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His Boy

Chapter 11

Jonathan tried to ignore the constant voice that nagged him to guilt at the back of his mind. But he needed the jewelry. He needed it to catch that train to Redwick - and fast. He knew Charles was likely in Sudbury, and if he found out Jonathan had been kicked from yet another university he'd never hear the end of it.

But it was more than just the choking fear of punishment. Jonathan loved Charles like a father and hated disappointing him more than anything. In fact, he'd always seen Charles as more his father than his actual father. Jonathan and Duke Richard Kingsley - or Dick the Dick, as Jonathan liked to call him -- seldom if ever got along. Charles said it was because they were too much alike -- Jonathan said it was because Duke Richard was a prick. He and his father hardly spoke to each other, and when they did speak, it was usually to yell. Charles was shite at running the duchy, so Duke Richard was more often than not running it alone. As a result, the duke was always tired and always claimed to be too tired for little Jonathan, who would run to him at the end of each day and hop in his lap - only to be taken away by his nanny for "bothering the duke again."

But Charles . . . Charles was always there with a kiss and hug when Jonathan fell and scraped his knee. Charles was always there to tell him stories, sing to him, play with him, take him on outings. Charles taught Jonathan to ride and to shoot, how to win a game of chess - how to lose for political reasons - and how to navigate the dangerous waters of court life.

At the end of the day, Charles was Jonathan's father and it was Charles who Jonathan loved and respected. He suspected that some small part of him loved Duke Richard. He just hadn't discovered it yet.

Sudbury Lyn wasn't far from Howlester. It was a few hours journey by carriage. Charles liked to visit the place on occasion during the summer. Sudbury had his favorite flavors of tea and was also home to his favorite tailor and one of Varimore's grandest theaters, Sondmon Hall. Sudbury also had one of the best bakers in the kingdom, and Charles loved to purchase the baker's cakes in order to appease Duke Richard's sweet tooth.

Jonathan glowered. He didn't even want to think about Dick the Dick. It would be far worse if Duke Richard, and not Charles, discovered his son had been expelled yet again. Jonathan had already been punished several times, the duke even going so far as to fire Jonathan's personal servant. That was the last straw for Jonathan, who spent the rest of the year at university drunk. But that wasn't why he was expelled. Everyone was drunk at AuchendaleUniversity.

Jonathan sidestepped a puddle as he made for the jeweler's and asked himself why he felt guilty. It wasn't like the poor baron's son couldn't just buy more rings. The dumb kid had been covered in enough jewelry to rival the very crown. It was baffling. And if Jonathan hadn't robbed him, someone else would have - and they wouldn't have been nearly as nice about it, either.

Still, he could not subdue the voice of guilt nagging him. The way that big, sweet male had kissed him . . . touched him. He had never felt so guilty in his life. But somehow, he still got up the nerve to take the jewelry and run. He hoped they never crossed paths again. The male had been huge, and Jonathan was worthless in a fight.

The bells tinkled as Jonathan entered the jeweler's shop. The shop belonged to a shaggy, elderly black Barbet dog named Stanley Mason. He was hunched, pompous, and always with a purple kerchief tucked in his blue and gold-trimmed coat. The old Barbet's guard was a large, dark mastiff called Evern, who wielded a sword with a matching silver breastplate and jacket.

Evern stood by the door with his arms folded as Jonathan ducked inside. He nodded in silent greeting to Jonathan, who paused to take off his hood.

The shop was empty, and so silent, the clock ticking on the wall was a loud tap in Jonathan's ear. Stanley Mason sat behind the glass display, on a high stool, reading a newspaper. His tiny spectacles were perched on his nose and reminded Jonathan for a moment of Charles. His black ear flicked when the bells tinkled on the door. He put down his paper and looked at Jonathan over his spectacles.

"Ah. The young marquis." The Barbet's tiny eyes dulled. "Back with more glass?"

Jonathan scowled as he approached the counter. "No. I'm back with something real this time." He reached in his coat and triumphantly set a ring with a blue jewel on the counter. He had pried it from the baron boy's finger as he was sleeping. It was easily the most valuable piece the big dog had had in his possession.

Stanley Mason's mouth fell open. "My word," he said in hushed awe, and pulling his loupe from his coat pocket, he peered through it at the jewel. The little Barbet held the ring up to the light, his mouth still hanging open. "My word," he repeated in disbelief.

Jonathan smiled, silently congratulating himself. Behind him, he heard Evern's cry of awe.

But Stanley's face creased in a scowl. He lowered the loupe and glared at Jonathan. "But one must wonder where you got this, my lord."

"None of your business, you old codger," Jonathan said at once. He stabbed the counter with an adamant finger. "Give me my money, or so help me god --"

Evern loudly cleared his throat, and Jonathan swallowed his threat in frustration.

Stanley sternly shook his head. "I'll just assume this belongs to his grace the duke, in which case I shall not consider."

Jonathan scowled. "This is not my father's ring. Father is loaded. Not this loaded."

Stanley lifted his paper with a prompt snap, hiding his face as he said firmly, "I shall not consider."

"Argh!" Jonathan lifted the ring in the light. "Do you have any idea what this is worth?"

The shop bells tinkled a second time as someone entered, and Jonathan heard an incredulous voice behind him, "Jonny! Where in god's name did you get that ring!"

Jonathan winced. Charles. Damn him.

Duke Charles Verneus Kingsley was a middle-aged male, a foxhound like Jonathan, his white mane pulled back in a tail and his spectacles perched on his nose. He was clad in a dark gray coat and tight brown breeches. He was also wearing a cloak to shield himself from the rain and pulled the hood off as he swept into the shop.

Charles grabbed Jonathan's ear when he didn't answer and dragged him out of the shop. Jonathan barely managed to hold on to the ring as he was pulled away. They came to a carriage on the street, and Charles let go, waiting tensely for the younger male to climb in. Once they were both inside, Charles tapped the window with his cane and told the driver to take them to Howlester.

Jonathan slumped on the seat and groaned. He was so close to getting away. So close! Now he would spend the rest of the summer bickering with Duke Richard and listening to Charles nag - in-between the occasional moment where he managed to steal from the liquor cabinet.

Inside the carriage, Charles' shopping was on the seat between them. A pink box containing cakes was on the top of the pile, and when Jonathan reached for them, Charles slapped his paw and snatched the ring. Jonathan scowled and rubbed his sore knuckles.

"First," Charles said, peering over his spectacles at the bright blue jewel, "I'll ignore for the moment the fact that you aren't at university. Second, you are going to tell me where you got this and maybe - just maybe - I won't bloody kill you."

Jonathan moaned and scratched his ears. "I got it off this bloke I met over at . . . Sondmon Hall."

Charles snorted without breaking eye contact as he peered skeptically over his glasses at the young male. "You? Attending a play? You are_terrible_ at this lying thing."

Jonathan looked away, face twisting irritably. "Does it matter where I got it?"

"Absolutely. What did this bloke look like? What was his breed?"

Jonathan frowned. "I _think_he was a King Shepherd."

"A King Shepherd? My god." Charles stared off with wide eyes.

"Not sure, though. Was a bit drunk." Jonathan shrugged.

Charles scowled and shook his head. "I'd reprimand you, only you can't help it: you were born on the drink." He tucked the ring in his coat and sighed, looking out the window at the muddy streets and passing buildings. "This is bad. Really bad."

". . . why?"

"The ring belonged to King Bastian," Charles said, almost wistfully. "I'd know it anywhere."

"King _Bastian._Bloody hell! I fucked the pri --!" Jonathan caught his tongue in his teeth at the snapping look Charles gave him.

Charles went very still. "You what."

"I . . ." Jonathan's ears flattened under Charles' glare and he fell silent. Sometimes he thought Charles was the only one who could silence him.

"Answer me, Jonny." The duke's eyes glinted behind his spectacles.

Jonathan heaved an unhappy breath. "I may have . . . slept with the male I took that ring from."

Charles moaned, pushing his mane back from his eyes. "When I first saw the ring, I thought maybe some thief had made off with it from the castle, perhaps sold it to you. I thought I'd only have to suffer the mess of trying to return the thing to a court our house has been banned from for twenty years. Now it seems there's an even bigger mess. The prince has run away . . . and you . . ." Charles trailed off and stared at Jonathan.

Jonathan went very still. Charles had never stared at him in such a way before. He didn't know what to think. ". . . Uncle Charlie?" he said at last. He had always called Charles his uncle, though Charles wasn't, in fact, related to him at all. He just thought it sounded nice.

Charles swallowed hard and his eyes grew sad. "Jonny," he said heavily, "there are things your father and I should have told you. A long time ago."

"I know my mother was a servant," Jonathan said, startling Charles into staring. "I know Father sent her away - or she left because he was a prick. Probably the latter. I know I'm a bastard, that I'm not purebred, and if anyone finds out, it could jeopardize my title as marquis. I know."

Charles slowly shook his head. "No, dear boy," he said and patted Jonathan's shoulder. "I don't know how you found all that out - in fact, don't tell Richard, it will give your father a heart attack. But that wasn't what I . . ." He paused and frowned. "How _did_you find out?"

Jonathan shrugged moodily. "Haskell was drunk one evening."

Charles frowned and looked out the window again. "Ah." He cleared his throat. "What I was going to tell you has to do with the king and why our family was banned from his court. My sister was the Duchess Evelyn Lorraine Kingsley." He looked at Jonathan, the faint pain echoing in his eyes. "You remember her? The portraits of her around Howlester?"

Jonathan nodded. He had grown up hearing about the duchess almost constantly - how could he not remember? As a boy, he had quickly learned to stop asking questions about the pretty lady in the portraits. The duchess had died several years before, but Charles always became quiet and morose whenever she was mentioned at length, and Jonathan hated seeing him unhappy.

"My sister had a son with his majesty the king. She died soon after, and the true parentage of the prince was covered up. Only those who were at court at the time know the truth. The prince's birth certificate was even written with Queen Donica as his mother. But his mother . . . was my sister. And Dick's cousin. . . . your cousin."

"So . . ." Jonathan turned his eyes away. "I not only slept with the prince . . . but with my cousin too? That's great. That's great, Uncle Charlie," he said sarcastically and scowled out the window. He waved a paw. "What does it matter? Purebreds breed with their cousins."

"It doesn't matter," Charles said. "What matters is that the prince is out wandering around alone somewhere." He shook his head. "I wish I'd found you and he both. Then I could have. . ."

Jonathan snorted. "What? Delivered him back to Wychowl? You aren't allowed in Wychowl. And he's a bloody prince. He's not going to listen to you."

"The hell he won't. I'm his uncle, Jonny. He's not a prince to me. He's my nephew. I still remember rocking him, caring for him . . ."

They sat in silence for a time. After a long pause, Jonathan said in a low voice, "I'm your nephew."

"Oh, Jonny . . ." Charles touched Jonathan's mane, and his eyes behind his spectacles were gentle. "You know you'll always be my boy."

Jonathan smiled.

"Speaking of which," Charles said and his face hardened.

Jonathan looked away. Here we go.

"You'd best tell me how and why you are not at university. Perhaps I can talk to your father and soften the blow. But there will be a blow. Richard warned you that if you were expelled again --"

"It wasn't my fault!" Jonathan said at once. When Charles looked at him skeptically, he rolled his eyes and muttered, "Alright, it was."

Charles sighed. "What did you do?"

"I . . . well . . ." Jonathan rummaged in his coat for a cigar and a match. He was lighting up when Charles plucked the cigar from his lips and threw it out the window.

"Hey! Uncle _Char_lie! You know how much those bloody cost?"

"Not that you'll have to worry about it anymore as Richard will promptly freeze your assets once he learns of your latest buffoonery." Charles shook his head. "Selling _jewelry_so we couldn't trace you through the use of your account?"

"Uncle Charlie --" Jonathan began wearily.

"Answer my question. And watch your language - and give me all the jewelry you stole, while we're at it."

Jonathan sullenly started emptying his pockets, and Charles snatched the pawful of rings from the marquis.

"I . . . may have let Professor Lawson suck --"

"Jonathan Richard Chase Evan Kingsley!" Charles swore furiously.

Jonathan's ears flattened. "We didn't do anything beyond that. Anyway . . ." He looked out the window. "She started giving me better grades. Others started noticing. She was fired and I was expelled." He shrugged. "It was more because of the grades than the fact that we were . . ."

"Ah!" Charles said angrily. He took off his spectacles and polished them on his shirt, glaring at Jonathan from behind the lick of white mane that fell in his eyes. "I always knew Professor Lawson was too young to be working at a prodigious establishment like Auchendale."

"Twenty-four isn't too young," Jonathan muttered.

"It's too young to be with you - I mean, too old," Charles said irritably and ignored it when Jonathan laughed at him.

"I'm twenty, Uncle Charlie. For fuck's sake. I'm not twelve--"

"Language!"

"Well, I'm not."

"You could have fooled me," Charles snorted. "You know what your father said. This was your last chance. I was really hoping you'd straighten up. Try to do better . . ." Charles shook his head unhappily, and Jonathan tried to ignore the sudden thrill of guilt but couldn't.

"What does it matter if I go to university or not?" Jonathan demanded crossly. "Soon as Dad kicks the bucket, I'll have to marry and rule Howlester. It won't matter."

"It will matter. All evidence to the contrary, it takes more than sitting on ones backside and drinking to run a duchy. Your father does more than that, I assure you."

"Right . . ."

Charles scowled. "Well, perhaps you'd know if you ever attended court."

"I hate court. Some little baroness is always trying to dig her nails in me." Jonathan sneered and shook his head.

Charles laughed sympathetically. "But, my boy, you will have to marry. Someday. You might as well accept it now."

Jonathan snorted. "Why? You didn't. You and Father get to be together --"

"And face constant whispers and ridicule," Charles said darkly. "While no church would ever recognize our union and the scandal that has surrounded us for twenty years has all but ruined us. But yes. We rule the duchy together."

Jonathan smiled and shook his head as he gazed out the window. "You complain, but it's not that bad."

Charles smiled almost dreamily at the rainy countryside rolling beyond his window. "You're right. It's not bad at all." He cleared his throat. "We may get away with what the court calls an 'alternate lifestyle,' but you have to marry straight, my boy. And you have to marry proper. Our name has all but wallowed in the mud since Evelyn's death and the scandal that surrounded it. You are our last hope. You alone have the means to restore our reputation."

Jonathan scowled. "By marrying some piddling baroness or duchess? No, thank you."

Charles laughed. "My boy, just who do you expect to marry? The queen herself?"

Jonathan smiled out at the window. "No. The princess would do."

Night had fallen when they reached Howlester Manor. Charles fell asleep during the ride and Jonathan had smiled as he slipped the older male's spectacles off his nose for him. When they arrived at the manor, he nudged Charles awake and gave the spectacles back. It was still raining, only much harder now. Haskell met them with an umbrella and they ran for the door. Inside, the servants took their cloaks, and a young one named Elsie stared at Jonathan with large eyes as she helped him out of his coat.

Elsie was a brown and white Basenji hound. Jonathan had seen her naked and knew just where she was brown and where she was white. Her face was white, though her forehead was brown, and a white stripe spilt up the center of it. Her long, straight mane was brown and hung loose around her shoulders. She had the largest black eyes and small white breasts, high and full. She was eighteen and had sat in Jonathan's lap on more than one occasion. He hated himself every time he looked at her. She was a servant. He kept telling himself that she was beneath him, that he deserved a princess . . . but his arrogance crumbled every time her mouth closed hot on his penis.

"You're back, m'lord!" Elsie whispered, eyes large, round, and smitten.

". . . yes," said Jonathan unenthusiastically. "I'm back."

Elise frowned sadly and he turned away.

"Go to your room," Charles said. "And don't let your father see you. I'll tell him what you've done and we'll discuss this in the morning. Hopefully, he'll be a bit calmer after I've talked him down from initially wanting to skin and mount you."

Jonathan laughed dryly. "Thank you, Uncle Charlie."

Charles shook his head. "Don't thank me yet. You get going."

"Good night."

"Good night, my boy."

Jonathan made the weary trek to his room. As he went, he was suddenly very glad to be home again. He had missed Howlester's familiar walls and smells. Once in his room, he undressed, and it was odd not to have his servant there helping him. Ben had been his personal servant since they were pups. And not only his personal servant but his best friend. That Duke Richard had sent him away still hurt something terrible.

Suddenly very tired, Jonathan shuffled to his bed in nothing but his open shirt, slapping down a portrait of his father as he went. He dreaded the morning and having to face Duke Richard, the yelling match that would ensue, the cringing servants and distraught Charles. Charles often complained that living with the two of them was like living in a house that was constantly on fire - and yet everyone inside was just sitting there, ignoring the fire. But that's who Jonathan and Duke Richard were. Two flames that, when joined together, combusted into chaos.

Jonathan collapsed on his bed and had been asleep for perhaps ten minutes when he felt a hot tongue slapping his soft penis. His eyes were closed and he frowned and moaned, reaching blindly for Elsie's head. He found it and pushed his fingers through her soft mane. She pulled her head back and sucked the head of his penis. He hardened at once in her mouth, filling her lips until they pulled taunt and she choked.

"Mm!"

"Oh, Elsie . . . I'm tired . . . not tonight . . ."

"But my lord . . . I missed you terribly . . ."

She kept sucking, the soft smacking filling the silence. He melted into the sheets, allowing her skilled tongue to do its work. Her small paws smoothed up his belly and thighs, caressing him as her careful mouth gave him pleasure. For some reason, he thought of pretty Prince Etienne naked, and he felt himself flinch in Elsie's mouth. She sputtered and gasped, pulling back to swallow. He watched as his glossy seed made her lips shine.

"Come here . . . Elsie . . . lift up your skirt . . ."

Elsie obeyed, straddling Jonathan's lap. She was still dressed in her simple servant's dress and apron. She reached behind to untie the apron, blushing as he reached under to pull down her bloomers. Her bloomers were wet. He pulled them down around her spread thighs and fingered the moisture a moment, then he took her by the hips and eased her down on his erection. He sighed as the strength of her sex closed tight on him. He glided smooth in her juices, and as he sank deeper, she blushed brighter. He lifted his brows at her, and she obediently began to move her hips, sighing shrilly with each stab of his width. He unbuttoned the back of her dress and pulled it down around her shoulders. Her trembling breasts poured free, high and sharp.

"Come here . . ." he whispered.

She leaned down, breathless and trembling. He squeezed her small breast until the nipple jutted and suckled slowly as her little hips brought her sex up and down on him, splashing her moisture. His lips smacked, pausing to let her breast jiggle in his paw before tasting again.

"Oh . . . oh, my lord. . . it's so big . . . it's so b-big . . ."

"Shh. You want Father to hear?"

"Oh, m'lord . . . haaa . . . haaa . . ." Her shrill cries came loudly.

Jonathan silenced her with kiss and thrust up and in, faster, harder, even as she slammed herself down. He felt it coming and grabbed her by the backside, prying her off just in time. His seed squirted, splattering her belly and thigh. She slumped on top of him, heaving for breath. And he, too tired to move, fell asleep. Holding her to his chest.