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The Sins of the Son

Chapter 79

Florian sat beside his father's bed, watching him die a slow and painful death. Florian thought it very fitting that a Carrington - so lauded as ruthless and cutthroat -- should poison his own father in order to ascend the throne of Curith and take his rightful place. The fact that Adrian had been poisoned with his own poison only added a delightful dose of irony. Especially considering the rumors that Adrian had poisoned his recently deceased father, King Louis.

Thanks to Etienne's scouts and spies, Florian knew his father was coming long before he even set foot near Thalsin and he was prepared for him. The afternoon Adrian arrived at court in Wychowl, Florian set to work distracting his father while he sent Shakir to rifle through his father's belongings. While Florian and his father were bickering icily over tea, small black Shakir was masquerading as a skinny Beauceron servant who had come to clean the guest chamber of "his highness, prince Adrian." The Curith guards who'd been posted at Adrian's bedroom door were foreign enough not to recognize what clearly wasn't a Beauceron slave: they let Shakir into the room without looking at him twice, and it was in this manner that Shakir discovered all of Adrian's plans: written letters ordering the execution of Sophie and not one but four of Adrian's uncles, evidence of blackmail, the skins of a few vixen prostitutes . . . and a vial of poison.

Shakir returned to Florian that afternoon with the grim news, as well as the vial of poison. Florian could only assume the poison was either for Etienne or Ettoras or perhaps _both._Thankfully, Ettoras had left for S'pru the day before, but that still left Etienne in danger. Perhaps the poison was even meant for Prince Sterling. It was well known that the Carringtons resented - even hated - the du Graces for moving in like "opportunist pigs" and kissing up to Etienne after having been allies with his rivals only years before.

Shakir volunteered to infiltrate the kitchens, sprinkling the poison on Adrian's supper. Adrian always had a meal specially prepared for him whenever he visited other kingdoms, as he hated what he called "ghastly foreign food." It therefore would have been incredibly easy to find his supper in the kitchens and poison it. There would be no royal food taster for him here in Varimore. Royalty was always at risk should they travel beyond their realm.

Florian hated allowing Shakir to put himself in harm's way, but there was no one he trusted more and time was running out. Together, they would kill his father and be rid of Adrian, once and for all.

Florian felt dismal about it and the very thought chilled him. For though Florian did despise his father, he did not want to murder him, and murdering him just so he could be with Shakir and keep his crown made him sick to his stomach. There was also the fact that he had no desire to be king, nor did the dogs of Curith want him as their ruler, and Adrian had actually been a rather good prince and ruler, even if he was a cruel bastard.

But what was done was done. That evening just before supper, Shakir slipped down to the kitchens and poisoned Adrian's meal. He did not return to Florian's bedchamber, as that might have been too suspicious for the Curith spies that now likely permeated the castle. Instead, Shakir made himself scarce, and while everyone was making their way to the dining hall, he sent a message to Florian via a nameless Beauceron that stated "It is done."

Supper had never been so excruciating an affair for Florian, who sat through the meal watching in tense silence as his father took his time going from his Brussels sprouts to his laced roast goose. Prince Adrian was too busy insulting everyone to really tuck into the main course on his plate. He criticized Etienne for having "fox savages" at his supper table, laughed at him for entertaining the "notion" of a fox ambassador, and mocked Azrian as "Nadheertia the Fuck Up incarnate." Etienne remained coldly polite, trading Adrian insult for insult with a smile. Everyone else ignored Adrian and didn't even speak to him, even Zeinara. Wanting to get under Zeinara's hide, Adrian sneeringly remarked that it was a pity Etienne had chosen Sterling over Florian, as Florian had a bigger cock and Zeinara would have been less grumpy had she married a prince of Curith instead. Zeinara jumped in before her father could open his mouth, surprising everyone when she defended her husband-to-be by verbally destroying Adrian until he was left speechless. Adrian laughed nervously and lifted his wine glass for a lazy sip, refusing to be cowed by the princess. Florian watched with bated breath when his father finally cut into his roast goose.

One bite. One was bite was all it took. The poison was that potent. Adrian's eyes went blank and he started to gag. Etienne thought he was choking and shouted for a servant to help him, but when blood streamed from Adrian's nose, it became all too clear that he wasn't simply choking.

The whole table then went into chaos. Everyone pushed away their plates, dropped their goblets, leapt from their chairs. Etienne ran to Adrian and cradled him like his brother, bellowing for someone to fetch the doctor. But Florian knew no doctor could save Adrian.

Florian was the only one who remained calm and unmoved at the dinner table, watching coldly from his chair as his own father gurgled through the unspeakable pain of burning from the inside.

Even now, Florian was still unmoved, sitting beside his father's bed, calmly smoking a cigar as Adrian gasped and sputtered on his own blood. According to the doctor, the poison's effect was very slow and would tear slowly through Adrian's body, taking hours to finally kill him. It was a terrible way to die, and the doctor looked at Florian with suspicion and anger.

Unfortunately, the doctor was able to identify the poison as something imported from the desert kingdoms. When this information was leaked, the public immediately blamed Florian and his desert dog lover, Shakir. Etienne's council was especially appalled - no surprise given the fact that they'd been locked in political struggles with the Carringtons for centuries - and they immediately called a meeting to discuss how to deal with Florian. There was even talk of having Florian and Shakir thrown in the dungeon, and many dogs were demanding that Florian should be punished for what was clearly high treason born of ambition.

Florian thought the reaction in Varimore was odd, really. Princes poisoning kings was old hat in Curith. Hell, it was even expected in some circumstances. When Florian arrived home, his own mother would probably kiss him on the head for what he had done, even with tears in her eyes. Sophie would cry, knowing she was finally free of Adrian's tyranny, and at the same time, knowing her son had to carry the burden of having become a murderer just to save her.

Given the prejudice against desert dogs, a few mobs had already gone on a witch hunt for Shakir within the first hour. The locals were terrified Shakir was some terrorist, who would next poison the king or perhaps the water supply. Even some of the castle guards disobeyed orders and went off on a chase for him. Fortunately, Shakir was smart enough to keep out of sight, so that no guards could make an arrest. As for Florian himself, there was no actual evidence against him, which made it fairly easy for Etienne to protect him from both the bloodthirsty public and his furious council.

Florian sat in a chair at his father's bedside, and he had been sitting there for hours, watching his father suffering. It was draining, both mentally and physically. As he took a sip of wine with a shaking paw, he realized he hadn't eaten anything at supper. He glanced across the room and noticed his reflection in a long mirror: his red mane was ruffled, his shirt crumpled and un-tucked, his eyes hooded and weary. He slowly dragged his eyes from the mirror, wondering where Shakir was and if he'd ever see him again. Shakir had been so brave, so devoted to helping him. He couldn't have asked for a better mate.

"S-So," sputtered Adrian, clutching at his throat. His bloodshot eyes slid to Florian. "You finally did it . . . you f-finally became . . . a C-Carrington."

"Yes, Father," Florian said quietly and took a pull on his cigar. He exhaled smoke, not looking at his father but staring with bleary eyes at the door. "You proud of me?" he asked sarcastically.

"Y-Yes," Adrian said hoarsely.

Florian's red ears pricked forward. He looked quickly at his father and was startled to see the weak smile trembling on his lips. Without thinking, he reached over and smoothed his paw over his father's paw.

"I wasn't looking for your approval, you know," Florian said, trying to hide the fact that he was actually pleased.

Adrian squeezed Florian's fingers. "Good boy."

"Still not looking," Florian insisted, and his father laughed, coughing up blood. Florian frowned and dabbed his father's bloody mouth with his kerchief. "Don't laugh, Father, please." He shook his head. "It's bloody disturbing."

"S-Sorry," Adrian said sarcastically. "I'll try to k-keep my _m-murderer_comfortable as I die."

Florian mournfully closed his eyes, and his ears flattened in his mane. "You know it had to end like this, Father. It was always you or me."

"No. You could have just obeyed me. I'm your f-father."

Florian's face darkened. "My father or my jailer?"

"Don't get d-dramatic, Florian, for god's s-sake."

"As if it weren't dramatic already . . ." Florian took another pull on the cigar and shook his head, exhaling smoke. "I've poisoned my own father . . . It's thespian, really."

"Who w-would have th-thought you had the s-spine to k-kill me . . .?"

Adrian started to cough wretchedly, and Florian watched, feeling empty and helpless and wondering why it had to be this way. Why couldn't Adrian just love him? Not loving Sophie was one thing, but his own son? There had to be some rule somewhere that you had to love your own son.

"It will end s-soon," Adrian choked. "T-Take care of Curith . . . rule well . . . have children --"

"Father . . ."

"I want you to know . . ."

Florian frowned. "Don't, Father. It doesn't need to be said . . . I know."

Adrian's lips were dry and cracked, and they trembled as he looked at Florian. His eyes were approving. "G-Good - mfph. Good . . ." Adrian's eyes rolled back in his head . . . and he died.

Florian felt his father's fingers relax in his own, and he breathed a long breath. "Goodbye, Father," he said sadly.

Without warning, a mastiff leapt out of the shadows, and Florian was so startled, he nearly fell out of his chair. He regained his composure, looking across the room at the stranger in complete bewilderment. The mastiff was clearly a part of Wychowl's Honor Guard, and yet he had been skulking in the shadows the entire time? What was more, his armor was broken and filthy, his mane mussed, his boots crusted with mud, as if he'd just come from the forest. He looked back at Florian in as much bewilderment, and for several seconds, they simply stared at each other.

". . . who are you?" Florian managed at last.

The mastiff thought about it for a moment, as if he couldn't remember. His eyes rolled up to the ceiling, then he looked at Florian and answered, "I'm Guss. Guss Hoddle. Who are you, your lordship? Beggin' your pardon. Don't know how I got here --"

Before Guss Hoddle could finish his sentence, Edgar came bursting into the room, gun drawn, eyes wild, ready for a confrontation. Florian cautioned him to calm down, then demanded to know who Guss Hoddle was.

"That's a long story, your majesty," Edgar answered Florian and lowered his rifle. He was careful to keep his eyes on Florian's left boot, as if he feared having to look at Adrian's still body on the bed. The Great Dane's eyes were watery and unhappy and his face was gaunt with sadness. Florian knew Edgar had been utterly devoted to his family, especially his father.

"Suffice it to say his name's Guss Hoddle," Edgar went on, "and he was serving your father prior to his . . ." Edgar swallowed hard, as if he couldn't say the word "death."

"Yes, yes," said Florian wearily and tapped out his cigar in an ashtray on the nightstand. He sniffed. "Escort Guss Hoddle out of here, will you? Take him back to the king or _wherever_his sort are supposed to go. And send Pooki to me."

Edgar bowed. "Yes, your majesty . . . Right this way, Guss Hoddle."

A baffled and bewildered Guss Hoddle followed Edgar from the room, and Florian watched them go, wondering how it was that his father had come to have such an utterly confused mastiff in his service, a mastiff from Wychowl's Honor Guard, no less. Some drug? Perhaps a spell? No doubt Adrian had captured Guss Hoddle and drugged him for information.

Not ten minutes later, Pooki arrived, looking sad and uncertain. Like Edgar, she had also been devoted to Adrian, but unlike Edgar, she had known the prince since they were children. Seeing him empty and unseeing on the bed left her standing still in the middle of the room for several seconds, in shock and sadness. Florian continued smoking, allowing her to get her bearings before he bombarded her with questions. He watched sympathetically as the beautiful white Akbash moved with a swaying tail to the side of the bed, and after hesitating, she sat on the bed and gently closed the dead prince's eyes.

As Pooki bowed her head to weep, Florian continued smoking, and the gloomy room was still and silent but for the soft sound of her gentle weeping. It hurt Florian to hear her pain, and his ears flattened against his mane.

After a long pause, Pooki said in a harsh voice, "Did you poison your father?"

Florian looked up and was surprised to find Pooki looking at him with twisted hatred. He'd known her all his life and had never seen her show such emotion before. He paused in the act of tapping his cigar in the ashtray and just regarded her a moment.

"Is it true what they say?" Pooki demanded in a hiss.

Florian dragged his eyes away. "I don't answer to the gossip of slaves," he answered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pooki's breasts heave and he knew that if he couldn't convince her of his innocence, she would cause trouble for him. As if he needed more.

"My father lies dead," Florian said in disgust, "and you come here questioning me? A bloody servant!"

Pooki blinked and bowed her head, as if she was remembering herself. In her eyes, Florian would always be that bouncing little boy. Now he would be her king, and the fury of his voice had reminded her of that.

"Forgive me," Pooki whispered. "It just . . . hurts so much that he's gone."

Florian didn't look at her. He kept on the façade of being insulted and angry, but inside, he pitied Pooki and the fact that her master was dead. The lesser breeds - the pet breeds - often grew attached to one master and couldn't be happy unless they served that one master for a lifetime. When a dog like an Akbash or a Beauceron lost a beloved master, they were often never the same.

Florian blinked tiredly and waved, as if Pooki was forgiven. Pooki slumped slightly in relief.

"If I'm to discover who did this to my father," Florian said, "then I need to ask you questions."

"I will tell his majesty everything I know," Pooki answered obediently.

"Of course, you will," Florian sneered. He took a pull on the cigar. "And if I find out you had anything to do with this --!"

"Never, your majesty!" Pooki cried at once, her voice trembling with fear.

Florian exhaled smoke and felt terrible for playing games with Pooki, but he knew there was no going back. If he was going to be king, he would be playing these games all the time. He was tired already.

"Settle down, Pooki," Florian said wearily, "and answer my questions. My father was going to have my mother executed." He waited for Pooki's response, and when she registered no surprise, he felt the anger bubbling inside him. Was his mother's execution some casual matter Adrian had shared with his slave while lounging about in bed? "Tell me why he was going to have her executed. Perhaps there's some connection."

"I doubt it, your majesty," Pooki answered. "Your father discovered your mother was pregnant with another's pup. But she didn't know he'd found her out. She couldn't have done this."

Florian frowned. "Ah . . ."

"Will . . . will that be all, your majesty?" Pooki sniffled. "I'm . . ." She blinked out more tears. ". . . very tired."

Florian nodded in sympathy. "Go and get some rest, Pooki. I suddenly find myself quite tired as well."

Florian was tired but he was also happy: his mother's pregnancy could work to everyone's advantage. Especially if the child really belonged to one of his uncles.

When Pooki had gone, Florian crushed out his cigar in the ashtray and left the room. As he returned to his own quarters, he could feel the eyes of every suspicious mastiff guard on his back. Etienne's guards, servants, and courtiers fully suspected him, and they would be fools to think otherwise. But, ironically enough, Adrian's own escort from Curith appeared entirely indifferent, both to Florian and to the death of their prince. Being from Curith, they were used to the death and drama. They fully recognized that they were Florian's escort now, and they treated him with all the deference and respect their future king was afforded.

When Florian reached his bedchamber, the Curith guards there bowed him inside. As he was passing into the room, he ordered them to have everything prepared for his departure first thing in the morning. Etienne had warned Florian earlier that evening that he should leave Varimore for his own safety. Etienne had even offered Florian an escort just in case. Florian told Etienne that he wanted to wait for Shakir and didn't want to leave without him, and he knew Etienne thought he was crazy for taking the risk . . . but Etienne also understood.

"I will have my most trusted mastiffs escort you to the border the second you're ready to depart," Etienne had told Florian as they stood together in the privacy of his council chambers. "Your father will be shipped home to Curith in your wake. A proper coffin is already being prepared for him."

Florian never thought he'd find himself accepting the help of Etienne, the one he utterly despised, but it was hard to despise him now, especially when Zeinara came to Florian to offer her condolences. Any other Carrington in Florian's position might have resented Etienne's help and Zeinara's sympathy, but Florian was grateful in spite of everything. All he wanted was to get home to his mother and perhaps fall in her arms and weep. It seemed that in saving her, he'd lost everything in one fell swoop: his freedom, his father, and his lover.

Florian awoke that night when he felt a small paw stroking his long red mane. His eyes fluttered open and his heart skipped with fear, but he inhaled Shakir's familiar scent and turned over to find the small black dog smiling down at him. Shakir was leaning on his elbow as he looked down at Florian, and though he was smiling, his eyes were sad. He smelled like grass and trees and flowers and mud, as if he'd been out in the forest. He even had a twig in his mane. Florian laughed softly and pulled the twig from Shakir's silky black hair. They kissed.

"You're amazing, love," Florian said happily and smiled into Shakir's eyes.

"Your father is dead, no?" Shakir whispered hoarsely and rubbed a sympathetic paw over Florian's chest. "What will you do now? Be king of Curith?" He peered at Florian sadly, and Florian knew why: if he became king, he would have to get married, produce heirs, and keep Shakir hidden away like some filthy secret. Shakir had already stated once that he refused to live that way, but Florian knew it didn't have to be that way at all.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Shakir said with a soft laugh. "You have moons in your eyes for me. Did you miss me so terribly? I was gone a few hours."

Florian only continued his dreamy smiling. "But I thought you were dead. How'd you get back in the castle?" he asked, pulling Shakir down in his arms.

Shakir happily rested his cheek against Florian's chest. "The Beaucerons . . . they had no love for your father. They viewed him as a threat to Etienne, their master. They were only too happy to assist me. They allowed me access to the kitchen . . . they showed me secret passages out of the castle . . . I'm not amazing. I had help."

"No," Florian insisted. "You are amazing. That you would risk your life to help me. . . ." Florian stared at the ceiling. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you will take good care of yourself," Shakir said sadly. "And say goodbye."

"You're coming with me," Florian said with a slight frown.

Shakir closed his eyes. "Don't be foolish, Flori. You're going to be king now --"

"Only for the next eighteen years or so," Florian said with a shrug. "Do you know why my father was going to execute my mother? My mother is pregnant, Shakir. Pregnant by one of my uncles, I think."

"So?" said Shakir unhappily.

Florian shook his head. "Don't you bloody get it? I could pass my mother's child off as belonging to Adrian. I could make my mother's child king and say it was his dying wish! Or queen. Either way . . ."

". . . you would be free," Shakir whispered as it dawned on him.

Florian squeezed Shakir tight in his arms. "We would be free_,_ love. You and me, strolling through the castle gardens, sipping wine . . . making love in my lavish apartments . . ."

"F-Flori . . ." Shakir whispered, flustered when Florian's paws squeezed his backside. He sat up, suddenly as panicked as if Florian had proposed marriage. "I don't know if I could live in a castle, surrounded by all the whispers and scheming . . . Everyday, your life would be in danger."

"And who better to protect it than you?" Florian returned seriously. "We made a great team, Shakir. Stay with me . . ." Florian touched his lip. "Please?"

Shakir looked in Florian's eyes a long time, then he slowly smiled. "I couldn't imagine life without you," he admitted softly.

Florian sagged a little in relief. "Good. For a second there I thought I'd have to tie you up."

"Just try it!" Shakir cried, giving Florian's chest a playful slap.

They laughed together, and when Shakir rested his cheek on Florian's chest again, Florian stroked his mane and realized . . . this was only the beginning of a wonderful life.