danced over him as she worked, silently admiring.

"My prince looks s-so handsome . . ."

"I do, don't I?" Etienne said, looking at himself in the small mirror.

Brooke laughed softly. "My prince . . . I still wish to . . . if only you'd allow. . . ."

Etienne swallowed hard as Brooke sank to her knees between his thighs again, looking up at him with her large eyes. He frowned as she started to unbutton his pants.

"B-Brooke . . ."

She stopped and looked at him, waiting. He thought of the foxes coming to kill her, to rape her. Perhaps they would come the moment he left Howlester. He closed his mouth and just looked at her. She bowed her head again and her lashes fluttered when she pulled out his penis. It was soft and large and pink, but it hardened the moment she started stroking it.

Etienne bit his lip, watching as she dragged the tip of her tongue along his shaft to the head. Her wet tongue glided up and down, leaving a trail of hot saliva in its wake. She closed her eyes as she licked him, as if she had a sweet, delicious treat. Her mouth came to the head again, and then she was devouring him in long, slow sucks.

And the gardener had done something right, because Brooke had gotten really good. Her head went up and down in his lap, and her sucking, slurping, and moaning took him back to that night when he took her virginity. That night seemed so long ago now. He remembered struggling to get in, and then how hot and squirming she was once he was got inside, the way her small body surrendered as he overpowered her, her soft cries and helpless squeals as he massaged her clit until she squirted . . . He suddenly wanted that again, her squirting on his face. Just thinking of it made him erupt in her mouth, and he opened his eyes when he heard her choking.

She pulled her mouth away, gasping to swallow his seed without getting any on his fresh clothes -- or her apron. He didn't give her time to breathe. With lust burning in his eyes, he snatched her up by the waist and sat her on the bed. "My prince!" she squealed when he nudged her on her back, reached under her skirts, and yanked her knickers down. He stuck his head under, and there it was, her pink sex, squirming and tight, the lips swollen with arousal. Suddenly ravenous, he plunged his face between her thighs and ate her with abandon, getting harder and harder as her thighs trembled around his head, as her small paws fumbled over her skirts to find him, as she twisted against the mattress and thrust her breasts to the ceiling.

"Oh, my p-prince!" she squealed when he hurled her legs over his shoulders. But he didn't pull his head from under her skirt. Her clit was pumping and she was almost there and he was hungry for that final wet slap on his face. He could feel her little shoes kicking at the air as his tongue tormented her to throbbing arousal. He gave her squirming sex a final hard lick, and she squirted on him, sputtering helplessly as it happened. He closed his eyes and let the spray hit his mouth and nose. It smelled wonderful, and he licked her clean with slow, long laps that made her melt into the mattress.

When he pulled his head from under her skirt, she was staring in a daze at the ceiling, her breasts riding with her gasps. She wobbled up to lean on her elbow with a tousled mane. Her cheeks were blushing when she looked at him in amazement. "Oh . . . oh my," she whispered, sliding her thighs against each other. Her panties were still around her ankles and fell off. He slipped them on for her, sliding his paws along her thighs as he did so.

"My prince?" she whispered when he buttoned up his pants. "Stay here with me . . . a while longer?"

Etienne shook his head. He kissed her on the cheek and abruptly left the room. He didn't know where he was going. He just needed to be away to think. He needed to focus on what he was going to do once he reached Wychowl, how he was going to handle Donica, what he could do to save Azrian -- who was probably in the dungeon, awaiting execution for having "murdered" the prince and masqueraded as him. If he knew Donica, she would blame his death on Azrian, thus clearing herself and Corene from any wrong.

And there was the matter of Hellene. Asres had explained to him that Hellene wasn't simply a child of magic. Unlike Taiga, Hellene had not been born through Ayni having possessed her mother. Ayni herself had come down from Skkye, and in her true form, had conceived a child with King Louis. This meant that Hellene was on equal footing with Azrian. Hellene was god-touched. A demigod. A creature of power and immortality that could walk both worlds -- Skkye and Aonre -- without succumbing to harm.

In a way, such abilities almost made Azrian and Hellene more powerful than the gods themselves. As Etienne understood it, the gods could not come to Aonre physically without bringing harm to mortals or to themselves. The atmosphere of Aonre killed them slowly the longer they remained. In other words, Aonre made them mortal. They started aging faster, they started dying, and their need to walk Aonre without suffering mortality was the reason they took foxes like Asres as Seers, or else inhabited the spirits of mortals and wore their faces.

Azrian had told Etienne how Ti'uu came to see her once, physically, in person, and he realized how desperate to see his daughter the god must have to been to have taken such a risk. Ti'uu could have become mortal had he become trapped on Aonre. He could have died. But he risked that for his child. Put in that perspective, Ti'uu seemed more a caring parent than Azrian seemed to realize, and Etienne almost didn't hate the god for putting them through hell. Almost.

Etienne was still a little hard when he wandered blindly into the garden and sat on the edge of the fountain. He took a few breaths, trying to push the arousal away. If the foxes were really going to take Howlester, the least he could do was give Brooke some last moments of pleasure. He was afraid to do anything more than lick her, though. He thought of Taiga, who was probably carrying his child, and decided there were enough royal bastards in the world for the time being. It was time to be responsible. And careful.

Etienne was thinking of Azrian when something among the tall grass caught his eye. He slowly got up, and after glancing around, pushed the grass aside to find a headstone. It wasn't ancient, like the cracked tombstones he had seen in the graveyard at Wychowl. But it had been there in the grass for some time. A single name had been carved on the tombstone, and one of the letters was nicked.

"Lily," Etienne read in a whisper.

"She's not there," said a voice.

Etienne glanced up and went still. A pup was standing under the nearby tree, peering shyly around the side at him. He was dressed in a little coat and short pants, and there were dark circles under his eyes. The boy looked ill, thin and pale. His red mane was a tousled mess falling around his ears, and his finely tailored clothes were filthy. He moved from behind the tree, and Etienne swallowed hard when he saw the dried blood on the boy's temple. . . . and the broken branch sticking jagged through his throat.

"Who's not there?" Etienne asked the child.

The boy giggled. "SSSShe's not." His eyes darted at the headstone and back to Etienne's face. "She's not there. She's with her."

Etienne frowned. "With who?"

The boy giggled again.

"Who are you _talking_to?" someone demanded.

Etienne glanced over to see Jonathan approaching. "I was talking to this . . ." He looked back at the tree, but the boy was gone. ". . .kid."

Jonathan came to a stop beside Etienne and peered at him with narrowed eyes.

Etienne scowled, went to a nearby bench, and sat heavily. "Would you stop looking at me like that?"

"Like what? Like you're mad? Because that's what's happening here." Jonathan leaned against the tree, where the boy had been a moment before, and folded his arms. He regarded Etienne sympathetically a moment. "Look, I know the last thing you want is to go back to Wychowl and face Donica, but your kingdom needs you to."

Etienne gave him a withering look. "I'm being lectured by you? Really? The jewel thief?"

"Would you just shut up and listen to me a moment?" Jonathan moaned. "No jokes. No insults. Just . . . bloody listen?"

Etienne looked in his eyes and saw he was in earnest. "Alright," he said seriously. "I'm listening."

Jonathan looked off, his arms still folded. "The duchy is in danger. Those foxes have been lurking out in the forest for weeks, and we think they could attack any day now. My father hasn't come home, Etienne. Not because he's been detained by business. Because the foxes have taken the town where he's staying."

Etienne went very still. "How do you know this?"

"I interrogated our friend while you were sleeping. The pretty little heathen you dragged here."

Etienne swallowed and peered at the wall, trying to calm the alarm burning at the back of his throat.

"They plan to take the duchy. And they've gathered enough clans across the kingdom that they could do it. They were lying in wait all this time. Somehow, they knew you would come here. Their plan was to capture you, use you as ransom to take Wychowl."

"Oh," said Etienne to the grass. "That's wonderful. So just my being here has put everyone in danger."

"That's why we're smuggling you out tonight. We're going to pretend that you're still leaving for Wychowl in the morning, but tonight after supper, you're leaving with Judith."

"What? Judith? D'you realize Judith worships the fox gods? She's one of them. She'll probably turn me over to them."

"No," Jonathan said firmly. "She won't. She's against what these foxes are doing. Says their god is not her god."

Etienne shook his head. "And you trust her? Just like that?"

"Yes!" Jonathan said impatiently and pushed himself away from the tree. "Look, I'm not the one who trusts her. Uncle Charlie trusts her . . ." He came to the bench and sat beside Etienne. The prince watched as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "After Aunt Evelyn died . . . Father says that Uncle Charlie became . . . withdrawn. He started spending all his time studying fox lore, the legends about that Teefoo god in particular."

"Ti'uu," Etienne corrected with a laugh.

"However it's said," Jonathan said with an impatient wave of his paw and scowled. "Point is, Uncle's fascination with fox lore started drawing others like him. He made friends with Judith and a few other crazies . . . look. Just know that Judith is on our side."

"And what about Uncle Charles? Smuggling him out is a part of your plan, I assume."

"Yes. He'll set out before you. He's going to head to Rorchester. The Owens have recognized the gravity of the situation and have extended him an invitation."

"Would you do me a favor?"

Jonathan's brows went up. "I'm listening."

"Send Brooke with him?"

Jonathan was silent a moment, studying Etienne with his sharp green eyes. ". . . alright," he said quietly and looked away. "Though I'm surprised you haven't asked about your precious Hadly. She's going with Uncle anyway, though."

Etienne cleared his throat. "And what about you? Going off to rescue your father, I assume."

"No. The Owens have already marched on the town where my father is and have fought to free him. They have him safe now. This has been going on for weeks, Etienne. Father sent his letter to keep Uncle Charlie from worrying, and we've all been scrambling to keep him from knowing what was really going on. Your little savage friend only confirmed that it was her foxes who did it, that it was only a matter of time before they did the same thing here." He bit his lip and scowled.

Etienne looked off across the garden and couldn't believe it. All the time he'd been in Skkye and later in Idria, Varimore had been falling apart. He had to wonder which god was behind the attacks on the villages. All the gods were scrambling to claim Wychowl. Which one was after him now?

"And you're going to Rorchester, then?" Etienne wondered.

Jonathan glanced at him, amused. "So much concern for your loathed cousin. What do you care what happens to me?"

"Dammit, Jonathan, just answer the question."

Jonathan smiled at the prince's irritation and looked away. He sighed heavily. "I don't know how to tell you this."

"Just tell me. What is it? Are you pregnant?"

"For the love of --! Be serious for one second --!"

"Alright, I'm sorry."

Jonathan sighed again. "It's Corene. I received a letter back from Wychowl today. It said she'd gone to Curith, can you believe it? It's believed the king is sheltering her from his sister, though I can't imagine why." Jonathan squeezed his fist. "When I think of the things he might do to her . . . King Louis is a drooling scoundrel. He'll seduce her, try to make her want him . . . Stop _staring_at me, Etienne!"

Etienne looked away. "Sorry. It's just . . ." He laughed. "I never imagined you and Corene . . . but I suppose you deserve each other."

"Shut up. I don't care what you say, I'm going after her. I have to."

Etienne laughed. "Good luck."

"Stop laughing at me."

"I can't help it. You're so cute when you're in love."

"I said shut up!"

Etienne kept laughing, and Jonathan elbowed him. But he kept laughing.

"It's just . . . I never thought . . . you and her." The prince sighed the laughter away and shook his head.

Jonathan gave away to a misty smile. "I didn't think so either, to be honest. I never _meant_to love her. I thought if I slept with her, it would anger you. That I could get back at you for . . ." He cleared his throat.

Etienne shook his head and smiled. "You wanted to get back at me? As if you hadn't stolen my jewels, my money, and left me desti --" His words were muffled when Jonathan suddenly kissed him, fiercely, on the mouth. And he didn't even fight it. Why wasn't he fighting it? But Jonathan could really kiss. His tongue slid against Etienne's tongue, hungry and wet, and their heads twisted as Jonathan's eager paws clutched at Etienne's clothes. His paw found the bulge in Etienne's pants and squeezed. Etienne fumbled to stop him and pulled his lips away.

"N-No . . . J-Jonathan . . ."

"You wanted me in the inn," Jonathan whispered as their foreheads touched. They sat on the bench, panting, eyes closed. Jonathan frowned. "What happened? What changed?'

"We're cousins, Jonathan," Etienne said wearily. "Bloody cousins. . . ."

"Pure breeds _marry_their cousins to stay pure --"

"I don't care," Etienne said breathlessly and held Jonathan at bay by the shoulder. "Even if I wanted this, I . . ." He looked Jonathan in the eye and said, "I could never love someone like you."

Jonathan's face hardened. "That's not true."

"You love Corene!" Etienne snapped impatiently. "So who cares!" He shot up. He was marching off when Jonathan grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back. They looked at each other, as sunlight played through the trees, as birds sang. Etienne glanced at the beautiful sky and reminded himself that it would be red with smoke and fire soon. He had to prepare for that night's journey. He tried to snatch himself free, but Jonathan hung on.

"I'm not asking you to fall in my arms," Jonathan said, and Etienne was astonished by the sudden tears in his eyes. "I'm asking you to admit that you felt something for me that night." He jerked Etienne's arm and hissed, "Admit_it. Admit you cared, even for a _moment --!" His voice was thick with tears and he was roaring. "Say you cared --!"

"Jonathan," Etienne said soothingly and cupped the other male's face. "Hush . . . calm down . . ." He hugged Jonathan to his chest and smoothed down his red mane. Jonathan held him back tightly.

"You are not unlovable," Etienne whispered to him. "Stop waiting for someone to confirm this for you . . . Your father loves you. Uncle Charles loves you. And I'm pretty sure Corene loves you too. I know her. She's stupid enough to fall for your prattle."

Jonathan laughed through his tears and sniffed. "Uncle Charlie will never be yours, you know. He'll always be my Charlie."

Etienne laughed too. "I know. Now get off me. You're getting my clothes all wet."

They pulled apart, and Jonathan smiled at Etienne. He touched his face. "I don't want you to h-hate me," he said. "I --"

Etienne kissed Jonathan without warning. Passionately. Their lips pealed apart, and as they stood with their foreheads touching, Etienne whispered, "I know." He clapped Jonathan affectionately on the cheek. "Now let's face our destinies. We've kept them waiting long enough."