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No He's Not

Chapter 27

Corene marched up the stairs, out of the ballroom, and to the first room she could find, going so fast that she lost her slipper along the way. She nearly fell as the shoe came off. She caught herself against the wall as astonished servants gawked, pushed herself up, and ran as fast as her one shoe would allow.

The room she entered was dark, a sitting room with a few sofas and chairs facing each other in the center. She flew inside and hobbled to the desk, absently scattering everything there as she sat on the edge. Tears were streaming down her face and her makeup was staining her cheeks.

The truth was, Corene _knew_the dress was Evelyn's. She just didn't care. She told Charles she felt too ill to make an appearance at the ball, and that had been the truth. But she thought of Jonathan dancing with his suitors and possibly sleeping with one by the end of the night, and she changed her mind. Charles offered an old dress of his mother's to wear and had the servants lay it out on the bed. But Corene looked at the thing and thought it appalling. Brown? That would never do. She went through the armoire, and with one look at the pretty blue muslin, she made up her mind.

Liza had tried to warn her. The dress belonged to "Miss Evelyn" and shouldn't be touched. Everything in the armoire belonged to "Miss Evelyn." But Corene told the girl to hush and help her lace it up. Liza sulked and fretted the entire time, so to pacify her, Corene gave her some of Evelyn's diamonds to wear.

When Corene later emerged in Evelyn's blue gown, Estica hadn't a clue that it wasn't the gown Charles meant for her to wear. And Corene sauntered off to the ball.

She had never counted on Charles being so angry, though. She had the feeling that if anyone had been wearing the dress besides her, he wouldn't have reacted with such outrage. But Corene probably looked a great deal like Evelyn, who had been a white foxhound with a long curly white mane. And the fact that Corene had actually _been_there when Evelyn died had probably forced those painful memories to the surface and brought Charles back to that dismal day.

All over again.

Corene sniffed as she dabbed her eyes with the kerchief. She could remember Evelyn's funeral, the thousands of nobles who came from across Varimore, from across the world. Peasants attended as well, gathering in even larger throngs than the nobles to pay their respects. Evelyn had ruled Howlester for only a short time but had ruled it at her brother's side, justly and fairly. There were many who loved her.

They came bearing flowers white and black . . . but mostly red. Red flowers had decorated the funeral of Corene's parents as well. By the time she was six, Corene hated roses. They incited in her the deepest sense of loneliness and despair; the choking sensation of uncertainty, confusion, anger, and pain.

Corene remembered standing in the rain as red petals littered the mud, not understanding that Evelyn was gone and was never coming back. She told herself Evelyn was simply hurt, that the doctors would take care of her. When her parents died, she had held out hope for a long time, believing they were sick somewhere, that their coffins were empty.

"Corene?"

The door opened, and Corene glanced up to see Jonathan, miserable and concerned. She smiled: he was holding her slipper. He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"How could you do that? You know they're saying the princess of Varimore has gone mad?" He came to her, sank to one knee, and cradling her small foot, he carefully slid her slipper on. "Of all the dresses you could have worn . . . There are so many gowns in the manor. But you chose Cousin Evelyn's." He frowned sadly and shook his head, reaching up to touch her face. "What's the matter with you, darling?"

Corene looked at him quickly: he had never used such a tone before.

"You seem ill," Jonathan went on and rose to his feet. "You shouldn't have come to the ball. Maybe the drug is still in your system."

Corene looked at her lap, sounding as if she had a cold as the tears fell, "I didn't think he'd get so angry."

Jonathan took the kerchief from her. She let her paws drop, let his careful paws dab away her tears.

"No one ever thinks that," he said as he worked. He laughed. "It's Uncle Charlie, right? You might go five years and never hear him raise his voice. But anything to do with Cousin Evelyn and he'll lose it."

"I suppose I've worn out my welcome."

"No." He lifted her chin and peered gently into her eyes. "It'll be alright. Stay here. With me."

Corene shook her head, her voluminous white mane tumbling around her naked shoulders. "You're crazy," she said with a sad laugh.

"Crazy about you."

"I'm going to be queen. Queen, do you understand?" she said, her voice a sob.

He leaned on the desk beside her and looked at her unhappily. "You don't have to be."

Corene laughed miserably and tossed her paw, which glittered still with Evelyn's rings. She yanked the rings off angrily. "What are you suggesting? That we run away? And do what? Live like paupers? I'll die f-first." She sniffed and blinked out more tears.

"I'll die without you."

"Oh! Stop being dramatic --"

"I'm being honest!"

She fell silent when he touched her face. Their eyes met.

"Something is happening to us," he said. "You feel it too. I won't ignore it. I think . . ."

"No . . ." She frowned and looked away.

"I think I love you," he insisted.

She looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

"I love you," he repeated, "and I'll do whatever I have to in order to be with you --"

"Don't be absurd." Corene's lip curled. "Would you scrub floors the rest of your life? Would you shine shoes?" She shook her head. "If we run away together, that's the life that is waiting for us. I won't live like a peasant. Not for anyone." She looked away. "Not even for you."

He swallowed angrily and stared at the floor. The silence that fell between them was painful. Her eyes danced over the furniture as she tried to think of some excuse to leave the room. If the mastiffs really had Etienne, she should go to them immediately. Then she could take her prince home . . . and make him king.

Corene sniffed again, gathering the rings in her small paw. "I should retire for the evening. I doubt your uncle wo --"

The words were smothered in Corene's mouth when Jonathan turned her face and kissed her, tongue and all. He closed his arms around her, his head twisting as he bent her back. And she succumbed to the kiss, trembling and weak. Her paw opened and the rings scattered across the carpet. She realized with a skip of her heart that he was laying her on the desk. He smacked everything aside and slipped his paw up her chemise. Her breasts were heaving. "J-Jon . . ." She sputtered to silence when his paw found her wet knickers. He smiled, and she screamed softly when he tore them. The yank made her breasts jiggle, dragged her down the desk, and pushed her mane up around her face. He buried his mouth in her cleavage, and she could feel him fumbling to unbutton his breeches. His other paw tugged open her stays, and she clung to him, breathless and flushed as her naked breasts trembled free. He suckled hungrily, bunching her skirts up around her legs. She spread her thighs. With her knickers torn, she felt the cold air slap her hot sex, and then the soft head of his penis was brushing her. He suckled deeper as he drew his hips back . . . and carefully slid himself in.

Her head fell back as the width of him filled her. "Oh . . .Jonathan."

They made love there on the desk, her breasts riding against his sucking mouth with his every thrust, her curly mane mussed and in her eyes, her cries shrill and weak. He pushed her mane aside with his nose and kissed her again, his tongue sliding hungrily against her own. She slid her little paws over his backside and pulled him closer as he pressed inside. He was stretching the lips of her sex taunt, and she was dripping.

"Oh . . . oh, Jonathan . . . oh, darling . . ."

"My princess . . . stay here with me . . ."

"S-Stop asking . . ."she whispered, a sob in her voice. "I c-can't . . ." A tear trembled in her eye.

Jonathan frowned at her sadly. "Try."

Corene cupped his cheeks and peered miserably into his eyes, her breasts jiggling as they rocked together. "You fool. Why do I love you?"

He gazed at her warmly. "You love me?"

Corene scowled at the blunder. "No!"

Jonathan's eyes softened and he hugged her close as they made love. "Oh, Corene," he whispered, trailing kisses up her neck. "Marry Etienne. I shall come to Wychowl and make love to you regardless --"

"That's treason! If anyone found out, they'd hang you!"

"It's worth it. . . ." He looked in her eyes and whispered, "I love you."

Corene's lip trembled and another tear escaped.

"Don't cry, my love," he whispered.

"Don't call me that."

"But doesn't it sound lovely?" he teased.

Corene looked at his lips and kissed him tenderly. But she snatched her lips away when the door banged open.

"Jonathan!" someone yelled.

Corene's heart stopped: Charles and Richard were standing in the door.

Jonathan staggered away from Corene, fumbling to button his breeches as the dukes stormed the room. Corene pulled her chemise over her breasts and flew out with her cheeks flaming.

Charles closed the door when Corene had gone. Both dukes looked at Jonathan, who stood guiltily before them.

"Have you lost your mind?" Richard finally exploded.

Jonathan slid his paws in his pockets. "Father . . ." he began calmly.

"No!" Richard bellowed. "You are going to stand there and shut up and listen to me yell."

Charles folded his arms and nodded darkly.

Jonathan stared in defeat at the floor. This was usually the moment when he yelled back, protested, insulted his father. But tonight, he just didn't have it in him. He just wanted Corene. And only Corene. Arguing about it seemed pointless: he was going to have her, one way or the other.

"First the prince?" Richard said, pacing angrily. "And now the bloody princess? Do you have a death wish? As if we haven't enough whackos trying to kill us already! Do you have any idea the sort of scandal --"

"I love her, Father," Jonathan said calmly. His paws were still in his pockets, his tail low. Everything about his stance was relaxed, and Richard paused to stare when he realized his son was serious.

Charles unfolded his arms, his lashes fluttering in surprise. "What do you mean, Jonny?" He shook his head. "You've only just met her, my boy."

Jonathan smiled dreamily. "I dunno. I just know I love her. And I want to marry her."

Richard stared. "That's it. You're marrying Emily von Price next week --"

"Dad!" Jonathan protested.

"Richard!" Charles cried, and coming to Jonathan, he put his arm around his shoulders.

Richard scowled. "Don't _coddle_him, Charlie! He's a grown male who _should_have been betrothed eons ago! I've been pretty lenient thus damn far, allowing him to screw around with school chums and maids - don't think I don't know about Elsie!"

Charles certainly didn't know about Elsie. His mouth fell open. Jonathan flattened his ears.

"Now you sleep with royalty under my very nose?" Richard went on. "You are putting this family in direct danger by getting caught up in their court intrigue and mess!" He stabbed a finger at the door, through which Corene had vanished. "As if the Kingsleys hadn't paid enough for it in the past." He glanced bitterly at Charles.

Something angry passed between the dukes, and Jonathan watched them in amazement. Charles and Richard fought, but it was rare that they fought in front of him.

Charles scowled. "Don't you dare go bringing Bastian into this --!"

"You --!" shouted Richard and halted. He heaved a breath and said darkly, "You already brought him into this, Charlie. You and your bloody sister couldn't keep your heads out of politics." He glared. "Or your legs shut."

Charles' chest heaved. He let go of Jonathan, his eyes fixed on Richard. "Shut up or so help me god . . ."

Richard's nostrils flared.

Jonathan waited tensely in the silence that followed, watching his parents, both breathless and angry, as they glared at each other. He wanted to leave the room but knew better than to make any sudden movements.

Richard shook his head. "No, Charlie. I will not shut up. You know why Evelyn's dead --?"

"Richard --!"

"Because she couldn't keep her nose out of politics!" Richard shouted over him. He stabbed a finger at Jonathan. "And now my son is facing the very same danger because of what she started twenty years ago --!"

"He's my son too!"

"No, Charles, he's not!"

Charles stood stung. Sudden tears started to his eyes. Jonathan wanted to say something to him but couldn't find his voice.

Richard blinked in the wake of his anger and cleared his throat apologetically. "Charlie . . ."

Charles didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. He adjusted his coat and marched from the room.

Richard watched him go, his eyes wretched. When Charles had gone, he glared at Jonathan. "You so much as look at the princess again, I'll lock you in the wine cellar until you're forty."

Jonathan dropped his gaze to the floor and listened miserably as his father stormed out.