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Tremendously Stupid

Chapter 6

Etienne made love to Decius far longer than he had originally intended to. But then . . . it was always that way. By the time he was dressed and climbing out the window, it was five in the morning and the sun was coming up. He felt like an idiot for dallying. When he hit the grass far below, he glanced up and saw Decius watching forlornly from the window. The slave waved sadly, then started pulling the sheet up, quickly and quietly.

Etienne turned away, his hood drawn up and his pack on his back. He had to be away immediately. The royal guard was so finely trained that it was only a matter of time before his absence was felt. There were some mornings when he missed breakfast and Decius had to fetch it for him, and indeed, Etienne had told the slave to go for his breakfast after he was gone, pretending as if the prince was still there. But after the confrontation with Donica only the day before, the guards were very likely to watch Etienne's activities far more closely.

Etienne bribed two of his personal bodyguards to keep their mouths shut, but he knew it would only last for so long. The guards were more frightened of Donica's wrath than soft-tempered Etienne, who was under the queen's thumb regardless and could not protect them from her. They were likely to run and tell the queen of his absence within the hour - or as soon as their fear got the better of them. He had little time.

Getting away was imperative. The prince even had a carriage waiting for him. But . . . he could not resist heading to the chapel and bidding his father farewell.

King Bastian Emerald had been cremated, and his white ornamental urn stood under glass in Wychowl's chapel. Etienne always came to his father's urn when he was feeling lost or alone. Just talking to it always afforded him comfort, however small. Though he missed church regularly, he came to his father's urn routinely, sitting for long hours at a time in the stillness and quiet that he so cherished.

Etienne stepped inside and passed through the reaching beams of colored sunlight that stretched through the stained glass and played across the red carpet. Bastian's remains stood on display with the other remains of dog kings. The urns of kings past were all under glass, lined alongside each other like mummified fox kings in a museum, Etienne thought. Each urn bore the royal family's coat of arms - a roaring lion - the name of the king it contained, and the king's year of passing. When Etienne was a boy, he would look at those urns and shudder to think that he would one day sit on a shelf on display. A pile of ash in a jar.

"Dad," Etienne said, taking a seat on the front-most pew. He sighed. "It's finally happened. I'm running away. And it's your bloody fault! Why didn't you tell me she wasn't my mother? You let me go on thinking --!" He halted, breathless with sudden rage. "And she killed my real mother - my real_mother, who you _supposedly loved. I read your letter. I can't imagine what that was like for you, to live with that. I can't imagine how you would have told me, really." His long lashes cast down as he looked at the glittering ring on his finger. He had taken it from his father's belongings in the archives. It was a blue jewel and matched his eyes almost perfectly.

"Your father loved you," said a voice behind Etienne. "That's all that matters."

Etienne stiffened. Corene. He didn't look at her as she came up the aisle, her slippers clicking in the silence. The sound reminded him of Donica. Her perfume was flowery and caressed his nose as she took a seat on the pew beside him. Her great skirts rustled, settling around her like rising bread. It took him a moment to realize she was wrapped in a dark cloak. The hood was drawn up over her mane, licks of which swept across her slanted eyes.

"Take me with you."

"No," he said simply.

She closed her paw over his and squeezed. She was going to speak again when his ring jabbed her. She let go, staring at his paw. "That's King Bastian's ring. So . . . you have been to the archives."

"How many times have I asked you to stop spying on me?" he said irritably.

"Ha. Be glad that I spy on you," she returned and looked away. "Flavia tailed you last night. Kept some of Donica's spies from discovering what you were up to. If it weren't for my spying, you'd have been caught by now."

"Stop playing the loving bride-to-be for five seconds," Etienne returned with a curl of his lip. "The only reason you haven't tattled to Donica is because you want to come with me. And you aren't."

Corene's breasts heaved. "I love you," she said miserably. "Can't you understand that?"

"I understand," he returned. "I just don't care."

Corene looked at him, on the verge of tears.

"There's nothing so ugly as a princess crying," Etienne said carelessly and looked away.

"Etienne --"

"No. Stop," he said firmly. He looked at her, eyes glittering hatred. "If you loved me, Corene, you would have told me who my mother was. You knew. You knew all along but you said nothing. No - don't cry. It's pathetic."

"Don't say such things," she begged. Her big breasts heaved as she began to cry harder. "I was there when your mother died!"

He looked at her quickly.

She went on as her thick lashes fluttered out tears, "Donica used me to do it. She sent me to the tower with tarts. I d-didn't know they were poisoned . . . I blamed myself. Everyday. For the rest of my l-life." She bowed her head and sobbed quietly. Her small paws twisted in her lap, glittering with diamonds.

Etienne blinked guiltily. His eyes softened as he took her paw and squeezed.

"Don't run away, darling," Corene begged. "I know what Donica did was terrible . . . what I did."

Etienne frowned. He pinched her chin and made her look at him. "You were a child, Corene. You didn't do anything. Do you understand?" He cupped her face and repeated firmly, "Anything. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes," she managed. "Etienne, don't go . . ." She leaned in to kiss him, but he pulled away. "You care! The way you look at me - oh, darling, you must care --"

"No," Etienne said sharply. "I may care about your feelings, Corene. That doesn't mean I'm in love with you. I can't love someone like you."

Corene's face darkened. "Perhaps not. But you need me."

"No."

"Still angry about Princess Whatsherface? Oh, this is rich." Corene looked away. The tears were still coursing down her face, but her voice was cutting and sarcastic now. She sat beside him, stiff, angry, and proud, and he knew he was done for now: by refusing her yet again, he had turned her against him. She would run off and tattle as soon as their bitter argument had finished.

"Princess Isabella Hart," Etienne darkly corrected.

When Etienne was thirteen, he met Princess Isabella at a ball. The girl was one year older than he. They both hated the ball and took to each other immediately. Isabella was a fluffy, pretty terrier with lush auburn fur and a short curly mane. She wore a white gown and a gold ribbon that matched her eyes almost perfectly. Etienne found her hiding behind a curtain, hiding from her mother -- the queen of Kingdom Mocuria - who wanted her to dance with "that dreadful Prince Etienne." Etienne coaxed her to dance, and only after the music stopped did he tell her who he was. She had insulted him to high heaven only minutes before. Once he revealed himself, she was too embarrassed to look at him. So he kissed her. She kissed him back. And in that moment, he decided he would marry the little princess.

But Corene - nineteen at the time - spied Etienne and Isabella sharing cake at the banquet table. And like all competition, Corene did what was prudent for her position as future queen: she had Isabella removed from the picture. Corene sent Flavia to plant Donica's jewels on the girl. The jewels were later revealed when Etienne danced with Isabella again: they fell out of her dress before the entire court. She was banned from Wychowl as a thief and her parents fined. The "crime" almost started a war between Varimore and Mocuria. . . . but at least the threat to Corene's queendom was out of the way.

Etienne, meanwhile, never saw Isabella again. And he never forgave Corene for what was only one of a long list of offences. That she expected him to fall madly in love with her was baffling.

"You still have a bone for that little tart," Corene said and shook her head. She looked at Etienne, her eyes sparkling angrily. "Don't you understand? I am your destiny! You can not fight it. And each time you try, I am the one who suffers."

"Yes," Etienne said sarcastically, "you suffered immensely when you set up Isabella - and every other female who ever caught my eye." He stood. "I'm leaving, Corene. You try to stop me and I'll break your skinny neck."

She looked at him quickly, her throat tightening in shock. He had insulted her on many occasions, mocked and ridiculed her, but he had never physically threatened her. Now he stood over her, looking at her with a glare in his eye that almost made her cringe. He was dead serious. He was running away, and if he was dragged back because of her, it would not be pretty.

Corene resisted the urge to cringe from him and instead maintained her composure, staring with dignified anger at the candlelit altar. "Fine. It doesn't matter. Donica will find out with or without my help. She'll send the mastiffs to bring you back. You'll flail and cry and she'll lock you in your room. And when you're longing for the comfort only my embrace can give . . . I'll be there. Because you need me. Maybe one day you'll --"

She screamed softly when he reached under her hood and grabbed her by the ear. "E-Etienne --!" she cried, astonished as he towered over her. Her big breasts heaved, and the diamond laying on them sparkled in the sunlight. He grabbed the diamond and ripped it from her throat. She screamed again as the chain cut her neck, slicing through her fur in a ribbon of blood. He hadn't meant to cut her but didn't apologize as he tucked the necklace away. He would need all the coin he could get for this journey. He intended to go very far, possibly to the cold lands to the north.

"Give me your earrings. The rings too," he ordered calmly.

She began to cry, pulling off her earrings and prying each ring from her slender fingers. Her pink nails were glossy, the white tips translucent as she handed all the rings over except for one. Etienne knew why: a lover had given her the final ring, some boy she was dallying with while Etienne was still a child. It had a big green jewel. The boy had given it to her because it matched her eyes.

"The green one," Etienne said calmly.

Corene shook her head and blinked out tears. "No."

"I said --!"

"No!" she screamed and her cheeks welled up in her eyes. "I've given up everything to be with you! Everything! You will not have Markus too!"

Ah. Markus. That was the boy's name.

Etienne grabbed her paw and tried to pry the ring off. She twisted to get away and fell back on the pew, pulling him down on top of her. Her big breasts were crushed near his face, rising swollen from the low-cut neck of her gown. Her mane was coming down of its bun and tears were in her eyes as she squirmed and glared. She held her paw out of reach, but he snatched it and ripped the ring off with his teeth.

"E-Etienne," she whimpered. "P-Please --"

"No!" He fumbled to get the ring in his pocket. She fumbled to stop him. Her paw found the bulge of his penis and squeezed. He grunted. He'd already been getting hard just from her breasts in his face. He started to get harder. Her slanted eyes laughed at him defiantly.

"Stop it, damn it - ah . . . . C-Corene . . ."

"Etienne . . ." she whispered and looked at him with soft eyes.

He looked at her and thought she looked pretty enough to eat. There she lay, big breasts practically bursting from her dress, mane mussed and unraveled, breathless and flushed and breasts heaving. She smoothed her little paw up the back of his neck and through his golden mane. "Make love to me, Etienne," she whispered. "One last time?"

"No," he said simply and climbed off.

She sat up, mussed and undone, and watched sullenly as he counted her rings. "I hate you," she whispered as he tucked her favorite ring away.

"No, you love me," he said, slinging the pack over his shoulder. "I've seen what you do to dogs you hate. You took Isabella from me. I'm taking Markus." He started past her but paused.

She looked at him hopefully, eyes wet and red from her tears.

"I'm not sorry that I'm leaving," he said. "But I am sorry it is hurting you." He kissed her paw and abruptly left.

She watched him go. With an ache in her chest.

The carriage - ordered by Decius that morning -- was waiting for Etienne, and he thought it was a miracle that a full dozen mastiff guards were not standing there with the queen. The fight with Corene in the chapel had chipped a fair amount of time off the clock. He had to suppose no one had come for him because Corene was absent from breakfast as well: Queen Donica no doubt thought they were off alone together. Donica never bothered them when they were alone - probably in the hope that he would fall madly in love with Corene. Or perhaps just impregnate her.

Etienne knew taking a carriage all the way to Howlester was asking to be caught. His best bet was to ride part of the way, then walk the rest. He could take back alleys and side streets on foot, avoiding the main streets and the public eye until he arrived at the estate.

Etienne climbed in the carriage and ordered the driver - a hunched little dog with a wrinkled face - to take him to Sudbury. The driver obliged with a nervous cough, and Etienne knew why he was nervous: if the queen found out he had helped the prince run, it just might be his head. Etienne gave him one of Corene's rings and told him to use it to disappear after he had dropped him off. The driver was much obliged, and it was with a happier countenance that he drove the prince to Sudbury.

Sudbury Lyn was a duchy adjoining Wychowl, large and busy, stacked with towering buildings and always rolling with fog. The sky was always gray in Sudbury, and for some reason or other, it was always cold. An old story said the spirit of a fox king - murdered at the very place where Sudbury's grand cathedral stood - had cursed the land upon his execution. As a result, it was always cold. There was always fog. And rain came and went like the sun.

Night had fallen when the driver dropped the prince off outside a corner tavern called The Twin Whistle. He tried to convince the prince to stay some place more fitting for his station, but Etienne reminded him that to do such a thing would only make him easier to find.

Yet the moment he walked inside The Twin Whistle, Etienne regretted it. The place was beyond sleazy and sordid. Males sat at the bar with their fat backsides hanging out of trousers. Blood and beer alike was on the floor in dark stains. More dark stains were on the ceiling. The ceiling was dripping. A male was passed out in his own vomit. Another was touching himself through his trousers as he sat not in the corner but at the very bar.

Small round tables were scattered in the gloom, glowing with candles as males sat hunched over mugs. On the far side of the room, a male was strumming a lute and singing mournfully of the fallen Queen Nadheertia. A few patrons listened sadly, their eyes dull, their plates half-empty and scattered with bones.

Etienne cleared his throat uncertainly and took a seat at the bar. The barkeep was a young female, who sashayed back and forth in a tight dress and even tighter apron, breasts high and firm, black mane pulled high in a ponytail. She had a trim figure and a tiny waist. Etienne found his eyes following her backside as she strutted past him. She caught his eye, smiled, and came to him behind the bar.

"What'll it be?" the barkeep said, eying Etienne with a smile as she pushed a rag over a plate. "You're a bit too clean to be in here, aren't you, m'lord?"

Etienne smiled. He pulled one of Corene's rings off his pinky and laid it on the counter. It had a diamond bigger than a coin. The barkeep's lashes fluttered and her mouth fell open.

"I'm starving and need a bed for the night. What'll this get me?" Etienne asked, lips twisted in amusement.

"All the girls in Varimore," the barkeep answered breathlessly. "And their daddy's land!"

Etienne laughed.

"I'll be back with a hot plate, m'lord," the female said, and taking the ring up with round eyes, she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Are you always given to such tremendous stupidity?" asked a voice.

Etienne looked around and did a doubletake. A handsome young male was sitting beside him at the bar. He'd been so focused on the barkeep that he hadn't even noticed him, but now he couldn't look away. The stranger was a foxhound, handsome, and amused, his long red mane pulled back in a dignified tail, a diamond sparkling in his ear, a smirk on his white muzzle. Unlike the other males in the tavern, he was clad in fine garments. His loose white shirt had cameos, and more cameos were on his fingers. He sat in tight breeches but was without his coat, and Etienne could only assume he'd left it back in his room: he was staying at the tavern. He sat with one boot hooked in the rung of his barstool, one brow cocked as his mocking eyes danced over Etienne.

Etienne blinked and it suddenly hit him that the stranger had called him stupid. He scowled and looked away as the barkeep returned with a hot plate for him. She set a mug of ale on the table and bid him eat up. Beside his mug she also set the key to his room.

"It's room number 6, m'lord," the barkeep said. "Best room in the house." She licked her lips and cocked a brow. "I could . . . show you your room if you like."

Etienne smiled. "That won't be necessary, m'lady. But thank you."

The barkeep pouted but took up her tray and started serving drinks again.

Etienne tucked into his plate, but after a moment of eating, realized the stranger was still staring at him. He set down his fork and glared. "What's your problem?"

The handsome stranger lifted his brows. "Me? I'm not the one with the problem. Soon as you leave this place, about six of the gents in here will jump you for the rest of those diamonds." He nodded at the rings sparkling on Etienne's fingers and took a sip from his mug. "You don't flash that sort of wear around the seedy part of town. You'll be lucky if they don't stick their dicks in your every crevice once they've stripped every valuable bit off your backside."

Etienne held down a blush and returned to his plate. "That's none of your affair."

The stranger shrugged. "Just a friendly warning."

Etienne laughed shortly and shoveled potatoes in his mouth. "You call that friendly?" he said around a mouthful.

"It is for me," the stranger returned with a laugh. "I'd hate to see these sons of mutts get their paws on a fine piece before I've had my chance."

Etienne looked up and paused: the stranger was staring at him as if his fiery eyes were undressing him. It sent goosebumps through his fur. He tore his eyes away and kept eating. He didn't know why, but his paw was shaking. When he brought more potatoes to his mouth, the fork clicked his fangs. He scowled at his plate, silently scolding himself for letting some cute asshole fluster him.

"What makes you think you have a chance?" Etienne said, his voice lightly taunting.

The stranger laughed. "I always_have a chance. Usually more than a chance. I saw you staring at me just now. I'm pretty, aren't I? I dare say you got a little stiff. Not that there's anything _little about you. You could break a male in half, couldn't you? Or your dick could."

Etienne choked. His chewing mouth halted and he stared at the young male, who was smirking. He'd never in his life had a male talk to him that way - or anyone, really. Even other boys at university - who he fooled around with - did not deign to talk "dirty" to their prince. But he had to remind himself that he wasn't a prince anymore, and the handsome young male sitting beside him had no clue who he was. The very thought was suddenly quite . . . soothing. But he was no less irritated.

"I could just as easily break your neck," Etienne said and returned to his plate.

The stranger only laughed. "As long as you put your paws on my body. It would be a welcome death, my lord."

Etienne held down a blush and continued eating. Something about the delicate emphasis on "my lord" made him a little hard. He cleared his throat. "If I gave you a diamond ring, would you go away?"

The stranger laughed. "You're a tight clam, aren't you? I've never had so much trouble getting a male in the sack. I bet you've never had a male bend you over in your life. You always did the bending, didn't you?" The stranger waited, and when Etienne glowered and blushed harder, he went on, "Ah, yes. You're used to being in control. You're the son of some lord of some barony out in the middle of no where. Couldn't stand the burden of daddy's money and ran away to the city. Where are you going? To join the king's army? You don't want to be Donica's puppet. I guarantee."

Etienne blinked miserably at his plate: he was already Donica's puppet. "Mind your business," he said irritably. "And leave off me. You've been hounding me since I sat down." He shook his head and stabbed his greens with more vehemence than he meant to.

The stranger watched him, his fiery eyes smiling. "Only because you're damn adorable."

Etienne glanced up and his heart fluttered.

"You were like a lost puppy wandering in here," the stranger went on. "My heart just kind of . . . went out to you. Well . . ." He dragged his eyes away and took a sip from his mug. "What little heart I have."

Etienne's lip curled and he looked away again. "Stop talking down to me. You can't be any older than I."

"And yet _I've_enough sense not to waltz into shady taverns and wave my shit around. . . ." The stranger tapped his mug as the barkeep strutted by. "Another, darling, please." His hungry eyes turned to Etienne as the barkeep filled his mug. He smirked again.

Etienne's nostrils flared and he kept eating. Suddenly too irritated to conceive of even staying in the same building as the handsome stranger, he slid the key to his room across the counter. "I won't be staying in room number 6 after all," he told the crestfallen barkeep.

The handsome stranger smirked. "No . . ." he said and placed his paw over Etienne's. "He'll be staying in mine."

Etienne looked in the stranger's eyes and felt tremendously stupid when the word came out of his mouth, "Alright."