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Faux Proposal

Chapter 29

About two months before, if anyone had asked Zeinara if she ever thought she'd be a key part of a plot to assassinate Prince Florian . . . she might have said yes. She _despised_Prince Florian. For as long as Zeinara could remember, the prince had used every ounce of energy he possessed to discredit the Kingsleys, thus bringing further misfortune to Howlester and by extension, Etienne and herself. Meanwhile, Florian's father, Prince Adrian, did everything in his power to ensure that his son's crazed gossip appeared to have merit. By the first year of the father and son's slander campaign, more than half of the nobility was divided in their opinion of King Etienne and the Kingsleys, and even more besides believed Etienne may have had a part in Donica's death - despite the fact that it had been officially accepted by the church that Etienne was innocent. That Prince Adrian had likely been behind the steamy letters Zeinara had supposedly been receiving from Princess Ethelyn was hardly surprising.

Not that it was particularly challenging to discredit Etienne. Not everyone believed Zeinara was some holy miracle. Many found the very idea of foxes and dogs merging not only impossible but also blasphemous, as the foxes were considered little more than mindless beasts. Many more believed Zeinara was simply a mongrel, some result of bad breeding after Etienne's many months of cating about_._ One such beast was the Duchess Tabitha le Frey, a busty foxhound whose pattern was a shade of tawny gold and white. Her mane was the same tawny gold as her ears, and she was the very epitome of the snobby aristocrat. She was a cousin of the McIntyre brothers and, by extension, a distant of cousin of Zeinara. She was the first noble to greet Zeinara upon her return to Canderly. She came floating along the great hall to the great doors, the balloon of her pale green gown floating around her, servants bowing in a ripple as she swept by. Her magnificent tawny mane was down around her shoulders, diamond studs sparkled in her alert ears, and many jewels winked on her slender fingers. Her pale green dress was very low at the neck, and her great white bosom nearly poured out of it when she curtsied sarcastically to Zeinara.

From the corner of her eye, Zeinara noticed Ettoras practically drooling over Tabitha's cleavage and gave her brother's leash a discreet tug that choked him. She hadn't had the heart to tell Ettoras that he was actually related to Tabitha and the McIntyres, however distantly. She'd hoped he would have figured it out by now. If he hadn't, he would in a moment.

"Dear, _sweet_cousin!" Tabitha cried as she straightened up, and Zeinara held back a smirk when she noticed Ettoras go still. Tabitha folded her slender paws over the rise of her skirts, and her sparkling green eyes danced over Zeinara with barely concealed disdain. "She arrives at last! We thought you'd left, darling. Why the delay?" She glanced at Ettoras. "Ah. I see you've found Jule's precious pet and returned him to us. The servants said he'd run away!" She pushed her lips into a mock-pout that said she didn't give a damn about her cousin's pets. "You didn't find the vixens as well by any chance? They had such marvelous pelts. I was rather hoping to make a pair of gloves."

"No," Zeinara said shortly and looked past Tabitha as if she were about as important as the paint on the wall. It was the greatest insult an Emerald could give a noble: Tabitha wasn't even worth the time it took to trade backhanded compliments.

Zeinara moved past Tabitha, who was looking very sour, and found it hard to believe she had only been at Canderly hours before, yet nothing had changed. All the decorations were still in place, all the servants were still scurrying, all the guests were still groveling. Many nobles bowed to her as she passed, and as she barely acknowledged them with a nod, she could hear the music drifting from the ballroom, could smell the feast, could hear the clink of wineglasses and the rise of gossip-laden chatter.

Zeinara glanced sympathetically at Ettoras and wasn't surprised to discover he was not happy to be back. He crawled along with his ears flat, glancing every now and then at the familiar walls and no doubt remembering what horrors had happened to him in such-and-such a room. Wilmer walked along behind them, calm and poised despite his nerves, posing once again as Zeinara's servant. She could see he was unhappy about having returned as well. But she had promised the others they would come out of Motsumi's cockamamie plan alive. Even if it killed her.

After announcing that they must return to Canderly, Motsumi had outlined his plan: Zeinara would return to the ball with Ettoras and Wilmer, pretending that she had captured Ettoras while he was escaping, as a favor to the marquis. Zeinara was then to lure Florian from the ball, at which time she would assassinate the prince and quietly leave the manor. Motsumi and Palesa would be waiting in the courtyard with the stone once the deed was done.

Zeinara thought Motsumi made it sound too easy. Nothing was ever that easy. And though Florian was obnoxious, she had her reservations about actually killing him. She couldn't pretend that she hadn't fantasized about strangling him on occasion, but to actually kill him? There had to be another way. Besides, Florian was crazy but he wasn't stupid. He was bound to have bodyguards and would likely keep Zeinara at arm's length, as he had very good reason to avoid her after everything he had done to slander her family's name.

What Zeinara found amazing was the fact that Kayya alone protested the insanity of Motsumi's plan. Kayya did not want to risk anyone's safety and begged Motsumi to reconsider. But Motsumi insisted it was the only way, and as he calmly lectured Kayya, Palesa sat beside him looking grim, and Zeinara knew Palesa was against the plan as well.

As everyone was preparing to set out, Zeinara stumbled upon Motsumi and Palesa at the back of the borrow, arguing in low, hissing voices. Palesa accused Motsumi of seeking vengeance against Prince Florian, which violated everything he had taught her as a Guide. Zeinara was shocked when calm, gentle Motsumi suddenly snapped. He grabbed Palesa by the wrist, moving so aggressively that she gasped and went still. He insisted through his fangs that there was no other way, that vengeance had nothing to do with it, that if Prince Florian lived, Prince Adrian would go on to destroy Aonre. Finished with his growling, he looked Palesa in the eye a long time, almost daring her to protest. When Palesa didn't say another word, Motsumi let her go and turned away, and a look of guilt crossed his face that Palesa couldn't see as she stared in fear and amazement at his back. Zeinara retreated to the front room before she was discovered. She was examining her rifle when the two emerged a few minutes later. And while Palesa never questioned her mentor again, she also didn't seem fully convinced of his justifications for what was basically murder.

After having witnessed Motsumi and Palesa's argument, Zeinara was beginning to wonder if killing Florian would really change anything. Florian was hardly important enough to warrant an assassination. Once he was dead, Prince Adrian and King Louis would likely continue their crusade against Varimore unabashed. If anything, it would only give them an excuse to attack.

When Zeinara was very small, it was King Louis who made most of the threats, brandishing his fist from afar and making wild demands that Etienne surrender Howlester Duchy (of all places) or else suffer the wrath of Curith. Etienne never budged, and Zeinara - as well as the rest of the kingdom - lived for many years in fear of the pending war. Many said King Louis demanded the duchy as compensation. The Carringtons were bitter that Donica and Princess Alexandria's murderers had escaped unscathed, and the family even seemed convinced that Azrian and Etienne were responsible for both deaths. What was more, Princess Hellene had been murdered publicly by Azrian, cast in a hole deep under Wychowl and left to rot. That was three Carringtons dead, and as a result, all of Curith was out for blood and had been pressing war for years. Prince Adrian once swore to shoot S'pru down from the sky and watch it burn, even if it meant destroying half of Aonre to do it.

Though Etienne had successfully avoided open war for twenty years, he was powerless to prevent the occasional attack within Varimore. But it was the oddest thing. For years, King Louis maneuvered spies into Howlester Duchy, but the spies never openly attacked anyone unless they were discovered. Etienne was baffled to realize the king of Curith was actually spying on the Kingsleys in Howlester. But why?

Eventually, the spies stopped appearing. King Louis' threats and demands dwindled. And the last ten or so years, Prince Adrian's was the voice of dissent that rose from Curith, spurring the other kingdoms to turn against Varimore and help him sack it. And unlike King Louis, who seemed content to toss empty threats and spy, Prince Adrian was a real threat, in that he really believed he could take Varimore and rule the world as high king. He also seemed sincerely capable of making others believe the same, as a few kingdoms had begun to lean in his favor in the last few years. With Louis' voice growing quiet and Adrian's voice growing louder, now was the time to act.

Zeinara only wished it was Prince Adrian she was assassinating. Prince Florian wasn't a threat. The fool could barely comb his own mane. At the age of thirty-six, he was a sulking child, constantly kicking and screaming against his father's wish that he should marry, while simultaneously shocking the clergy with every reported sighting of his backside taking it in a male brothel.

What was more, Prince Adrian was hardly a devoted father, so Zeinara couldn't see how murdering his son would stop him from his plans. Adrian wasn't going to drop a crusade to become high king of the world in order to mourn a son he didn't give a damn about. He had never shown the slightest concern for his son, not even when Prince Florian was kidnapped and held for ransom eight years before. Prince Adrian waited _six months_before he bothered to send the ransom money. As the bandits were making the exchange, Great Danes wearing the scarlet of Curith leapt out of hiding and killed them all. A frazzled and gang-raped Prince Florian was returned to WandourgCastle in the cum-covered tatters of his royal attire, where he became a recluse for exactly three years, never leaving his bedroom, even for meals.

If anything, Zeinara thought it was far wiser to leave Florian alive. It was because of Prince Florian that Prince Adrian hadn't made a move on Varimore much sooner. After Hellene and Alexandria were murdered, Adrian was the last of his father's children and needed an heir for the seat of Curith, especially if he himself was to become high king in Varimore. Florian - now known as Prince Demented - was Adrian's only child and his last chance to ensure that someone of sound mind would take the throne of Curith in his absence. But Prince Florian had already been discounted as mad because of his erratic behavior, on top of his absolute refusal to marry a female. The royalty were always allowed their little amusements, but when they refused to marry, they were faced with real consequences. Prince Florian was two steps from being stripped of his titles and didn't seem to care. He had given his father so much trouble, Zeinara could only imagine that Adrian would want to be rid of him.

Zeinara came at last to the great ballroom doors, and it was the first time in her life that she regretted the fact that she hadn't a dress. She stood at the top of the stairs, and everyone on the dance floor below eyed her with a critical eye. Shocked whispers and murmurs swept the room and heads turned in a ripple. Princess Zeinara had arrived, smelling of earth and sweat, with a messy mane and grass stains on her trousers! She wanted to sink into the floor.

"Jule really laid out the big guns, didn't he, your majesty?" Wilmer whispered behind Zeinara.

Zeinara smiled. Wilmer had always insisted on calling her by titles. But he was right. She lifted her brows, impressed to see roast geese lining the banquet tables: that was her favorite. She went still when she noticed the marquis coming her way, and she thought he looked just as she remembered him. She had met Jule once when she was sixteen. Her father was showcasing her art and he had come to Wychowl to view it, risking his own lands to the capture of his brother. She remembered that he seemed dazzled by her. The way he'd kissed her paw and allowed his lips to linger had made her terribly uncomfortable. She could feel the hunger in his kiss, and she knew he didn't hunger for her flesh but for the crown on her head, the power she would one day wield. He saw her as less than a person. He saw her as a prize, some tool that would allow him access to the Emerald throne. And his hungry eyes had made no attempt to hide the fact. It disgusted her. After the exhibit was over, Zeinara begged her father never to invite Jule or any of the McIntyres to Wychowl again. And Etienne, though baffled by Zeinara's horror and disgust, held his daughter close and promised.

Tall and elegant and handsome as ever, Jule was clad in the frivolous nonsense most dogs in Maldoene wore: a ruffled shirt with a high collar, a black ruffled coat with ruffled sleeves, tight black pants, and jewels winking everywhere. His long red mane was pulled back in a tail, and his white tail moved fluidly behind him. As he made his way up the great stair, his eyes were intense with the same greedy hunger that had disgusted Zeinara four years before.

"Your highness!" Jule cried and took Zeinara's paw. He bowed gracefully as he kissed her fingers. "I'm so glad you could attend!" He straightened up, and Zeinara saw his eyes flit angrily to Ettoras. "Ah. And you retrieved my game. How sweet of you. I had the servants looking all over for Ra-ra . . ." He frowned slightly as he regarded Ettoras, who had bowed his head.

". . . Ra-ra?" Zeinara couldn't resist. She held back a laugh.

Jule smiled at her, though the warmth of his smile did not travel to his flat eyes. "Yes, your highness. It means 'prince' in the ancient tongue of the sleigh dogs. Our northern brethren once had proper royalty, of course." He sighed. "Now they are scattered to the forests. Like fox savages." He shook his head sadly.

"Ah," Zeinara said and glanced in amusement at Ettoras.

Jule offered his arm. "Come, your highness. I shall escort you to your quarters. My servants have a dress waiting for you there -- Ernest, William, for god's sake, move your tails!" he snapped irritably, and two servants leapt forward. Ettoras kept his head down as they started binding his paws.

"Take Ra-ra down to the holding cells, will you?" Jule said darkly.

"Holding cells!" Zeinara shouted more loudly than she intended. Down on the dance floor, several heads turned.

Jule lifted his brows. "Why, yes. Your highness, perhaps you are not aware, but there has been foul play. Ra-ra murdered my most trusted servant in order to orchestrate his escape." He shook his head sadly. "Poor Selmer. Slaughtered with foul fox magic." He glared at Ettoras.

Zeinara felt her heart sink into her boots: Ettoras was going to take the fall for her. "What . . ." She paused to hear how hoarse her voice was and cleared her throat miserably. "What are you going to do with him?"

Jule's brows creased with sympathy. "Ah. You have such a gentle heart that you would care for the fate of this loathed creature," he said soothingly. "Her highness need not concern herself. Ra-ra will be put down gently. He will not feel pain. We shall show him more kindness than he demonstrated for Selmer." He glared at Ettoras again and his eyes were sharp with hatred.

Zeinara shook her head. "But how do you know it was him? It could have been one of the other two. Didn't they escape as well?"

". . . yes," Jule said slowly. "Though that wasn't public knowledge." He folded his arms. "How is it you knew Ra-ra had escaped again?"

Zeinara hated herself for the hasty slipup. But the thought of Ettoras dying because of her had sent her mind into a panic. She looked at Jule calmly and waved an idle paw in Wilmer's direction. "My servant spotted him fleeing together with the vixens. I meant to recapture the priceless females I'd gifted you but . . ." She scowled, feigning displeasure. "I suppose they have escaped for good. Did I mention they were priceless?" she added irritably.

Jule bought the act, his gray eyes dancing over Zeinara in sympathy. "I must apologize, your highness. The fault is mine, not yours. Had I better security . . . but we aren't used to such incidents here in Osterwill." He smiled and offered his arm again, Zeinara took it, and they proceeded down the hall and away from the ballroom. Behind them, Zeinara could hear the servants taking Ettoras away, who was going with them quietly and sadly. Her heart started beating a mile a minute the further they went from him. Wilmer followed her at a distance, and she knew he was also silently panicking.

" . . . her majesty will find that life is quite peaceful here at Osterwill," Jule was saying.

Zeinara swallowed. "Marquis?"

"Yes, your highness?"

"I can not allow you to harm that creature," Zeinara said firmly. She stopped and turned to face Jule. They had come to the second landing and moonlight reached through one of the windows to light her blue eyes. "We do not know without a doubt that he is guilty."

"As if he would confess his guilt, your highness," Jule returned wearily. But he sighed and smiled at her. "Very well. I will keep him peacefully contained in the cells. Consider him my gift to you." He bowed graciously, and Zeinara couldn't hold back a smile.

"You realize, dear marquis, that I ran from Howlester because my desires do not lie with the opposite sex?" Zeinara said in amusement.

Jule was smirking when he straightened up again. "Indeed, your highness. Consider it a _humorous_gift. It was my take on your sending me _females,_of all things."

Zeinara laughed.

Jule smiled, and for the first time, it traveled to his eyes. He took Zeinara's arm again, and they entered the bedchamber she'd been given upon her arrival earlier that day. She halted to see the elaborate ballgown that had been left on a mannequin for her. She wasn't normally one to swoon over ballgowns, but even she couldn't deny the beauty of the creation before her. It was elegant, low-cut, lined with a high collar, silk, ribbons, and lace. And the color matched her eyes exactly. She approached the dress, speechless.

"Do you like it?" Jule said behind her. He sounded hushed, pleased. He didn't need an answer.

Zeinara didn't think she _could_answer. She touched the dress with a careful paw, her lips parted in awe, her blue eyes round. A golden strand fell across her gaze as she stared like one entranced.

Jule put his paws behind his back and took a few steps toward Zeinara. He paused behind her shoulder. "I think you are quite remarkable, Zeinara. More remarkable than anyone in the nine kingdoms could ever guess. You are beautiful. You are wild. And you belong to no one. Just like your mother. It's . . ." he laughed softly, ". . . incredible, really."

Zeinara turned to find Jule watching her calmly. "What do you know about my mother?" she demanded breathlessly.

Jule smiled at her. "What any child of Maret should know."

Zeinara's heart skipped a beat. "Then you know Ettoras didn't . . ."

Jule frowned. "Ettoras. You mean the creature from the sky? Yes," he said, turning away. "I know. Maret doesn't wish for him to return to S'pru. It is already hers. And once you return to Wychowl, it will be hers as well."

Zeinara stood beside the displayed ballgown, clenching and unclenching her empty paws. She caught Wilmer's eye, who was silently horrified as he stood beside the door, and she felt helpless. They had walked like fools into a trap, believing they were in complete control. Except Maret was in control. Was Prince Florian even at the ball? Perhaps Motsumi had betrayed them.

Jule went to the window and looked out, his paws still behind his back. "Marry me, Zeinara," he said quietly. "And together . . . we will rule the world."

Zeinara hesitated, resisting the urge to sneer at his fake proposal. As if she had a choice! Her first thought was to grab something and bang Jule over the head with it. But she couldn't move. She looked at Jule's back. He was waiting.

"I mayn't find females . . . appealing," Jule continued, "but I'm no fool like Prince Florian. Marriage isn't about sex or love. It's about power. And I will do right by you. I will be gentle."

"Is Prince Florian here then?" Zeinara asked calmly.

"Yes," Jule answered, turning to face her, "he is here. He is locked away in the cells. He is a child of Fire, Zeinara. I asked him to join with me, to rise against his father and aid Maret in her cause. He refused. I thought a few liquor-free weeks in the dungeon might . . . sway his mind." The question answered, Jule fell silent, as if waiting for more questions.

Zeinara swallowed and cast her eyes down. "My mother . . . you spoke of h-her . . ." She hated when her voice broke. How long had she waited to know about Taiga? Everyone - Etienne, Mogethis, and especially Nkwe - had always refused to speak of her. Even in this moment of uncertainty and fear, she still wanted to know. She would leap at the chance.

"Your mother was like you," Jule said simply. "Taiga was a daughter of Maret, wild and strong and good, a warrior who protected her own and cared for them. She lives on in you."

Zeinara closed her eyes. "So . . . she's dead."

Jule frowned sympathetically. "Yes."

Zeinara took a shuddering breath. She could hear the jingle of armor out in the hall: Jule's guards were gathering, preparing for her defiance and the inevitable struggle. But Wilmer looked so helpless and strained, and Ettoras was already far from her grasp. Both of them would suffer if she fought. And Jule had separated her from Ettoras simply to insure that she wouldn't fight.

At least the others had a chance to get away. Motsumi, Palesa, Yeneneshe, and Kayya were hidden away outside the manor, waiting for Zeinara's signal. That signal would never come now.

Zeinara dropped her eyes to the carpet. Jule was waiting.

"If I go with you to Wychowl . . . you won't hurt anyone?"

Jule frowned sadly, as if she needn't have asked. "Of course not, darling. All Maret wants is that you should marry me." He tilted his head. "Will you marry me?"

Zeinara closed her eyes. "Yes."