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A Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter 34

"Richard," Charles said quietly.

The room was so still, the only sound was the clock ticking on the wall. They were in the parlor. In the wake of Giselle's funeral, the house seemed still. Quiet. As if time had stopped simply because Dick had stopped. He returned to the manor immediately after the funeral and sat. And drank. And stared. He'd been wearing the same clothes for three days and refused to come to bed. The one time Haskell tried to carry him, he shocked the room by striking him. He had never hit Haskell before. After that, they let him be.

Charles was overwhelmed anyhow. While Dick was grieving, there were still the affairs of the estate to manage, not to mention the endless parade of sympathizers, well wishers, and nobility offering their condolences - all under the guise of tail kissing. Giselle had no true friends, and Charles was fully aware these "well wishers" only wished to kiss up to Dick, who was now exceedingly wealthy after both his mother's death and his marriage to Evelyn. Giselle had also left Glenhowler to Dick, as well as a few other bits of property and the key to the family vault at the bank. Her lawyers crowded the estate, taking up as much air as the crowds who had come to pay their respects.

The duchess had been buried - as requested in her will -- in the garden beside her brother. While sorting out her things, Charles found a diary in which she lamented the fact that she had broken a promise to the boy. She had promised to always come and see her "little Richie" but had been so stricken with grief after his death that she could not bear to set foot on Howlester estate again. As the entries continued, they became more sad and desperate. Giselle slowly came to realize she was dying and that her chance to keep her promise might slip her by. Her last entry stated that she would get into the garden on Howlester or "die trying."

"Richard," Charles repeated. He frowned. "This has got to end. I understand that you are hurting, and I have been happy to take up your responsibilities, but I'm leaving for Wychowl soon --"

"Why?" Dick muttered. His voice was deep and gravelly from little use over the last three days. He continued to stare out the window, a glass of amber liquor in his fist.

Charles sighed. "I already told you. The king extended an invitation. I'm going to appeal to him regarding Evelyn --"

"She doesn't want to come back, Charlie. Let her go." Dick tossed the glass back for a drink and continued to stare.

Charles frowned. "No. I have no intention of letting her go so easily. She is my baby sister, and Father would kill me if he could see what I allowed to happen to her! A Kingsley - banished from Varimore! I've barely been living it down at court, and you want me to just leave her out in the woods somewhere --"

"She's happy," Dick said flatly. "Can't you just be happy for her?"

Charles' lips tightened. "She's pregnant, Richard."

Dick blinked. He looked at Charles as if he hadn't heard him right.

"Yes," Charles said. "Pregnant. As in, going to have the king's bastard."

Dick stared at him. "When the bloody hell did this happen?"

"When she ran away," Charles said wearily and sat on the armrest of Dick's chair. "The king had his way with her, apparently. I wish I could knock his teeth in." His nostrils flared.

Dick rubbed Charles' thigh soothingly. "Maybe you shouldn't go. Not if you've got it out for Bastian. _He_might let you get away with defending your sister's honor, but don't expect Donica to. If the queen doesn't find a way to publically humiliate you for it, expect your head mounted on the wall by sundown."

Charles frowned. "I don't care. I know what Evelyn did to him was . . ."

"Cruel?" Dick supplied. "Deviant? Twisted?" He snorted and took a drink. "Sounds to me like she inherited something from Mother after all."

"Yes. But it didn't warrant a rape."

Dick shrugged. "I dunno, Charlie. I read her letters too. She didn't sound like someone who had been raped."

Charles scowled. He shot up from the armrest. "Just shut up, Richie. Just . . . shut up!"

Dick looked up at him, his mouth hanging open. "Charlie --"

"This is my baby sister we're talking about," Charles said angrily. "I will not leave her alone in the wilderness. I don't care how happy she says she is!" He was so beside himself that Dick set aside his glass and rose from the chair.

"Charlie . . ."

"No!"

"It's alright," Dick said and cupped his face. "I'll go to Wychowl with you." He lifted his brows. "Alright?"

It took Charles a moment to realize his chest was heaving. He nodded breathlessly. "All . . . alright."

The journey to Wychowl was long and boring. Dick was - understandably - too miserable to make love. But that did not stop him being handsome. They stopped at various inns during the journey and Dick would bathe, allowing Haskell to strip his muscular body down and help him step in the water with a swinging penis. Charles would sit at the desk, pretending to pour over Evelyn's old letters but secretly watching Dick from the corner of his eye. Under the table, he could feel himself hardening and hated himself: Dick was in the throes of true grief, and Charles wanted him to get over it so they could have sex. But Charles was tactful enough to keep his lust hidden, and when Dick kissed him goodnight, he had nary a clue that Charles was burning in his own private hell.

Finally arriving at Wychowl and the great castle provided little relief for Charles, as the servants there were naked Beaucerons, all muscular and fit and strutting about with swinging penises the sizes of imported sausages.

They entered the throne room and - completely ignoring Charles -- Dick was promptly announced by a stuffy Staffordshire Terrier with drooping cheeks who spoke as if his nose had been pinched by a clothes pin. There the king and queen sat, regal and proud, on their thrones. Well, the queen looked proud anyway. Charles thought the king looked very open and friendly. And, by god, he was beautiful. He was so large a male that he practically obscured on his throne, his long golden tresses loose around powerful shoulders, his big paws swallowing the armrests. He reclined at his ease with one leg drawn out and the other pulled in, a finger touching his lip as he appraised Charles. Standing below the dais with Dick, Charles stiffened and felt as if the king was undressing him with his eyes. He'd heard the rumors about the king and Dick, but he'd never believed that the king truly liked males.

What was even more nerve-racking, the king seemed to take a particular interest in Charles, which seemed to nettle the queen to no end. He was genuinely delighted to see Dick and the two exchange pleasant greetings. Dick even went so far as to approach the throne and playfully kiss the king's rings. The king chuckled at this teasing, and the court followed his lead, laughing good-naturedly behind their fans.

"But . . ." the king eyed Charles as Dick stepped back again. "Who is this _ravishing_gentleman you have brought to my court, Dick? I do not believe we have ever had the pleasure."

Dick's lips pulled in a half-smile. "May I present the Duke Charles Verneus Nolan Kingsley, son of the late Duke Verneus and brother of our lady Evelyn."

The court whispered excitedly and Charles nervously cleared his throat as he graciously bowed to the king. Now that they knew who he was, there would be no end to the snide glances, whispers, and giggles. Everyone knew Charles was an illegitimate bastard. It was the precise reason Duke Verneus had kept him from the king's court. He saw the queen arch a brow as she realized who he was, and he knew the _fun_was about to begin.

"Ah," said the queen, smiling nastily. She turned her head to the side as her viscous green eyes danced over Charles, and her long red mane shifted around her naked red shoulders. She was clad in a crimson gown, from the bodice of which her white breasts practically poured. "You are the brother of the trite thing who dared toy with my husband's affections? Evelyn was a rather poor guest the last she was here. I hope your manners are far superior. Then again . . . you were raised by the same poorly bred oaf." She glanced at her husband. "Darling, wasn't Duke Verneus the prince of some backwater march or some other --?"

"The Nufetriaz Marches," the king supplied indifferently.

"Ah," said the queen. "Such a little province. You know, your mother_the Duchess Victoria used to jest often about your _father's little province. But then - oops." She laughed innocently. "_My_mistake. She wasn't your mother, was she?" She smiled sweetly and flicked open her fan.

The court giggled nastily.

Dick's eyes hardened as he looked at the queen, but Charles didn't know what else he had expected. Much as she hated Evelyn, the queen also despised Dick for the many rumors circulating about him and the king. It was only natural that she would take shots at Charles - or anyone Dick considered a friend -- to get under his fur.

Charles waited for the king to say something, to put a stop to his wife's sharp tongue, but with the mention of Evelyn's name, the king swallowed hard and his eyes filled with hurt. He stared past Charles and Dick and said nothing. Ah. So he was content to let Queen Donica have her fun.

"To say nothing of my breeding, your highness," Charles returned politely, "I hope to prove a pleasant enough guest while visiting your luxurious home. I shall labor hardest to please her highness in this endeavor. Your beauty and elegance deserve no less than that I live to ensure your utmost pleasure. . . ." So saying, Charles approached the throne, and taking the queen's little paw, he kissed not her rings but her fur. She sighed and trembled at the touch of his lips, and as he was drawing back, she stared at him like one enthralled.

"W-Well!" stammered Queen Donica, whose lashes were fluttering behind her fan. "I . . . do say . . ." She cleared her throat and sat silent on her throne, staring at Charles with new eyes as he returned to Dick's side.

Dick glanced at Charles proudly, his lips twisted in a private smile.

The queen was still at a loss for words. The fan waving in her paw came to a slow stop, and she just stared at Charles. He had not taken her bait, and his complete lack of anger left her looking like nothing short of a fool - as evidenced by the nervous coughing of the court. She seemed to admire him for the fact, as if a worthy opponent had just sauntered through the door and out of her dreams.

The king, meanwhile, was staring at Charles again, the hunger kindling in his eyes and a small smile on his lips.

"Perhaps I have misjudged his lordship," said the queen with an absent smile.

"Never, my queen," Charles said seriously. "Her majesty is quite incapable of inaccuracy. Yours is beauty and perfection defined. And no male could rival your razor sharp wit. I am humble puddy in your paws." He bowed slightly.

Queen Donica giggled like a girl, a lick of red mane falling in her eyes. "Is my lord _quite_certain he is related to the duchess?"

The court laughed. So did King Bastian, who reached over and took the queen's paw. His thoughtful gray eyes, however, remained on Charles.

"It seems you shall prove pleasant enough company, my lord Kingsley," the king said, and all the court fell silent as his voice lifted over the hall. "We must properly thank his lordship the duke for having introduced us."

Dick bowed his head reverently.

"How about a ball?" the queen practically squealed. She tapped her husband's big paw with her closed fan. "Come, Bastian! Let us throw a ball in honor of our guests!" She looked at Charles and smiled with sincere sweetness.

The king chuckled. "Whatever her majesty desires. I am hers to command."

Charles was surprised when he and Dick were given separate rooms. As he allowed a Beauceron slave to dress him for the ball, it suddenly occurred to him that the king and queen weren't aware of the nature of their relationship. No doubt they thought Dick and Charles were simply friends, and the fact that Charles could not disillusion them was painful. He wanted all the world to know, but tonight, he would have to attend the ball, and as usual, smile at the ladies and ask them to dance and . . . pretend he was something he was not.

It was the same old game. Back at Howlester whenever Duchess Victoria threw a ball, the slanted eyes of every available marchioness, duchess, and baroness would be upon him. It did not help his cause that was handsome, dignified, gentle, and polite. He would smile and pretend that he was the least bit interested in what was beneath the ballooning skirts of their gowns as he asked them for a dance. And much like the queen, they were always taken by whatever blather he spouted from his mouth. He had always hated deceiving those girls. And as much as he loathed the queen, what he loathed even more was deceiving her.

But he had little choice. If he wanted to spend the rest of his life happily buried at Howlester with Dick, then he must play the part of dashing noble gentleman, make the ladies believe that he longed to discover the heart-shaped speckles on their breasts, and top it off by discreetly sniffing their manes and making them giggle as they spun with him around the dance floor.

With the queen, however, deception was a dangerous game. Unlike those other girls, the queen was not a giggling young thing still clinging to her mother's tail. She was a grown bitch in full control and had the power to order his head on a platter if it pleased her. Charles knew that he could very easily wind up like Evelyn if he wasn't careful.

"Duke Charles Verneus," the queen said happily the moment Charles approached the high thrones.

The ballroom in Wychowl was tremendous and could have housed half the kingdom. Its golden halls gleamed, softly reflecting the candles in their sconces. A great candelabra hung from the ceiling, and on the balconies above, nobles watched the dancing far below on the polished white floor. The ceiling was covered in an elaborate fresco of pink clouds and golden sunsets, a sparkling river, and noble lords in masks sailing along on a pleasure barge.

Charles pressed his mask on tight as he bowed low to the queen. He was informed at the last minute that the queen had decided upon a masque, and the Beauceron who served him - a young male named Decius - pressed an elaborate fox mask incrusted with jewels into his paw before seeing him off.

"You look quite dashing, my lordship," the queen said to Charles with genuine affection as she offered her little paw for a kiss. She was wearing the golden mask of a lioness, incrusted with diamonds around the brim. Beside her, the king wore the mask of a lion. Charles thought it suited him: he sat upon the throne, large and powerful, and the bulge between his tight thighs was more than distracting.

"You have the physic of an athlete," the queen went on as Charles tipped his mask to kiss her paw. "Do you play tennis, my lord?"

Charles pushed his mask back down and smiled: that was a blatant lie. He hadn't the physic of an athlete but the slight muscles of a boy who loved to lounge around reading books and playing piano - which pretty much defined him. The queen was delicately referring to the rumors which had circulated about her husband and Dick after they begun playing tennis together. In other words, the queen was asking if he was queer.

Charles wrinkled up his nose. "I detest the game."

The king and queen laughed heartily.

Over on the dance floor, nobles whirled in masks of varying colors and shapes. The court jester was wearing a mask with a monkey's face. He danced about in his colorful checkered suit while an obese male at the banquet table watched him and laughed with a heaving flabby chest from behind the mask of a hippo. An obese female wore the mask of a cow - a poor choice on her part, as the crowd of nobles looming behind her seemed to be twittering with jokes.

A small girl wore the mask of a white unicorn. She approached the thrones bearing a tray of delicacies, and the long white mane that fell to her tail reminded Charles with an ache of Evelyn. She wore a little blue dress with ballooning skirts that swayed about her as she approached. The sleeves were short and ruffled, and the fur on her arms and neck was curly and white, as was the fur on her ears. Charles could only assume she was some sort of Spaniel. With a deep curtsy, she offered the tray of delicacies to Charles and squeaked, "Would my lord like to try one?"

The queen smiled. "Duke Charles Verneus, you are honored with the presence of the Princess Corene Isabella Jeannette, heir apparent of the crown and all the land."

Charles raised his brows and was suddenly very glad he was wearing a mask. He'd never heard of the king and queen adopting any princess. He cleared his throat and bowed deeply to the little girl. "Your highness," he said, "it is an honor. I would taste whatever her highness deems worthy if it so pleases her." He pretended to reach for one of the delicacies on the tray, then frowned and reached for her ear instead. "What . . . what's this behind your ear!" She giggled when he "pulled" one of the delicacies from behind her ear and promptly ate it. "Hmm. These are marvelous! Did you make them yourself?"

"Yes!" the girl whispered happily.

The king and queen were smiling at the exchange. The queen looked at the girl mistily, fueling Charles' curiosity all the more. Who was this girl? And why had they chosen her? And if the king and queen had already chosen an heir . . . it could spell bad news for the child Evelyn was carrying. Indeed, the queen might decide to put any challenge to the princess out of the game completely. Looking at the little princess, Charles decided instantly that he should appeal to the king and the king alone. The queen could not be present during the encounter.

"Run along, won't you, darling?" the queen said affectionately to the girl. "Prince Evin from Kingdom Idria would like to dance."

The girl glanced in the direction of a young boy of about twelve who stood not far away, watching her keenly. Charles could tell by the way her mask moved that she was making a face behind it, but she murmured sweet obedience, and handing the tray off to the Beauceron slave who stood near the king, she went to the boy and curtsied to him. He bowed nervously, and after they had walked onto the dance floor, she climbed up on his shoes and they danced. Charles watched her, impressed by her dignity and grace. The princess must have been six years old.

When Charles turned back to the thrones, his heart leapt to find the queen staring at him pointedly. He cleared his throat and offered his gloved paw. "Would her highness do me the honor of a dance?"

"Her highness will do you, my lord," the queen said, and Charles blushed behind his mask. "One way or another." She handed off her fan to her amused king, who watched Charles with the same hunger that made his heart skip a beat. Charles led the queen down from her throne, and they stepped onto the dance floor.

Charles had always prided himself an excellent dancer. Sports confounded him, and he had almost drowned once trying to learn to swim. But dancing, music, had always been his home. He flowed through the melody, his paw tight on the queen's waist as he spun her lightly through the crowd of swelling skirts. He knew all eyes were on him, that the court would be whispering that he, Duke Charles Verneus, the bastard son of Duke Verneus, had captured the eye of the queen.

It must have been a remarkable feat, after all. There were no rumors of the queen taking lovers outside of her husband, despite the fact that doing so would have been "good and proper." The king and queen had been trying for children for many years. The court physician was uncertain as to whether the problem lay with the king or with the queen. Any other queen would have taken a consort and from him produced an heir. But the queen had done no such thing. Her utter devotion to her husband had always been clear. So her obvious attraction to Charles was no doubt appalling to the court, who stared at them even now and whispered behind fans.

"So my lord does not fancy tennis," the queen said, lifting her chin and smiling up at Charles.

"No, my queen," Charles returned. "The balls in particular are not to my tastes."

The queen giggled. "And yet, his lordship remains a bachelor? I find that rather sad, to say the least. Sad for you. Convenient for me."

"Your grace?" Charles said a little nervously. Luckily for him, females always seemed to find his nerves adorable.

The queen laughed softly. "You are like a sweet, anxious boy, so eager to please and yet so shy once you have succeeded. You have my attention, have you not? Let us not hide behind demure stammering and smiles. I have a request of his lordship."

"Obedience is the essence of my very nature, your highness," Charles whispered and spun her around. Her back hit his chest as his arm enfolded her, and her soft red mane caressed his lip with its perfume. His paw was on her belly, and she smoothed hers over it.

"Then let us speak plainly," she whispered huskily. "I have long desired two males in my bed . . ."

Charles blushed to his mane, his eyes darting behind the mask. Oh god. Where was Dick when he needed him?

"My husband is a passionate lover," the queen went on. "It would more than please me to have you submit to his passion for my pleasure."

Charles gulped. "But your highness . . . I do not like tennis," he whispered.

The queen laughed. "I know. You would please me as he pleases himself with you. A small price to pay to know the wet warmth of the queen, is it not?"

"I would pay any price to know her majesty's charms," Charles graciously lied.

The queen laughed and spun herself free of his arm with a toss of her long red mane. "Then I shall see his lordship tonight, in our chambers." She smiled at him mischievously and slowly sashayed back to her throne, the skirts of her golden gown enormous as they swayed. The dance floor parted for her at once, and the court bowed and curtsied in a ripple as she passed. Charles watched as a Beauceron slave offered his paw and helped the queen up the steps to her throne. He turned away. Oh god.

The queen had just invited Charles to a threesome with herself and the king. He looked at the king, at the massive bulge in his tight breeches, and thought himself quite literally trapped between a rock and a hard place.

After all, there wasn't a dog alive foolish enough to refuse such an offer. Queen Donica always got what she wanted, and for some reason, she wanted Charles. Charles silently cursed himself for all the flattery he'd heaped on her. But he was determined to one-up the beast, and the only way to tame a beast was with a tune.

Feeling lightheaded, Charles went to the banquet table and allowed a Beauceron slave to fill his glass with wine. "Might I have this dance?" said a nearby noble to him. It took him a moment to realize it was Dick.

Dick was clad in a lovely deep blue coat with gold trim, tight knee-length breeches, and white tights. His red mane was pulled back in an elegant tail and his mask was that of a red bear. Charles thought a panther would have better suited him. Dick's every stride had always oozed predator. But he thought of Evelyn calling Dick his "cuddle bear" and almost laughed.

"I'm taken," Charles answered and took a weary sip from his glass.

"Yes," said Dick with a laugh. "And by the queen herself, no less. Who saw that coming?" He stood with his paws behind his back, regarding Charles. He laughed again. "Aha. What has she _done_to you? You're all breathless and nervous. It's sort of adorable."

Charles scowled behind his mask. "No, it is not adorable," he said irritably. He lowered his voice and hissed, "Her majesty just invited me to her bed! She wants the king to . . . make love to me."

Dick blinked, then laughed loudly.

"Shut up!" Charles hissed.

Dick shook his head. "Oh, Charlie. How you and Evelyn get into these predicaments is beyond me. Seems as if the king has a bone for you both. First Evelyn, now you. He is definitely having his cake and eating it too."

"Keep your voice down," Charles begged. "No one knows that the king and Evie . . ." He glanced at the nearby Beauceron, who seemed to be ignoring them both as he filled another noble's glass. The noble, however, was listening keenly.

Charles grabbed Dick by the arm and steered him out onto a nearby balcony. He let the great red curtain fall shut behind them, shielding them from the eyes of those in the ballroom. The distant sound of music became muffled as the sound of crickets chirruping took precedence. Down below, one could see the garden, the empty birdbaths and many stone benches. The distant battlements rose like teeth against the starry sky.

Charles went to the stone railing and set his glass on it. "At least she has no idea that you and I . . ."

Dick cleared his throat. "And let's keep it that way. If Donica ever discovered how I felt about you, she'd use it to spite me. I've been on her shit list about as long as our dear Evelyn."

Charles shook his head. "What on earth did you do to her? I know she thinks you and the king were together, but if she's this nonchalant about sharing him with a male . . ."

"I once told her I didn't like her gown. Right to her face and before all the court. Said it was abhorrent but that the color matched her teeth impeccably." Dick's lips curled in a smile under the mask.

"Scandalous," Charles teased. He laughed and shook his head. "I don't know why she didn't have you strung up right there."

Dick shrugged. "She knew it would anger her darling husband to do so. So she contents herself with verbally lashing me in public."

"And . . ." Charles looked at Dick sideways. "You aren't upset about . . .?" He frowned. "You seem to be taking it all rather well."

Dick laughed lightly. "What do you expect me to do, Charlie? Perhaps sleeping with them will warm them to your cause. You're here for Evelyn, aren't you? The king bends an ear to his lovers. He has a reputation for it. Our dear Evelyn is a case in point."

Charles looked off. That was true. Because of his love for Evelyn, the king had outlawed the fox hunt for quite some time. Still . . . . of all the ways to earn the king's favor. . . .

"I suppose I have no choice," Charles said. "If I want Evelyn's child to survive, I have to make certain the king favors her over this princess of theirs."

"Yes, Princess Corene," Dick said with a weary nod.

"Who is she, Richard? Do you know of her?"

Dick sighed heavily. "Not really. I saw her in the ballroom same as you. The others were whispering about her. She's from a noble family that died in a tragic accident and conveniently garnered the sympathies of the queen."

Charles looked at Dick intently. "You aren't suggesting . . .?"

"That the queen had her family murdered in order to claim her?" Dick muttered under his breath. "Oh no." He smiled. "I would never suggest that, Charlie."

Charles looked out over the balcony and gulped. The ruthlessness of the queen sent a chill through his fur.

"Come," Dick said, breaking Charles' thoughts. "Take the mask off for one second and dance with me."

Charles blinked unhappily: Dick did not mean the literal mask on his face but the mask of heterosexuality he'd been wearing all evening. He looked over and his heart warmed to find Dick bowing, paw extended, for a dance. He smiled and slowly took his paw, "I would love to."

On the privacy of the balcony, they whirled to the distant music floating from the ballroom. Dick was an excellent dancer - but he was an excellent everything, Charles thought with a smile.

Dick playfully flicked the mask back from Charles' face, and pushing back his own mask, he kissed him in the moonlight.

And for a moment in time, nothing else mattered.