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Princess Sophie's Lovers

Chapter 46

Princess Sophie sat on the edge of the desk, completely naked, her legs in the air, her breasts flapping, as Prince Graham held her ankles aloft and pounded her to a wet climax. Hew was incredibly large - in fact, he had the largest equipment out of all of King Louis' brothers. Princess Sophie would have known, as she'd been banging the king's brothers for the last twenty years.

It started off very innocent. As King Louis fell ill and spiraled deeper into madness, Sophie alone cared enough to sit at his side constant watch, helping the nurse and the royal physician to clean and care for the old king. Louis had always been like a father to Sophie, a teasing and charming father, who had been very close to her family when she was growing up. The entire reason Louis chose Sophie to marry Adrian was because he already viewed her as his daughter. Louis often told Sophie that he found her refreshing. Unlike his feisty daughters, sister, and wife, Sophie was proper, dignified, and ladylike. He enjoyed that she was so prim and insisted that his family needed stability added to their genes, not more war and fire. Sophie was as much the king's daughter as Alexandria or Hellene, for she practically lived in the castle long before her marriage to Adrian, visiting Wandourg on holiday as a welcome guest, right along with her six competing sisters and her big-breasted mother, who Sophie secretly believed might have been sleeping with King Louis on occasion.

Sophie and her sisters would vie for the king's affections, knowing that whoever secured a place in his heart would also a secure a place as Adrian's wife and the future queen of Curith. As a result, that also meant Sophie and her sisters would fight to draw Adrian's attention at every garden party and ball. Somehow or other, Adrian always paid attention to Sophie, and though Sophie's sisters hated her for it, she knew the prince only paid her any mind because his mother had commanded him to.

Sophie couldn't decide what made her more depressed: knowing that King Louis was a better father to her than her actual father or knowing that Prince Adrian wanted nothing to do with her. She cried on their wedding night. It hurt when he took her, though he was gentle enough, and after he broke her hymen, he went out for a smoke and left her in tears. Later, he seemed to realize his insensitivity and came to her with flowers. But even then, he didn't really seem to care.

While Sophie was pregnant with Florian - and long afterwards - she found a rift growing between herself and her husband. It seemed Adrian wanted nothing to do with her after she had gained weight. Or perhaps she was imagining it, for he remained as indifferently distant and polite as ever. Had anything really changed or was she just insecure? Regardless, Adrian did nothing to alleviate Sophie's fears and didn't even seem to notice them. She had the feeling that marriage baffled him. He didn't know how to act. He didn't know how to nurture any affection for her. He just went through the motions of walking with her in the garden, listening to her talk, sending her flowers and candies, and he did it without feeling anything at all.

In the beginning, Sophie didn't mind. She had Florian, her little bundle of joy. When Florian was a pup, they were inseparable. And even though Adrian ignored the pair of them, they found joy in each other. Then Florian, too, grew distant. He went through his growing pains, began to keep her at arm's length, and she found herself alone. Again.

King Louis had always been a comfort in those times, but after the death of Queen Yvonne, the king had fallen ill. He sat in his bedchamber day in and day out, never speaking to anyone except Sophie. Adrian refused to see his father and seemed more concerned with his campaign to take Varimore. Likewise, Florian was too concerned with drinking and partying to bother to even ask after his dying grandfather.

Thus, it fell to Sophie alone to care for the king as his health fell into steady decline, but the king's seven brothers often came to see him. Prince Wilford some days, Prince Alex other days. Sophie's affair with the brothers began when young Prince Oliver - the youngest of the king's brothers - happened upon Sophie crying. King Louis had just dozed off after a rather horrible weeping spell, and Sophie felt so badly for him that she ran out into the hall, unable to take it anymore. Blinded by tears, she slammed right into the strong arms of Prince Oliver, who - at the time - was the same age as her teenage son.

Oliver was nineteen years old, handsome and fit, with muscles that bulged behind his coat and a thick neck to boot. He was also the tallest of his brothers, ironically enough, with a long silky red mane and slanted, brilliant blue eyes. His mane was red as fire and seemed to blaze in the afternoon sunlight that fell through the windows. He looked at Sophie with genuine concern and asked if she was alright.

Sophie remembered scrambling from his arms, embarrassed by her own snot and tears. She had been with King Louis since the day before and was thus sweaty and unwashed and still clad in an evening gown, which meant the neck was low and her heaving white bosom was bare to the prince's probing eyes. She backed away from him and avoided his eye as she patted her wild mane down and wished for a kerchief. She felt like a fool for not having one. This wasn't proper for a lady. This wasn't dignified at all!

Prince Oliver was still frowning with concern when he pulled out his own kerchief and gave it to Sophie. "Here you are, my lady. Take mine."

"Th-Thank you," Sophie sobbed. She hesitated but took the kerchief and dabbed her face. "Oh!" she cried and turned slightly away. "I'm a mess. I apologize, your highness."

Though Sophie was royalty as well, it was proper to address Prince Oliver with titles. Olivier had been named heir in the event that King Louis, Adrian, and Florian should all suffer untimely deaths. Which meant he was a high prince and thus, of a higher rank than Sophie, who had married into the line. If they were in public, she would have been expected to curtsy to him on greeting. Oliver had been chosen as a "back up" heir because he was the only brother out of the king's seven brothers who wasn't publicly withdrawn from heirdom. The other brothers had no desire to inherit the throne and its responsibilities, and it seemed to Sophie that none of them believed themselves worthy to take Louis' place. Except for Oliver.

"You aren't a mess, dear lady," Prince Oliver assured Sophie. "In fact . . ." He hesitated and smiled. "You are quite lovely this afternoon."

Sophie had to look at Oliver twice to register his words. She saw the warmth in his eyes and her heart skipped a beat. She suddenly felt like a girl receiving flattery and kisses at her first ball. She blinked and looked away. This was sinful. This was wrong.

"Is my brother that ill today?" the prince asked with a sad frown.

Sophie sniffed and nodded. "Yes," she said to the kerchief in her paws. She folded it over and dabbed her eyes. Her eyeliner was running. "He cried himself to sleep. It was awful."

"Ah," Oliver said unhappily. "My brother is sleeping then. . . ." He smiled sympathetically at Sophie and offered his arm. "Come. Some fresh air will do you wonders, my lady."

Sophie started to protest. She was smelly and unwashed and it was scandalous that she was wearing a dress that showed cleavage before supper! But Prince Oliver was so young and handsome, looking down at her with a patient smile. Her eyes traced absently over his strong jaw and pretty, slanted eyes, and without thinking, she smiled and slipped her arm in his.

They took a stroll through the castle gardens, and Oliver talked calmly of many things. He loved art and music, she did as well, and she felt an immediate bond with him. For the first time since she had married Adrian, Sophie didn't feel alone. She told Oliver as much without meaning to, and horrified with what she had said, apologized and begged his forgiveness. Oliver laughed and told her it was not a crime to be unhappy in ones marriage.

"If it were," said the prince with a laugh, "I suspect the kingdom would be rather empty."

Sophie laughed, suddenly very delighted by his company. "How is it his highness has never suffered as I have suffered? Surely there is some young bitch only too eager to sink her claws in you."

Oliver laughed. They rounded a hedge wall and entered the seclusion of a shady path. The path was a dead-end, and at the end of it stood a stone bench, swept with flower petals. The bench was walled by a flowered hedge, and the pink and orange petals in the sunlight were vibrant. It made Sophie feel alive. _ _

"I think I rather prefer the older bitches," Prince Oliver said, looking at Sophie with soft eyes as he took her paw and helped her sit.

Sophie, who was at least fifteen years his senior, colored up at his words. "Is that so?"

"It is so," he said softly and offered a flower.

Sophie's heart fluttered. He made her feel like a baffled, embarrassed little girl. Butterflies were in her stomach. She took the flower and twirled it in her slender fingers. It was pink and looked like the soft folds of a vagina. She knew Oliver was thinking the same thing. He looked at her with the same tender light in his eye and touched her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"My p-prince . . ." Sophie stammered breathlessly. She tilted her head to accept his touch and her breasts heaved. His paws went to the shoulders of her gown and pealed them down, revealing the edge of the corset that cradled her swollen cleavage. He started unlacing the front of the corset, and as it came loose, her heart pounded.

"P-Prince Oliver . . . we sh-shouldn't . . ." Sophie babbled when her breasts were pouring free. He squeezed them and massaged them, fascinated by their softness and size. Then he looked at her with intense blue eyes.

"You wouldn't deny your prince such pleasure, would you, my lady? Now that would be a crime." Her touched her messy bun, and her red mane tumbled loose, falling in heavy curls around her naked shoulders. She didn't protest when he kissed her neck, slowly, tenderly, his paws groping her breasts in fistfuls. And then he was pushing her skirts up, and she was straddling his lap, and her mane was in her eyes and her mouth was panting, screaming softly as she rode him with wild abandon on the bench, slamming herself on his hungry erection until the moisture had soiled their clothing. He gasped and grunted as she made frenzied love to him, and she had forgotten what it was like to be with a young male. When he had come, he was up and standing quickly again. And again. And such pleasures she had never known in her life.

When Prince Oliver later departed, Sophie realized that she had never made love until she knew his arms. With Adrian, she had always just lain there, stiff and miserable, unmoving as he moved on top of her. And then he would come, climb off her, and quietly leave . . . . and she would cry herself to sleep. But with Prince Oliver it was passion, fire, wildness. His paws had been everywhere, his mouth on her breasts had been so gentle yet so hungry. She felt her clitoris awaken as if it had been asleep for nineteen years. And she wanted more. And more.

Prince Oliver's visits to the castle became frequent, and though he sincerely cared for the wellbeing of his brother King Louis, he mostly came to make love to Sophie in some secret corner of the castle. He always brought her rings or trinkets, candies or flowers. He left her steamy poetry on her nightstand. Sometimes he surprised her as she lay in bed asleep, arriving at Wandourg in the middle of the night and stealing away to her room to make desperate love to her.

Sophie wasn't in love with the king's baby brother, nor he with her. They were in wild, wet lust. She would lay awake as he slept peacefully beside her, smoking a cigarette and staring out the window as it finally hit her: she was free. No longer did she have to play the precious, proper lady in order to please the Carringtons, in order to make King Louis choose her for Adrian's bride. She had the power now to be whoever she wanted. To be herself.

Thus it began. After a few years, young Prince Oliver married, and then his visits to Wandourg became less frequent. The king's other brothers still came to visit him, however, and it was an easy thing, luring Prince Howard into the courtyard for a moonlight dip in the fountain; letting her breasts fall out in front of Prince Avery. All of them wanted her and none of them denied her. Before long, she had the brothers coming to her on a precise schedule. Prince Howard - who she lovingly called Howie - would ride over on Fridays. Prince Avery visited her twice a month on Wednesdays, making the two day journey to her arms all the way from his province near Dulcin. Older Prince Wilford would bring his pet Cen and they would make a threesome of it, the males lifting Sophie between them and taking turns thrusting inside her hot crevices.

Prince Graham, the one closest to the king's age, was the king's favorite brother, and wound up being Sophie's favorite lover. He was very handsome and very good with every god-given appendage on his person. He could do things with his tongue that would leave Sophie screaming wildly if she wasn't careful to bite something. His strong arms and legs had an expert way of enfolding her. He was also the most spontaneous and wild of the brothers, bursting in on her in the study to bend her over the desk in broad daylight. He would cuddle her afterwards, kiss her and hold her, and she thought she was falling in love with him. And he with her. Graham wasn't married. He was actually a widower, and Sophie knew that if anything ever happened to Adrian, she would be more than happy to run away with her Graham. Some days . . . she _hoped_something would happen to Adrian. And she felt terrible for it.

After all, Adrian had never been unkind to Sophie. Just indifferent. So that evening, as Prince Graham banged her on the desk, Sophie begged through a panting mouth that he should take his leave. The last thing they needed was for Adrian to stumble upon them and discover the truth. Adrian was due home that very evening and had written ahead to tell her.

"Please," Sophie whispered and kissed Graham's cheek as she bounced, tousled and undone, in his arms. "You have to go, darling. Adrian is coming home! We mustn't hurt him!" Her great breasts slapping his open shirt, brushing his bare chest, as he humped against her in wild desperation. He was panting and grunting, his brilliant red mane in his face. He looked at her with soft eyes and kissed her hungrily. "I don't care," he whispered against her lips. "Let him discover us - oh god. It's worth it - umpfh!" He hunched his back and stabbed himself deeper and she gasped.

"G-Graham, darling," Sophie begged. "Please - he's your neph --!"

Prince Graham smothered her words with a kiss, tongue and all. "Mm, hush, Sophie. Let a real son of fire make love to you!" He thrust faster, deeper, and her head fell back, her mouth fell open. She couldn't breathe. He was getting so deep inside, he was so thick, the moisture was staining the desk. They were both still clothed and his pants were around his ankles, her skirt was up and her breasts hanging out of her unlaced corset. He had pulled the top her gown down. He kissed her naked her shoulder, then her neck, cupping the back of her head and holding her closer, holding her tight, as he hunched his back and came inside her. Her nails dug in the back of his coat and her sex tightened as the blast filled her.

"A-Ahh! Graham! Graham, n-no! What if I should have your child!"

"Maybe I want you to have my child!" he growled. "You deserve a real male, not that foolish nephew of mine! Mm . . ." The prince pulled out with a soft suck, his penis dripping white semen. He dropped his forehead against hers and smiled at her.

Sophie couldn't help but smile back. She leaned back on her paws, her red mane in her eyes, her big breasts heaving as they jutted from the top of her corset. She felt Graham licking her nipples and shoved him away by the face. "Get out of here, you fool!" she cried, clutching her breasts in fistfuls, as if to shield them from his tongue. She pushed her mane back from her face, and her lashes fluttered to see the soft affection in his eyes.

"Would that you were my wife and not Adrian's," he said. But he blinked and turned away, buttoning up his pants. "I'll leave out the back gate. Tell Brother Dear that I had to run home. Emergency."

Sophie nodded, fumbling to tuck her breasts away in her corset. But she realized she had to change gowns, or else Adrian would see the stains. She shimmied the gown down her legs and let it fall on the floor, on top of her discarded petticoat and panties. Graham sniffed her panties and shoved them in his pocket like a souvenir.

"Graham!" Sophie laughed.

"My lady, your husband approaches!" called Sophie's Akbash through the door.

Sophie's eyes widened in silent panic. Graham kissed her cheek, caressed it with the back of his fingers, and pressed his forehead to hers. They smiled at each other.

"See you again soon, love," Graham whispered and slipped out of the room.

Sophie didn't have a chance to change into a new gown. Her Akbash slave was quick enough to get rid of the old, soiled gown, but she was still in nothing but her corset when Adrian came into her bedchamber. He halted to see her half-naked and just regarded her in amazement. Sophie thought her husband was as handsome as ever, clad in a dark gray coat and tight black pants that seemed to bring out the color in his bright green eyes. His white cravat pushed like rising bread from the coat, and his fingers winked in the dimly lit room with rings. He stared at Sophie in open-mouthed wonder, and she could see a bulge happening in his pants. It had been many years, after all, since the last time he had seen her pink sex.

Sophie was a red Andalusian hound like her husband, but her inner thighs were bright white, and thus, it was very easy to see her sex. Her breasts were also white, and a blush crept over them and up her white cheeks as she fumbled to cover her naked vagina with a pillow.

Adrian was still staring in voiceless shock at Sophie and now appeared decidedly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, moved into the room, and placed two long, flat boxes on the desk. Sophie knew what they probably contained: new silks or furs or probably both. Since before they were married, Adrian had been laboring under some delusion that loving ones wife meant showering her with gifts on occasion and ignoring her otherwise. They were nearing sixty years old, and Adrian still hadn't a clue what to do with her. As if she were some baffling creature from another world, instead of the female he'd been living with for nearly forty years.

Sophie turned away, painfully aware that her naked backside was bare to her husband's probing eyes as she went to her vanity and gracefully sat down with a smooth sweep of her tail. She looked in the mirror and hated the age lines under her eyes. Her beauty was fading, but she was still beautiful. She'd had only the one child, was deliciously curvaceous as a result, and had for the most part kept her figure. She prided herself on having kept her figure. "What have you brought me, darling husband?" she asked, sounding more unenthusiastic than she meant to. "You'll probably want to stay over there. It was hot today and I perspired. I was only about to have Aska run my bath."

Sophie's Akbash slave, Aska, was outside in the hall, where Adrian had told her to wait. That made her nervous. Adrian only sent Aska away when he meant to stay with her and talk. And she did not want to talk to Adrian. She wanted him to just . . . go away. But perhaps he had news of Florian. She had spent her every day waiting for Florian to come home.

"Now why would I be repulsed by something so natural as a lady's sweat?" Adrian said with a slight malice in his voice that frightened Sophie. "Especially when I have perspired with my wife to create our wonderful son."

Sophie swallowed nervously. She could see Adrian approaching her through the mirror and she went very still when he was behind her. He smelled as ever like expensive cologne and cigars. She had lifted a compact from the vanity, but he caught her wrist and simply stared at her in the mirror, as if he couldn't believe it.

"Your mane's a mess_and you're practically _naked," he said into the silence. His nostrils flared. "And you smell like another male."

Sophie bit her lip. "Adrian, d-darling . . ."

"Don't you _darling_me!" he said with a laugh. He looked at her in amazement again, but he was smiling.

Sophie didn't know what to think. She had expected him to yell, perhaps scream that he was divorcing her. But he was smiling. She sat very still, waiting for him to release her wrist. When he did, she slowly set the compact back on the vanity and sat with her paws in her lap, looking at him apprehensively through the mirror. She didn't know what to think when he took up her silver brush and started brushing her long red mane.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked her quietly. He seemed genuinely curious.

Sophie cast her eyes down. "Twenty years."

Adrian paused with the brush, then shook his head and went on brushing her mane. He used to brush her mane when they were younger, not out of affection but out of a mere fascination with her soft beauty. It had always felt really good, his long deep strokes. And it felt the same this night. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the pleasure. He brushed her mane a last time, then touched her cheek with the back of his fingers and met eyes with her through the mirror.

"Who?"

"A different male," said Sophie with burning shame, "every time."

Adrian laughed, shortly and loudly, in amusement and disbelief. "Twenty years under my very nose. Tell me what you did to the last one," he said in a low, husky voice, and started unlacing the front her corset.

As the fabric loosened and her great breasts started to shift free, Sophie's heart fluttered and she didn't know what to say. Why on earth did he want to know? And why wasn't he angry! She cast her eyes down as his expert fingers freed her breasts of the fabric. His gentle fingers grazed her nipple until it was hard. He carefully pinched it, and she bit her lip.

"First, I opened his pants," Sophie whispered, blushing to her hairline, "and then I . . . sucked him."

Adrian laughed softly. "Yet you're so ashamed! My gentle, proper Sophie, so ashamed of taking a dick in her mouth! Why didn't you ever suck my cock? No matter. Tell me what you did to him. Did you take his sack in your pretty mouth?"

"Yes," Sophie admitted and blushed right over her white breasts.

"You licked his sack, didn't you? Mmm. My wife is a dirty bitch after all. I bet you've had it in your ass as well. Did he finger your pussy as he fucked under your tail?"

"Adrian!" Sophie gasped. He had never spoken dirty to her before. The proper, prim little girl still living inside her was shocked.

"No, no, no," sang Adrian. "You aren't the sweet innocent thing you've always pretended to be. You're a demon in the sack, a beast, sucking dick and riding cock behind my very back. So that's what you're going to be right now. Pretend I'm one of your lovers. What would you do to me?"

"I-I'd pin you on the bed," Sophie stammered, feeling foolish as her corset finally fell away to the floor. She cupped her naked breasts and hid them. She was naked. She hated that she was naked in front of him. She wasn't a girl anymore. Her breasts were huge and slightly sagging, and she knew the sagging would have been far worse if she hadn't kept to her corsets all these years. But she was astonished when she felt the slap of his erection against her back. His eyes in the mirror were glazed with lust. He still found her beautiful?

"Sophie . . ." Adrian whispered. "Don't cover yourself. I'm your husband, for god's sake." He took her wrists and gently removed her paws from her breasts, then stared at them with quiet hunger. It had been many years since he had seen her breasts. Or cared enough to look. Now it seemed he couldn't look away. He stared at her breasts in the mirror and slowly stroked her mane.

"Don't look at them," Sophie begged and hated how they moved when she spoke. She was confused and surprised that he seemed to like it.

Adrian cupped her breasts from behind, caressing their softness in fistfuls. "Mmm. Why shouldn't I look at them?" he whispered against her soft fur. He kissed her ear, and her heart skipped a beat when he licked it. His fingers slowly tweaked her nipples, back and forth, until she felt the lips of her sex swelling. She pressed her thighs together, as if to stop what was happening, but he gently pushed her thighs apart and fingered her clitoris. She gasped as it swelled, caught between the gentle stroke of his finger and thumb. Back and forth . . . back and forth ... It throbbed, started to pump, and then she felt herself getting wet. Why? After all these years, why did he suddenly want her?

Her confusion only doubled when he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He set her down, and as she lay there, naked and shaking, he pulled off his coat, looking at her soft, curvy body and great breasts with narrowed eyes. When he let his pants fall, she felt herself go still. His penis was rigid with desire, and as big and thick as she remembered. The sight of it made her heart beat faster. And it occurred to her that he was right: she had never bothered to give Adrian oral pleasure. Perhaps if she had, he might have paid more attention to her. Like he was paying attention now.

With hungry eyes, Sophie yanked Adrian close and ravished him with lips and tongue. As she slobbered on the salty warmth of him, she heard several breathless sounds come out of him that she had never heard before, and she reveled in her ability to make him weak with pleasure. Twenty years was a lot of practice, after all. At this point, she was an oral expert.

When Adrian was hard to erupting and his belly shaking from the strain, Sophie pulled him down on the bed with her and aggressively slammed him to the sheets. He looked at her in a way he never had before: with delight, with desire, with utter awe. He seemed completely ready to be dominated by her, as if he had been _waiting_for it. And when Sophie thought of Yvonne and Hellene and all of the aggressive, dominating females in his family, she realized that Adrian_had_been waiting for this moment. For a very long time.

Feeling confident and beautiful and in control, Sophie straddled Adrian, and looking him in the eye, she lowered the heat and moisture of her sex onto the hard erection that stood ready and waiting between her thighs. Adrian frowned with pleasure and moaned, and when he tried to put his paws on her hips, she grabbed them and slammed them to the bed. She could swear she felt him get harder inside of her. And then she was riding him, gyrating her hips, slamming her sex with flapping buttocks, until he was forced to plunge up and in, pushing deeper and deeper through her moisture and heat. She rode him so hard and so fast, her big breasts were jiggling wildly and he couldn't keep his eyes off her. He was in ecstasy . . . because she had dominated him.

When it was over, the prince lay breathless and spent, his shirt undone, his mane mussed. He seemed very happy and content. If Sophie thought about it, she had never seen him so happy after sex. As he lit up one of his smelly cigars, she rose from the bed, slipped on her robe, and went to the desk, where he'd left the presents he'd brought for her. She opened to the first box and wasn't surprised to find a golden fox pelt inside. She halted. Golden fox pelts were incredibly rare! If she'd been sixteen, she would have squealed with delight. But she was a bitch now, and thanks to her son, she knew better than to squeal with joy over a fox's skin. What poor vixen did Adrian have quietly murdered for her now? She sadly put the lid back on the box and didn't turn to face her husband, though she could feel his eyes on her back.

"Don't like it?" he said around the cigar in his teeth. "I could bring you something else next time. Perhaps candy. You still like candy, don't you?"

Sophie sadly dragged her fingers along the smooth lid of the white box, her long lashes angled down. Her husband was a monster. A murderer. She'd thought for so long that maybe she could teach him the foxes weren't mere beasts to be cut down like trees for the fire. So many nights she sat with Florian, arguing back and forth with him about Adrian. Florian was adamant that Adrian could never learn to see the foxes differently, that he was too stubborn, too old, and too set in his ways. But Sophie wanted to believe Adrian was kind and good. He'd always been so_kind_ to her, even if he couldn't love her. Why was it her own son could see the truth . . . and she could not?

"What's the matter, love?" Adrian said into the silence. "You look sad. I know white fur is your favorite. I'll bring that next time."

"Where is my darling boy?" Sophie asked without turning. She reached for the small portrait of Florian on the desk and smiled at it. In the picture, he was but a little pup, sitting on her lap with a teddy bear clutched tightly in his skinny arms. She actually hated the picture. She hated seeing how young and beautiful she used to be. Her breasts had been so high and small.

"Gaston failed me," Adrian said darkly. "I've replaced him."

Sophie looked over her shoulder, astonished. "Surely, you didn't have him killed!"

"No, no, nothing of the sort," sang Adrian, clearly amused by her shock and indignation. He gave her a half-smile as he crossed one leg over the other and tapped ashes into her wineglass on the nightstand.

Sophie turned away again, relieved. "Then where is my boy?" She set Florian's portrait on the desk again.

"Somewhere in Maldoene, last I heard of him," sighed Adrian. "Don't worry, darling wife. I'll find Florian and bring him home by the tail if I have to."

"Be kind to him, Adrian," Sophie begged. "He is your son and you love him!"

Adrian sighed but made no reply. Which meant he would make no promises.

"I'll be heading to Wychowl soon," he said after a pause. When Sophie looked at him over her shoulder, he held up his paws in mock surrender. "Don't have a faint. It's strictly a political visit. I won't be burning or stabbing anyone."

Sophie turned away again. He was going on a long trip. Good. She could invite Graham for the month. "It's been twenty years since a Carrington set foot in Wychowl," she observed.

"Twenty years too long," Adrian agreed. "I heard Florian was last seen in the company of Princess Zeinara."

Sophie looked at her husband again, surprised.

"I know," said Adrian darkly, knocking more ashes into the wineglass. "I think the half-breed tart may have brainwashed him. You know how impressionable he is. He'll likely turn up at Wychowl, and I'll be waiting for him. And while I'm there, I'll have a chat with Etienne. Maybe we can settle things peacefully."

Sophie looked at her husband, unconvinced. All the Carringtons only ever wanted war, war, war. It was all Louis and Adrian ever talked about, anyway. Sophie liked Prince Graham the best because he was a calm, content older gentleman, at peace with his lot in life. Prince Wilford was much the same. For the rest of the Carringtons, however, nothing would ever be enough. Even sweet Oliver would have supported an invasion.

"Truly," Adrian said when Sophie didn't seem to believe him. "I once considered marrying Florian to Zeinara. If he's brainwashed by her now, it might be an easier thing, convincing him."

"But there's still Prince Sterling to deal with."

Adrian snorted. "Prince Sterling and his meddling father can be removed. You'd think Damon would have learned after the incident with his brother."

Sophie turned away again, not wanting her husband to see the disgust on her face. She hated politics. She'd spent her entire life surrounded by nobility who didn't blink an eye when it came to "removing" competition. One of her sisters was actually poisoned - a poison that was meant for her - because a rival house wanted their daughter to marry Adrian. Watching her sister cough up blood and gasp and die had left Sophie a permanent wreck. She stroked the box in which the fox furs were wrapped in white tissue paper and wondered if the poor foxes had gasped and coughed blood.

"Why would Etienne listen to you after you slandered his name, darling? You turned the nobility against him," Sophie pointed out.

"A triviality," Adrian replied at once. "Once Etienne has realized the power of the army I'm gathering, he'll have no choice but to concede to peace. This isn't the first time Varimore has had to fold, darling. Or did you forget how Aunty Donica took the throne?"

Sophie said nothing. So it was true. She'd heard whispers about more kingdoms rallying to Adrian's call. The nobility didn't like being told they couldn't hunt foxes, and they were getting very tired of being imprisoned and fined every time they were caught doing it. What was more, it was against their religion and simply blasphemous to treat the foxes as anything but low beasts. Their entire religion was founded on the idea that the Creator had sent them to conquer and control the foxes and their foul magic.

"You'll be queen of the world soon, my love," Adrian said dreamily. "Will you fuck my brains out whilst wearing your crown?"

Sophie glanced at him and saw he was smiling. She looked away again. "Darling . . ." she hesitated, her back to Adrian. "Why aren't you angry about . . .?"

"My wife," said Adrian darkly, "fucking every Akbash on the estate?"

Sophie's lashes fluttered in relief. Good. So he didn't have a clue who she'd been sleeping with. "Well, yes," she answered in confusion.

Adrian laughed heartily. "All these years and I thought my wife was a pill. Then I discover she's got an entire queue of lovers." He took a puff and casually exhaled smoke. "Who wouldn't be intrigued?"

Sophie didn't know what to say. She hated that she never had anything witty or clever on the tip of her tongue. But she needn't have bothered. She could hear Adrian rising from the bed, and then he was moving through the room toward her. His hot breath hit her ear as he whispered, "If I ever discover who it is, I'll put his head in a jar and leave it on your nightstand."

Sophie's eyes widened and her entire body went still.

"No sense killing you, though, my love," he said into her ear. "You are far too interesting now . . . My sweet, soft, beautiful Sophie . . ." She closed her eyes miserably when he squeezed her breasts in fistfuls and buried a hard kiss in her neck. "Goodnight, darling," he whispered in her ear. Then he kissed her cheek . . . and quietly left the room.

Sophie stared into space and swallowed unhappily.