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Unspoken Desire

Chapter 7

Corene sat on the couch, holding back tears as she watched Robin rocking back and forth over the piano. She had never been so proud in her life, and the tears that threatened to rise were tears of joy. There the girl sat, the light of her life, fur and mane red as fire, her quick fingers dancing over the keys as the melody drifted out and away, earnest and passionate as the girl pushing it out.

Corene understood perfectly why Robin insisted on playing such passionate pieces, and unlike Jonathan, Charles, and Richard, she was not horrified but inspired. She was not appalled but pleased. She did not scold the girl but encouraged her. Robin was playing with such fervor because she lived such a mundane life, sequestered away from the world, shielded from the eyes of Duke Richard's subjects. Robin wanted out of her cage. And her passionate playing was a passionate plea. But Jonathan, Charles, and Richard thought her playing was about sex and her unspoken desire for it. Males thought everything was about sex.

Jonathan had been away for quite some time. Corene knew he was probably relaxing on the veranda with Charles. He loved to spend every spare moment he could with the duke and his servant Ben, but Corene frowned, suddenly irritable that he wasn't there. Their daughter was growing up, and he was missing it because he would rather be off pouring whiskey in his tea. But she dropped her eyes and twisted her kerchief unhappily as she reminded herself: Robin wasn't Jonathan's daughter.

No, she is, Corene thought and rose from her seat, suddenly determined. And he should be here watching his daughter play!

Robin glanced at Corene, silently questioning, but her fingers didn't stop playing for a moment. Her big curly mane had been tamed into a long thick tail, and a string of pearls hung around her forehead, one teardrop pearl at the center. More pearls were in her ears and on her fingers. Pearls were, quite obviously, her favorite. She was wrapped in a pink gown, the skirts of which flowed straight and smooth over her little gold slippers, for she wore no petticoat. The sleeves were short and puffed, as it was summer, and her immaculate nails had been dyed red behind Jonathan's back.

"I'm just going to find your father, darling," Corene said and smiled. "Mummy will be right back."

Robin turned her solemn, silver eyes back to the keys and continued playing. She wasn't a child who smiled or laughed, even during her younger years when she had begged Corene to play with her. She barely even spoke. And it would have been unnerving if she was anyone else's child. But she was Corene's child. So Corene loved her without question.

Corene slipped from the parlor and into the hall. Her long white mane was piled atop her head in a messy bun - for that was the fashion - and tendrils of hair hung near her cheek, as did the strings of pearls that dangled from her ears. More pearls were roped around her neck and lying quietly on the rise of her white breasts. She was wearing a light gray dress and had been wearing the color in excess since her arrival at Howlester. There seemed to be an unspoken desire - nay, an expectation-- that she should never, ever wear blue again, as it was the color of many of the late Duchess Evelyn's dresses, and Corene looked too much like Evelyn when she wore it.

Corene still hadn't forgotten the catastrophe at the ball twenty years before, and neither had all of Howlester Duchy. She felt the shame each time she remembered how she'd pranced about in the duke's dead sister's things. And Charles had slapped her so viciously. And she'd stormed from the ballroom in her knickers. And even after two decades, all the duchy still whispered about it whenever she dared to leave the manor. After all, Duke Richard wasn't the only one who didn't want Corene to marry Jonathan. The nobles and peasants alike shook their heads and sneered whenever she dared to appear at court. She avoided the throne room as much as possible when court was in session, because the whispers and sneers always seemed to follow her long after she had run away to her bedroom.

After Robin was born, it was many years before Corene would even leave her room, so she counted actually attending court as a personal achievement. At the back of her mind, she was always convinced King Louis had soldiers somewhere, lurking, waiting to steal her and Robin. She would be carted all the way back to Curith and hanged for the murder of Princess Alexandria. And Robin . . . she didn't want to imagine what he had in store for her. If word had reached him that Robin was a terrier and, therefore, not his child, Corene could only imagine what King Louis, a child of Ayni, would do to a child of Yfel.

No one knew about it, but there were many times during Robin's childhood when the girl was almost stolen, but by Ayni or Yfel, Corene could not say. Corene was so afraid of Robin being taken from her, she made the girl sleep between her and Jonathan until she was twelve years old. In the earliest years, Jonathan didn't complain. But the longer he went without nightly sex, the more he strayed, the more Corene suffered. Didn't he understand? Their child was in danger! But, of course, he didn't understand. Because she had never told him who Robin's "father" really was. Jonathan knew about Candy Cane, but he did not know Yfel had possessed her to create Robin. He didn't understand the real danger. He didn't understand why Corene awoke screaming in the night and chalked it up to her being mad.

And while Yfel had stopped appearing to Corene as the spirit of Candy Cane, Corene knew the goddess of madness was still lurking, watching, waiting, trying to steal Robin away. Robin would sleepwalk when she was a child and still did on occasion even now. Corene would awake in the middle of the night to find Robin gone from the bed. She would fly to the window and scream softly to see her child out on the lawn, standing and staring, sleeping with her eyes open. Corene would go out in bare feet, crying and sniffling and peering left and right for fear someone or something would leap out of the shadows. But nothing ever came. Only the distant cackling of the goddess of madness. And horrified, Corene would gently guide her daughter back to bed.

But the gods were persistent. Each time Robin walked from her bed, she managed to get further and further, sometimes all the way down to the village, and she seemed drawn always in the direction of Crinnington. It grew worse as Robin grew older, to the point that Corene started strapping the girl down as she was sleeping. Brooke caught Corene in the act and told Charles. Richard called her a nutter, Jonathan yelled at her, and she never strapped Robin down again. But it seemed the gods were furious regardless. One night, as if in retaliation, Robin grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and still sleepwalking, she tried to stab Corene with it. Corene barely managed to wrestle the knife from the girl's grasp. It fell to the floor, and Corene sagged to her knees and wept. And wept. And wept. Robin stood over her, and suddenly coming awake, she frowned and whispered sadly, "What's the matter, Mum? Why are you crying?" And in that moment, Corene couldn't take it anymore. She wrote a suicide note, and she took Robin out to Crinnington, and she was prepared to throw herself and the child off a cliff. But she blacked out. And when she woke up, she was back at Howlester and Jonathan was sitting, strained and miserable, beside her bed. When later questioned, Robin didn't even seem to remember it happening, and Jonathan swore Corene had been alone.

Corene knew that because of Yfel and King Louis, she had no where to run and no where to hide. To leave Varimore was to leave Etienne's protection. She was trapped at Howlester Manor, she was trapped in Varimore, she was trapped with Jonathan. She and Robin both. They were little birds in gilded cages. And that was why Robin played so passionately. And that was why Corene wept when she played.

Corene was sweeping down the hall, determined to find Jonathan, when she saw Charles coming her way. She swallowed hard and slowed down, trying to appear calm and nonchalant as the duke drew even nearer. She was surprised when Charles gently took her by the arm and insisted with a nod that she come with him. She and Charles almost never spoke. Charles was always as polite and kind as Richard was rude and aloof, but he and Corene made a point of keeping as far from each other as possible. What had happened at the ball twenty years ago still dangled between them. What had happened in the tower when Corene was six still dangled between them.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, your grace?" Corene asked politely as she and Charles entered the manor's library. She glanced around. Twenty years before, the room had been bloody and in disarray. Now it was immaculate, sunlight pouring through the bay windows, bookshelves lining the walls. Corene didn't know it, but one of the bookshelves was actually a hidden door to a secret passage leading from the castle. She stood in the middle of the room and folded her paws over her gown, watching as Charles settled behind the desk.

"I thought I should keep you up to speed," Charles said. He opened a drawer and searched for parchment as his other paw drew an inkwell close.

Corene lifted her brows. "Up to speed?"

Charles smiled as he continued rifling through the drawer. "Please - sit."

Corene didn't want to. She wanted to find Jonathan, and she had the terrible feeling Charles was purposely preventing her from doing so: that meant Jonathan was up to something. But she sat without arguing on a sofa near a potted plant, smoothing her skirts along her backside and folding her paws in her lap. Her back was straight as an arrow. Just as Donica had taught her. She wondered how many of Donica's rigid lessons she continued to obey without thinking or blinking.

"I received a letter from Etienne today," Charles said, sniffing as he plucked a quill from its holder.

Corene tried not to show interest. Duke Richard often accused her of still being in love with Etienne and tried to convince Jonathan of his suspicions on a daily basis, though his efforts were unnecessary. Jonathan already believed Corene was still in love with the high king. And Corene could not answer honestly that she was not.

"Oh?" Corene said carelessly and smoothed her skirts.

Charles smiled wisely as he dipped his quill and began to write, and Corene's eyes flickered with irritation: he always saw right through her. It didn't used to be so. It used to be that Charles was the one beast she could wind around her finger with a pretty smile. But after everything that had happened, Charles was more than wise to the many colors of her various masks. There would be no hiding from him ever again. He had seen what she was - what she truly was - at the ball twenty years before.

"Yes," Charles said, not looking up from his writing. The quill had a long gray feather, and it wagged near his spectacles as his paw moved along the parchment. "He's throwing a ball. He is in desperate need of our assistance in a matter concerning Zeinara --"

"And you've brought me here to lecture me," Corene said stiffly and lifted her chin, "on how to behave at the ball!"

Charles frowned but didn't look up. "No, my girl, that isn't --"

Corene shot to her feet. "I promise I will not embarrass his grace. I shall keep every scrap on my body!" She was tired of being treated like some mad and feeble-minded child! She had almost stormed out, but she paused and couldn't understand the quivering smile on the duke's lips.

Charles regarded Corene in amusement over his spectacles. "Actually, I was going to ask that you make certain your knickers are clean," he said, "as we may require that you show them to the guests."

Corene stared at him, her big green eyes blinking. She slowly sank on the sofa again, an uncertain paw resting on her breasts. "Your grace? What is it? Is Zeinara unwell?"

"She is well," Charles assured her heavily, "for the time being. Etienne has invited us as a distraction. He hasn't stated it, of course, but he fully expects us to act like fools." He shook his head as he continued writing. "He certainly knows us well."

Corene slowly smiled, feeling a little proud of Etienne, who had always been so unwilling to scheme. Now it seemed he had little choice. "He would rather wear the egg than his daughter," she said, nodding approval. "How clever of him." She looked at Charles and shook her head sadly. "And Etienne is so seldom clever."

Charles laughed dryly.

Corene remembered her days at court, the way she had twisted and manipulated the nobles around Etienne effortlessly, removing an admiring princess here, pushing a noble toward him there. She dropped her eyes, thinking of those days with a tight throat. She had been a master of the game when living in the castle. Each ball at Wychowl had danced to her tune. Each noble and courtier was a puppet pulled by her strings. It was Donica who taught her to weave the masterful weave. It was Donica who taught her to be clever and unkind. And now Etienne was calling upon her "skills" to keep his daughter from disgrace. Etienne hadn't even _spoken_to her in so long. He never wrote her. Or Jonathan for that matter. Only Charles. And, on the rare occasion, Richard.

"Perhaps I shouldn't go," Corene said wearily. The thought of seeing Etienne again was suddenly unbearable. She hated the idea that he was alone because it made her want him more. But had he remarried, she would have despaired to see him happy with another, knowing she was the one who should have married him, she was the one who should have been his queen. She was secretly relieved he had remained alone. And to go to the ball would mean having to struggle to hide her feelings. And she couldn't hide.

Charles glanced up and paused. "Why on earth shouldn't you?"

Corene looked at him wretchedly. "Jonathan isn't going to want me there. And I don't want to row with him."

Charles snorted and went back to writing. "Bother Jonathan. Etienne has invited you. Specifically by name."

That didn't make Corene happy, though she could tell it was supposed to. She laughed sadly. "Should I be glad that he invited me knowing I would act like a fruitcake?"

Charles laughed as well. "Don't take it personal, my dear." He dipped the quill again, his spectacles slipping down his nose. "Etienne wants all of us there. He expects all of us to act like drunken, bickering fools and make Zeinara look like a saint. And so long as we just be ourselves, it should work brilliantly."

Corene smiled. That was meant to be comforting. And it was. "But what's the matter with Zeinara?" she wondered anxiously. Corene didn't care for the girl either way, but Zeinara had played with Robin as a child, so Robin cared about Zeinara, so Corene made an effort to care about Zeinara. She could hear Robin's playing growing sadder, softer, and thought sadly, Mummy's here, little one. Mummy understands.

"Apparently, she likes females," Charles said heavily. "Someone has found out, and there's a plot to reveal it to the entire ball. I think Etienne suspects King Louis, but we should tread carefully. With so many nobles outraged over the Hunt, anyone could be . . ." Charles trailed to silence when Brooke burst into the room. He frowned to see she was in tears. He set down his quill. "Brooke, my dear! What's the matter!"

Brooke opened her mouth, but seeing that Corene was there, she shook her head vehemently and just stood there, shoulders shaking and silently crying. Charles rose from the desk to comfort her, and taking it as her chance to get away, Corene slipped quickly into the hall.

Now she was more determined than ever to find Jonathan. If Charles had braved having to talk to her just to keep her from him, something was really wrong!

Robin's playing grew louder and angrier as Corene ran full tilt up the stairs, tendrils flying from her messy bun, her jewelry whipping back. She brushed many flustered servants aside with her wide skirts and burst into the room with the great veranda. She halted breathlessly and immediately went red in the face.

Jonathan had the new young butler bent over a table. Davin's trousers were around his ankles, as were Jonathan's, and Jonathan's large pink erection was feeding hard and fast between his tight backside. Jonathan was holding David by the back of his coat as he slammed his hips forward and back, pounding the boy, his body rocking, his mouth open and curled slightly in a smile. Davin was bent under him, frowning with pleasure, his hard penis smashed beneath him on the table. His helpless grunts filled the room but were no where near as loud as Robin's playing. As the music rose to a trembling crescendo, Jonathan pressed his hips hard to Davin's firm backside and grunted. A tear filled Corene's eye as she watched Jonathan's phallus flinching between the male's buttocks to release his seed.

"A-ah! Shit, Davin, you're tight."

"Mmph . . . oh, Master . . . oh, Master, let me suck your dick again," Davin panted.

Jonathan's eyes glinted with serious satisfaction as he pulled himself free of the younger male with a soft suck. He slapped Davin lightly on the ass and told him to get out. They were buttoning their pants when they finally noticed Corene standing in the door, watching them with her ears pricked forward.

"Oh!" Davin cried, fumbling to shut his pants. "Oh - my lady --!"

"Get OUT!" Corene screamed.

Davin obeyed with popping eyes, scrambling out of the room like his tail was on fire.

Downstairs, Robin's fingers slid across the keys in a violent rip, and her playing halted. Corene and Jonathan stood staring at each other in the sudden silence.

". . . I should smack you off that balcony," Corene whispered at last.

Jonathan laughed dryly and buttoned his pants. "As long as you go down with me, love." He staggered into the room and sank in a chair before the hearth.

Corene's breasts heaved: he was drunk. She marched to his side and stood over him. "Have you no shame? I'd think you'd had no heart if I hadn't just witnessed you using it to pump_your _filthy seed in that boy's ass!"

Jonathan laughed again. "Gotta pump it somewhere . . ." His eyes traced over her dress, and she knew he was thinking of the soft, supple curves he hadn't seen or touched in so long. She hadn't touched him in almost a year. She swallowed hard and turned away, but he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap. She sat so hard, her breasts bounced heavily, and his eyes lingered on her jiggling cleavage as it rose soft from the deep neckline of her dress. She struggled against him, even as he hugged her tight and buried sloppy kisses in her neck. She finally managed to slap him and he stopped. She waited for his reaction - perhaps he would throw her from his lap - but he just stared at her listlessly. She tried to rise, but his fingers tightened, and without warning, he kissed her apologetically on the lips. Warmly, earnestly, tenderly, his lips touched hers. She dropped her forehead against his, silently hating him. Silently loving him.

"Where you been?" he whispered, he slurred.

She knew what he meant. He wasn't asking where she had been that morning. He was asking where her mind had been the last twenty years. He was asking why she refused to make love to him. He was asking why she cried every night. He was asking why she wouldn't let him in.

She was afraid to let him in. Because somehow, she thought sharing the burden, the dismal truth would endanger him as well. He couldn't know about Yfel. She didn't want him tied up in it. She closed her eyes and prayed that Yfel would leave Jonathan alone. "Let me have this one thing," she whispered and touched his mane.

Jonathan frowned. "Who are you talking to, love?" he demanded wearily.

Corene shook her head, her lashes fluttering out tears. "No one," she whispered. Her forehead was still touching his and their lips were very close. "Charles told me about Etienne . . ."

Jonathan scowled. "Lemme guess . . . you wanna go to the ball." He sat back and glared at the hearth, shaking his head bitterly. "I knew you'd be drooling to go. Miss your lovely Etienne, do you?"

Corene glowered at him and couldn't believe it. "All these years," she said impatiently, "and you _still_think --!"

"Maybe if you didn't get all doe-eyed when you mentioned him," Jonathan said darkly. "Maybe if you didn't mention him."

"Don't be absurd."

"You never look like that when you're talking about me."

"Stop it. You're being ridiculous and I won't hear anymore of it!" Corene yelled and Jonathan fell silent.

After a long pause, Jonathan cleared his throat and whispered sheepishly, "Love . . ."

"It's one thing to punish me, but don't you care about Robin's feelings?" Corene snapped. "She knows about you and Davin. And it hurts her! No more, Jonathan! I don't want to hear any of your excuses."

"I could have said the same thing to you," Jonathan muttered, "when she was born."

Corene's throat tightened and tears started to her eyes. "How can you say that!" she sobbed and tried to get up.

Jonathan held on, his fangs bare in a growl. "For all I know, Candy Cane is a lie! Some lie_you made up to cover the fact that you're just a spoilt _whore --!"

"Stop!" Corene sobbed. "Let me go!" Her face contorted with tears.

Jonathan grabbed her shoulders and made her look at him. "Who is Robin's father?" he hissed. "Some other poor sod ya fucked over a table?" He shook her. "Hmm?"

"Stop it!"

"Hmm?"

"She's your daughter!" Corene screamed, her cheeks welling up in eyes glittering with tears. "Now let go of me!" She threw Jonathan off and staggered up from his lap, her breasts jiggling.

Jonathan lurched from his chair, glaring at her. "She's not! She's not mine! And neither are you, right, love? Where are you going! I'm not finished!"

Corene tried to run, but Jonathan lunged after her. She screamed when he grabbed her by the skirts and dragged her back.

"Stop it!" she yelled, twisting, struggling to pull the skirt from his grasp. "You'll rip it! Jonathan --"

"Good!" he growled, holding on. "Maybe I'll finally get some pussy!"

"Jonathan, stop! You'll tear it - you'll tear --!"

"Maybe I'll finally get a child from you!" he roared, yanking at her skirts until they fell away in rags. She staggered away and tripped, flopping into a chair. She tried to get up, but he grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her back down. Her breasts jiggled hard, and she sat stiffly, her skirts in tatters, her small paws clenching the armrests. Her knickers were bare to him. His glazed eyes were fixed on the cleft of her sex, which pressed through her white underwear.

"J-Jonathan," Corene stammered as he sank to his knees before her.

He spread her knees, his eyes fixed on her bulging sex. "Corene," he whispered hungrily. His nostrils flared, and she knew he was breathing her scent.

"Jonathan . . ." she protested. "D-Don't . . . someone will come . . . a-ah . . ." She stammered herself silent when his mouth found her clit and sucked it through her knickers. He hadn't done this to her in so long, she awakened at once, hungry and pulsing from every gentle lick and suck. When her underwear was drenched and the lips of her sex swollen, he pulled back, and she screamed softly when his teeth ripped through her panties.

"J-Jonathan --!"

"I'll buy you another pair!" he growled, spitting cloth. He chewed and tore as she sat there, nervously clenching her sex against the heat of his breath. Then his face plunged.

Corene watched with fluttering lashes as his red head moved between her thighs, as his hot lips and tongue pleasured her so wet and so good, she slouched in the chair and sighed. Oh . . . oh she had missed that. He reached up as he was eating her and groped her breasts so hard. She trembled and melted, sliding down so low in the chair, her mass of white curls rose around her face. She was smiling when her head tipped back against the chair, but as her dazed and delighted eyes drifted to the doorway, the smile fell to see Robin standing there.

Jonathan's head continued moving between Corene's thighs, and he moaned as he ate her, completely unaware that their daughter was watching. Corene placed her paw on Jonathan's head to stop him, her frightened eyes large and horrified. But his tongue touched in a way that made her tremble. She bit her lip and frowned, wanting to stop him but unable. She looked at Robin and thought wretchedly, Look away, darling!

Robin slowly turned and walked away.