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“So whatever happened to the – impropriety of doing this in… what was it, then? Doing things together before our marriage? What?”

The quiet clink of silverware across plates filled the brief space in between words. Steel-blue eyes flicked up to Markus across the table as Rhea leaned in to scoop another bite into her mouth, chewing slowly, tasting the meal, savoring it. As she did so, muzzle still angled downwards, she slid her gaze over to the otter and appraised him as well, as though judging his choice in finery for the breakfast. Markus could have understood his mother sending Lura off in some cast-off servants’ or guards’ uniform for the disguise, but this was diplomatic regalia, the kind that he himself had worn here, and which he still had neatly folded in the drawers back in his quarters.

“Well…” Rhea turned her head from one side to the other, licked her chops, swallowed, licked her chops again. She sighed sweetly out, then reached for her glass. Bayshoot tea, Markus knew as soon as he had tasted it, cold-brewed overnight and then iced. “I’m taking my breakfast in my quarters, and you’re taking yours in yours. Right? No impropriety anywhere.” She tapped her fork against the plate, thought for a moment, then picked another point of entry into the breakfast, other paw coming in with a smooth motion of the knife. “And later today we can get you,” said towards Lura, “properly recognized and introduced. I would be willing to say you’re a guest of my own.”

“That would be wonderful.” Lura bowed his head. “Thank you, Rhea.”

And that was that. Markus looked from otter to wolfess and back again, then returned to his meal. He had expected this to be a rapid, in-depth conversation, each of them talking about where they had come from and what they were doing here, but… instead when he met Rhea’s eyes, the wolfess would blink, tilt her head a little bit, flick an ear, and then go back to her breakfast, a bare footpaw slipping forward beneath the table to brush across his. Then he would do the same for Lura and the otter’s broad whiskers would flick, and he would smile and perk up – though still some of that same hesitant reluctance from the previous night weighed him down – and do the same, a shorter, squat leg reaching to bump against Markus’s, with the foxwolf stretching his toes out to run his pads along the other male’s webbings.

Then Rhea sat back, crossed one leg over the other – Markus instantly felt the waft of cool air from where her footpaw had rested against his ankle – and dabbed at her mouth. “So.”

He blinked. Lura also sat back.

Rhea took another sip of the tea, thought about it, took yet another, then leaned forward to place the glass back on the table. Before welcoming her visitors into her quarters she had opened the window just a touch, so that now this rear room had filled with the soft, cool scent of pine and midsummer mountain morning, with the occasional touch of gardenia wafting across the table.

She crossed one arm across her chest and motioned to the two of them with her other paw. “You two. Kiss for me.”

Markus felt his ears jerk upright, then splay out. Lura, meanwhile, hid his muzzle behind his napkin, head turning to the side. “I-” The foxwolf squeezed his paws on the table. “What?”

“I just want to see something.” The corner of Rhea’s mouth quirked. “Something other than you two kissing, I mean. Just pretend I’m not here. Okay? Just do it as you would normally do it, on this day meeting one another for the first time in nearly two months, after a big argument that drove you apart. So. Go ahead, you two. Sorry I fed you breakfast first, but – well, that’s what the tea is for.”

Beneath the table, Lura’s paw crept over, found Markus’s, squeezed… then slid down his leg towards his knee. The otter leaned in, muzzle turned away from their host. His whiskers twitched as he murmured:

“Is this…?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to-?”

“Markus.” Lura’s whiskers twitched with a little laugh through his nose. “Of course I want to.”

“Right here? Over breakfast? I can still taste the egg, and – in front of her?”

“Who you kissed last night just before meeting me?” That paw crept back up again to entwine with the foxwolf’s. “And then I, who you more than kissed the night of your engagement to her?”

“Well, I-”

Then that other paw came up to slide across the vulpine’s jaw, tilting him in… brushing a bit of egg and bread from the corner of his mouth. “Come here, you…”

There came that spike of nervousness again, the brief disbelief stemming from Lura’s scent hovering around him again, and the knowledge of the otter’s presence here so close to him again… and then lips met lips, slightly greasy, somewhat spiced from the meal, and in another moment the rest of the room fell away, as usual. Markus felt his body relax, shoulders dropping down, ears coming forward; he sighed through his nose, swallowed, took in a breath that was halfway Lura’s, and pressed a little more firmly into the contact.

This morning had been a slow one, with Markus rolling, floating halfway between dream and reality with this still-unfamiliar bed suddenly occupied by the sleek, streamlined shape of male otter, Lura’s scent slipping into his sleeping mind, dragging him around as though he were a leaf upon a flowing river. Then the actual awakening, looking down across his body, seeing him stir and stretch and open his eyes – and the brief shock of seeing mismatched blue and brown instead of colorless, flat grey; then the morning kiss, and a second, and a third, and then Markus had placed himself over Lura and peppered him across the muzzle and neck and chest, and little otter paws had batted at his shoulders and he had giggled…

…and now Lura swallowed against him, sighed softly, flicked his tongue out in between them, turned his head to the side a little bit, ran his paw along the back of Markus’s head to pull him in closer. He worked his lips amid the kiss, tongue slipping out in between, stepping deeper into it; Markus felt the growing energy, the stirring passion behind his touch, and soon found himself turning in his seat to meet the otter in that energy, one of his own paws coming forward to-

“My, my,” Rhea purred from across the table. The clink of her fork on the plate stirred Markus out of the kiss. “So you two did make up.”

It took another moment for his mind to follow. Markus slid back into his chair, licked across his lips, blinked, then looked over to Lura, who had covered his mouth with a paw to laugh. “Huh? Well, we-”

“I just wanted to make sure.” Rhea closed her mouth around another bite, chewed, swallowed, dabbed at her lips. Along the side of her chair, Markus noticed that her tail swayed, swinging from the base in a slow, contented wag. “My fiancé, and his lover. Ah… my mother would have a fit. Lura, you – are a Lord, are you not? Markus told me that you were once… more than that.”

“Mm. Yes…”

…and how sweet it was to hear Lura’s voice again, smooth and soft, yet with a surprising brunt of force pushing behind it. Perhaps it is in the blood, Markus thought, looking down at his own plate, the ability, the right, to rule. That would be so easy, wouldn’t it? And that would explain it. My father’s failure and my own disinterest… and then Mercutio, my half-brother, and his apparent skill… ah. If only.

“I trust you as Markus does,” Lura went on, with one of his footpaws brushing against Markus’s again. He returned the touch. “And so I will not hesitate to admit to the truth of that. However, it is-”

“A part of you from which you have moved on,” she finished for him, around another bite. “Or, rather, no longer a part. Right, Markus?”

The foxwolf’s ears flicked. “Yes. Right…”

Lura smiled softly. “Yes. Strade was a name I had adopted to… cover my tracks, so to say. Real enough to myself, and to anyone with enough respect to recognize it, but not in the eyes of the law. However,” and here he gestured with his own fork, “the gracious, generous Countess Oryon understood my plight, after some discussion in the absence of her son, and…” He shrugged. “We talked things out, about my plans for the future, and – Markus’s, or at least what I had understood to be your plans, against her initial wishes and expectations for you. And she judged it prudent, then, to… formally adopt me into House Oryon. I-”

Markus dropped his knife. Both of his companions stopped and looked at him; concern shone in Lura’s face, and amusement in Rhea’s. That explains the outfit, he thought, casting another glance across Lura’s navy and green. No otters on the staff, so he couldn’t have picked it up secondhand. Fitted and tailored for him specifically.

Gathering himself, the foxwolf cleared his throat around a sip of tea. “Lura Oryon, then?”

“Lord Lura Oryon, yes. Of course I cannot inherit any wealth, property, or official title – outside of marriage – but… the name carries weight on its own.”

“And now you’re, what, my cousin?”

Lura chuckled again and leaned in for another kiss. “I could be your brother, if you’d like. Next time your – our – House throws a ball, we could inform the visitors as such, and it would not be untrue. Legally speaking.”

“Ah! I am in the presence of two Lords of Oryon.” Rhea threw her head back. “Shall I drop to my knees and – stop it, Markus – bow to Your Excellencies?”

“Perhaps.” Markus turned his plate so he could more easily attack the other side. “That would finally put you eye level with Lura here, and-”

This time the footpaw beneath the table kicked at his ankle, and he couldn’t help but laugh and rub back. Gradually the sun continued to rise across the distant mountains, and the scent on the air coming in through the window shifted as well, turning brighter, richer, smoother. Breakfast was finished and cleaned up, the three continuing their discussion across the weather differences between Leyo and Oryon, the economic implications of this and that… what the next few weeks would hold for each of them, and then finally the initial receipt of Markus’s message.

The mattress squished beneath his weight as he sat down on the edge, in the room adjoining the entryway. He remembered when he had first visited Rhea’s quarters, seeing her bedroom through the open door yet never stepping into it. She kept her space cleaner, tidier than his own, with well-kept vines ringing the walls near the ceiling, and herbs and flowers in oblong planters pressed up towards the windows. Near the door sat a small desk atop which she had some documents, a leatherbound journal, another few books, a sealed envelope.

Rhea had already sprawled out along the bed, blue eyes gazing idly up to the ceiling. Lura had taken up a similar position nearby, on Markus’s other side. The foxwolf looked down at one, then at the other, then leaned back… and felt his paws entwine, one by one, with theirs. Lura turned to bump his muzzle against Markus’s shoulder; Rhea stretched a footpaw out to rest her leg over his.

“So, what did…” The foxwolf turned his head, and tickled his nose in short, thick otter fur. “What did Mother have to say?”

“Hmm?”

“About the message. You… took your time in coming here.”

Lura shifted on the bed a little bit. “I was… well. I already explained to you that I was still… hurt. A month had passed, Markus; I felt like I didn’t belong there, since I had stayed for you, and then suddenly you were gone. But your mother… saw what was happening. She… thought you might change your mind-”

On his other side, Rhea stifled a laugh.

“-and after speaking it over with her, and your brother-”

“Mercutio knows?”

“Yes, of course. He knows more about House Calador than I do, truth be told; he mentioned you had come to him with some questions, and I suppose that ignited an interest in him. But, yes, discussing it with them, going over it with the Countess… the week before your message arrived, she had me visit her office, and presented the idea to me, to bring me under the name of the House.” Lura paused. His fingers tightened on Markus’s. “She said… what was it… for the chance that you do change your mind, and wish to – make up, then I will be close at hand, safe and out of any danger. Any of those remnants who would want to ensure that the old royal House never lives again will now have to face the strength of Oryon and Kalla. And then for the chance that you don’t, then she said-” And here he laughed. “-then you will have to live alongside the consequences of your immaturity until you can learn to discuss and overcome those problems. Her words, not mine.”

The mattress shifted again as the wolfess at his other side brought herself up to her elbows. She looked across Markus at Lura, who felt her gaze, twitched his whiskers, and tilted his head towards her, curiosity glittering in mismatched eyes.

“Well,” she drawled, “lucky for her, that’s been sorted out. Mostly.”

“Yes. Markus told me…”

“But we haven’t quite reached that storybook ending yet.” She scooted a little closer, leaned across Markus’s body – affording him what he thought would have been a hell of a view of her chest, if not for the folds and layers of clothes in the way – and brushed at some stray lint clinging to the side of the otter’s muzzle. He wriggled. “I’ve heard only what Markus has told you, I imagine. My father wishes to speak with me as well, I assume about the same discussion. I’ll do that today…”

Would you like me to come with you? Markus almost asked, but then held his tongue. That was something that she should do herself.

“…but it’ll still take some time before those things come to pass.”

Now Lura sat up as well. Rhea’s paw continued along his jaw, following the stout, smooth lines of his lutrine muzzle, while Markus watched from underneath. Mismatched eyes fluttered open and danced across the wolfess’s face; she seemed to realize what she was doing, flicked her ears, and then drew that paw away, shyness which Markus had never really seen before washing briefly across her.

Markus lifted his muzzle out of the way. The scent of gardenia trickled gently across him. “I’m – fully expecting that Mother won’t take it without a fight. I’ll have to defend my position when I get home, and then I’m wondering if you might do the same…”

“Mm.” Rhea’s paw dropped down to his belly, fingers splaying across the fabric of his shirt. “I’ve had to do worse.” She shrugged. At his other side Lura sat up the rest of the way, folding his legs, entwining his paws in his lap. “Either way, though… you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Both of you are. Markus, as long as you and I are still legally engaged, this house is indeed yours. And even without that, I can’t imagine that this will cause a rift between Thorn and Oryon. Besides…” She leaned in closer, one paw now resting along his belly, sliding up the fabric of his shirt; Markus brought himself up to his elbows. At the corner of his eye he saw Lura adjust his posture as well, to get a better view. “At this point you know I don’t necessarily want you to leave, either.”

“I know.” Lura’s words from the previous night floated through his thoughts: Because she loves you. …And you love her too, don’t you? “I… never would have thought it when I first came here, but… I know that once I do leave, I’m going to miss you.”

“We’ll keep contact.” Now she reached forward to run her paw along his jaw just as she had done for the otter, her short, unpainted claws following after soft-calloused pads. “We’re not even a day apart, Markus. Even if the Church accepts me as a healer and I begin traveling, I’m not planning on leaving this side of the continent.” She chuckled softly. “And who knows where your life might take you, from this point forward?”

“Gods know I don’t. It’s just…” He reached up, took her paw in his, squeezed gently. For a moment Markus felt the full weight of his time spent here – has it really been barely two months? – from his fleeing from Lura and the implications of his life, to avoiding his responsibilities, to his chance meeting with Kole out on the streets at night, to browsing the markets with Rhea, to feeling his friendship with her take root, grow, and blossom… and even now the dragon mask he had purchased sat atop the dresser back in his own quarters, where he had placed it without a second thought in the morning. “Almost unbelievable, the way things have changed for me. My mother couldn’t have even predicted it.”

Rhea shifted a little bit closer until she was facing him, her side nudging against his, wolfess leaning in over foxwolf. “Mm. I don’t know. From what I’ve learned of the Countess Azura Oryon, something like this seems like it would fit in perfectly well with her other deeds in the histories.”

“’This’ what? Letting me run off to live with my arranged fiancée, who I neither knew nor liked, to escape a senseless argument with my illicit paramour-”

“Who you also barely knew,” Lura put in. Both canids turned to look at him; he grinned.

“-which would then lead to me becoming much closer with both of them? We just arranged the disbanding of our engagement.”

“Sure. But under the possibility that you…” Rhea lifted Markus’s paw, “and Lura,” and one of the otter’s, and drew them together, “end up married, then suddenly Countess Oryon still achieves part of her goal in House Kalla reestablishing something of a foothold, what with Lura Oryon then becoming, by all rights and responsibilities, Lura Kalla.”

Markus’s head bounced back against the mattress. “Oh, Gods.”

“For what it’s worth, no, I don’t actually believe she planned this. But like you said – almost unbelievable, yes?” The wolfess lifted Markus’s head with both paws, her breath wafting light and warm across his whiskers. “Not like you can complain. Everything’s just coming up roses for you.”

“Coming up gardenia, more like…” He squinted. “We’ll keep contact, you and I?”

“Of course. As often as you like. I could visit you…” Her paw began trailing down his neck, over his shoulder and chest again. Markus squirmed with the sensation. “Or you could visit us here. Believe it or not, you’ve made quite an impression on Father-”

“I don’t believe it, thanks.”

“-and the servants like you too. I mean really like, not just what’s expected of their position. Which I think is…” She paused to think. “Remarkable. Like I said when we first started getting to know each other, Markus… I understood that you just tend to frustrate those around you-”

“Thanks. Again.”

“No, listen to me. But you have grown so much in the time you’ve been here. We spoke about this a bit last night so I won’t go into it too much, but… I’m so proud of you. You know why?”

The foxwolf sat up a little further, his paw still entwined with Lura’s. Rhea looked up from where she focused along his chest, blue eyes glittering.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not living up to your House’s name, but making a name for yourself. Once you decide to return to Oryon, you won’t be remembered as Lord Kalla, but instead as Markus.”

“Rhea…”

“And I’m glad to have gotten to know you during this time where you’re… figuring yourself out.” She laughed again, softly. “It’s an ongoing process, of course. I’m still doing that too, between… a few weeks ago fully expecting and planning to be Countess, and now the only goal in my mind is the healing, with… Sorrel and Osa. And you’ll be there, too, even if you’re not – there.”

Markus sat up further, reached out with his other paw, tilted her chin up. She lifted her own to cover his, leaned into the touch, and smiled, tail thumping gently along Lura’s leg behind her.

“I’m glad I came,” he admitted, voice barely above a murmur. “It… was a mistake to do what I did, but I’m thankful for what it’s done for me, in my relationship with you and with Lura.”

“See?” Rhea’s muzzle bumped alongside his. “Those words? That’s the kind of thing I never would have expected to hear from the Markus I was introduced to. If your mother can’t see that growth, then, well…”

She trailed off as the foxwolf’s lips came in. Just a soft, slow brush at first, warm breath puffing out; then she, too, turned her head to meet his, and pursed, and pressed, and held… then broke apart, sighed softly. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips as well as his, and Markus snickered against her and dove in again, with his soon coming to follow. Soft breath puffed out across his muzzle, and his paw drifted from her jaw to her shoulder; Rhea found his wrist, squeezed, guided it down a little bit further along the line of her neck, and Markus lifted up closer, heart leaping in his throat.

Such sweet, velvety warmth, the firmness of her collar bone giving way to plush flesh beneath thick fur, his fingers turning, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, squeezing there. Rhea gasped against his mouth, shivered, leaned her weight further forward against him; Markus pulled in a little bit, other paw slipping from Lura’s – the otter’s trailed up his thigh towards his side – to run in across Rhea’s chest, finding the fastenings of her shirt in front. Little laces, lightly tied, slipping easily at a small tug: the weight from inside pressed out with each one undone, now with both of the foxwolf’s paws working, him sucking at Rhea’s lips and tongue, her huffing against him, pressing forward… then pulling out of the kiss, stretching her head back, sighing out into the cool air of the room.

Folds of clothing fell open and Markus slid his paw in along her chest, fingers splaying around the shape of her breast, pads running along the texture of her nipple… finding the point, nestling it in between, pressing, gently tugging. She gasped again, licked her lips, ran her own paws forward to come along his shoulders-

-and Markus opened his eyes and saw Lura a short distance away, the otter lounging sideways on one arm, mismatched eyes wide, mouth partially open. He blinked, glanced at Markus, looked back down at the display, glanced at the foxwolf again, and then sat up; Rhea took a moment to come back to herself, looked over at him, then blushed and moved to tug her shirt shut again, yet didn’t.

“Oh.” Lura held his paws up. “Don’t mind me. You two can continue. I was just, um…”

Markus looked over at Rhea, who hid her smirk behind a paw, then turned back to the otter. “Lura…”

“Huh? What?”

The foxwolf leaned in towards him, one paw pressing into the mattress, the other seizing the collar of his shirt. “It’s your turn again. Come here…”

And he hoped that Lura could taste the wolfess on his lips when they kissed again, lips to lips, tongue to tongue. Markus went out of his way to press himself into the otter’s mouth, swirling around, digging deeper, holding him tight, then allowing that same paw still warm with the heat of Rhea’s body to explore. Up along his neck, pushing him gently back down to the mattress, then down over his chest to his belly to untuck his shirt from his trousers; fingers easily pressed into the pillowy bellyfur there, and Lura arched his back and moaned into his mouth – and Markus felt Rhea’s paws settle on his shoulders from above and behind, and the warm weight of her bared breasts against his back, and she tossed her head and nibbled in at his cheek first, then his neck, then his shoulder, little nips of sharp fangs turning to tiny kisses.

And then Markus drew back, a thin strand of drool hanging between his lips and Lura’s, and just as quickly flicked his tongue to break it. The breathless otter blinked up at him, then at Rhea over his shoulder, and drew his paws in over his chest.

“Sorry to leave you to like this,” the foxwolf breathed, and shifted where he knelt – with Rhea’s body pressing against him from above and behind, her chest against his back, her waist to his rump… he pushed back, and she grinded forward, and rumbled softly. “But I have a lesson with Lan to get to.”

Rhea smirked. “Oh! And he’s responsible with his appointments, too.” She moved back from him to let him stand up, but made no move to dress herself again. Instead she looked over to Lura, watched him watch her, and then looked up to the foxwolf again. “And we ought to have you formally introduced to the House. Would you like to be here for Markus, or for myself?”

“Well, seeing as how I’m officially an Oryon, I-” Lura trailed off and looked between the two as the wording set in. His little ears flicked. “Wait. Now I have to choose?”

Markus rolled his eyes. He stepped around the bed, leaned in, kissed Rhea, kiss Lura, straightened back up again. Only now did the wolfess begin working her shirt back up.

“I’m just thinking,” the otter went on afterwards, “that it would make more sense for me to say I’m… perhaps a messenger for the Countess, sent to come retrieve her son, or something like that.”

“Sure. But you’re also an otter claiming to be an Oryon. Father will want to double-check that, which could delay the process a few days, which-”

“Is that so bad? Markus said he wasn’t in a rush.”

“Well, with your identity unverifiable, you’d be kept under close watch for those days…”

Their voices began to fade as Markus stepped around into the other room, finally taking the opportunity to reach into his pants and adjust some of the stirring tension there.

“…and with Oryon’s climate being nearly perfect, we could say you’re, I don’t know – a botanist of some sort who I’ve brought over for discussion. Father knows I’ve been working alongside House Arro on stormberry wine; would you perhaps be able to – ah…”

“Lie about a subject on which I know next to nothing?” In the next room Lura laughed, and Rhea did too. “How do you think I got to where I am now? At your engagement, literally nobody questioned if I was supposed to be there.”

“You had me convinced. Although maybe next time pick a name that hasn’t been defunct for generations…”

~ ~ ~

“You would do well to seek out the instruction of your House’s armsmaster,” the older lupine rumbled, running the oiled cloth along his blade again. He held it to the light, squinted along its length, then smeared it once more before returning it to its scabbard. “Many such resources are available for your uses. You harm only yourself by ignoring them.”

Markus remained where he knelt along the training mat, paws on his knees, his shoulders, forearms, wrists, even a few spots along his chest smarting with practice blows. He bowed his head. “I… yes. I should, shouldn’t I?”

“You should,” Lan repeated. He looked down at the foxwolf, tilted his head in thought, then pushed himself upright – and extended a paw down to help him. “You certainly have the talent. But it’s up to you to hone that talent into skill. Do you understand?”

Markus winced at the stinging in his arm when he reached up, then again at the lupine’s grip squeezing around his paw. Today’s lesson had gone on for longer than he expected, and he had received many a smack across the knuckles from Lan countering his own lunges and attacks. “I think so.”

“Too often do we take what life gives us under the assumption that that will be enough. And often, it is.” Still squeezing Markus’s paw, he tugged the foxwolf in closer. “But it could be more. Your fiancée’s minor aptitude for magic, with her regularly applying that in her work at the Church-”

Markus cleared his throat. Rhea said she would take him within these next few days to finally meet Sorrel and Osa, and see what it was that she did when she wasn’t the daughter of the Viscount, and then…

“We have…” Hesitation swelled, but he pushed it back down. “Agreed to disband our engagement. Lord Thorn understands and agrees, and has already dispatched a message to my mother. I expect I’ll have to defend it upon my return home, but I’m set in the matter.”

For the first time since meeting him, this seemed to genuinely surprise, or even startle, the older lupine. Lan’s ears flicked back and his short whiskers perked forward; his eyes widened, he blinked, his grip on Markus’s paw slackened, and for just a moment his mouth fell open. But then just as quickly he gathered himself again, cleared his throat, and checked his blade in its scabbard.

“Well,” he said, his voice hardly more than a rumble. He thought for a moment longer. “That’s… a bit unexpected.”

“I thought that was what you had wanted me to do, from the way you had spoken to me.” Markus did the same with his own, though it was only another training blade.

“Sure. But what I want and expect doesn’t matter in the long run. I was thinking you would… see what is happening, and where you might fit in everything, and from that decide to…”

“I did. I don’t know what’s right for me…” Markus strode over towards the doorway, then turned to watch the older wolf. “But I know it’s not claiming to be Count of Oryon, and nor is that right for the people instead. I have Rhea’s backing in this, as well as Lord Thorn’s. If my mother cannot see that this is the right choice, then the fact of the matter is, she values her own position over the health of her nation. And that is not a family I would want to represent.”

Lan stared across the few paces at Markus, ears upright, tail still. He took in a breath, held it, sighed it back out, then strode across towards him; the foxwolf reflexively bristled, then blinked and took a half-step back when the older wolf bowed slightly.

“My Lord Kalla,” the lupine murmured, “wherever you might go in your life from here, know that you need only to reach out to Kole Lan, and you will have my full backing in your endeavors.”

Markus was speechless for a moment. He bowed his head in return. “I… thank you. Speaking of unexpected.”

“There is indeed some of your father in you,” Lan went on, straightening up. “But before you complain about that. I mean that Lucius always held a deep, unwavering passion for those he loved and what he thought was right. Azura thinks she does, but her experiences and her… traumas, I suppose, blind her to the implications of her own actions sometimes. And then I never met Lua, but I understand he served as the binding between them, and when he passed…” Lan shook his head. “Love is a beautiful and dangerous thing, Markus.”

His ears flicked. “Who said anything about love?”

“Nobody. But you tell me you and Rhea have agreed to dissolve your engagement, and then you come to our lesson smelling more strongly of her than yourself.” The older wolf’s muzzle split in a grin, and he reached to open the door. “You are young. You still have an entire life ahead of you. You have the time to make mistakes, and more importantly, the time to learn from those mistakes. Perhaps your decision here is one of those mistakes; perhaps it is not. What is important, though, is that have already started.”

Even after Lan had left the room Markus remained, those words and thoughts tumbling around in his mind. How far different things are today, he thought, than even a week ago… and on his way back down the hall towards his quarters he kept his ears perked towards the sounds, the conversations of the house, the various visitors and ambassadors, the usual background din, the tapping of claws on tiled floor, the rattling of guards’ equipment. At one corner he froze and peeked around, a pair of very familiar voices reaching his ears:

“It’s something about the acidity in the soil, I think. Up here in more northern latitudes the leaves often turn a rich wine-red on maturity, but back home – or I suppose, where I was born – they tend towards a green so rich it’s almost blue.”

“Ah! I’ve studied that somewhat. My understanding is that it’s due to mineral imbalances, which may have a part in the acidity. I must speak with Osa about that; she also studies this branch of botany. I know you’re new to Oryon, but have you looked into the growing of the bayshoot there?”

“A bit. I was helping to work the fields before Markus’s message arrived, and I’ve spoken with his brother about the history of its production. I understand there’s a small band of researchers aiming to grow it all the way in Maldeth? With magic, I hear. Speaking of – while I was, um, on the run, I utilized a little spell mixing Air and Water; you said those were your talents, yes?”

“Water and Fire. But I do have some capability in Air, although I need to practice. Here; let’s head on out to the markets, and I’ll see if I can show you on the way…”

On they passed, voices disappearing beneath the other noises of the day, and Markus realized his tail was wagging. Not the quick, active jerking that tugged his rump from side to side, but instead a slow, steady swaying, stirring like the warmth simmering around his heart. He smiled, swallowed, and continued on his way again, a new spring to his step.

As the sun made its course across the sky Markus found that he was looking about the house in a different light: this was home, in a way, and yet at the same time it was not. He had begun thinking up various lines and sentences to send to his mother in another letter, thinking that she would certainly respond to Thorn’s correspondence regarding the marriage, but all of this remained at the back of his mind.

Lura and Rhea returned in time for dinner, the otter at Markus’s side and wolfess near her father, and the tableside discussion ranged from the current markets for the tea routes (“bayshoot is booming again, as it always does in this season, but the darker, roasted variety of tea from the northern mountains is meeting a boon as well”) to Markus’s practices with Lan, to Rhea’s ongoing process regarding the stormberry wine, and then even to Volo recounting a story from when he was a gladiator.

Then Volo inquired as to the visiting Lord Strade’s involvement with his daughter. Markus’s heart skipped a beat, but Lura reached under the table, patted his leg, and dove right into an explanation that he and the wolfess must have prepared together while out of the house, judging by how well they bounced off one another. Before long the foxwolf could tell that Lord Thorn had lost interest, but was still following along for their sake – just as he could tell that the performance had turned genuine, with the two again chatting about various this-and-that of plants and climate and whatever else it was.

Lura departed the meal first, with Volo sending a servant to show him to his temporary quarters for his “visit”. Then Markus stood to return to his own, making sure to brush past Rhea as he went, and kept the evening by himself: he had opened one of the windows in his bedroom to let the cool, sweet outside air come in, riding along the sounds of the breeze and insects, and before long he found himself dozing off.

Then at the fringes of his consciousness he heard the opening of a door, the tapping of toeclaws across the floor, the rustling of first clothing and then bedsheets – and then a sweet, soft warmth sliding in behind him, an arm coming around his belly, slipping up his chest… webbed fingers splaying around, entwining with his own, and the short muzzle nestling against his shoulder.

The next day went much the same, with a gradual awakening and awareness of Lura’s presence, here, with him again. Then breakfast, a leisurely walk about the manor green, a visit down to the lake again… a stoic, somewhat awkward farewell upon Kole Lan’s departure ending in a handshake and a pat on the shoulder, then another session poring over ledgers and records with Rhea beside him, and now Lura across.

Half the time Markus wasn’t sure whose footpaw he was touching, but neither did he care: it always bumped and brushed and nudged back against him, and then there was two of them along his own, slipping one way and then the other, pressing forward. Across the table Lura scooted in, muzzle in his paws as he apparently browsed over the canids’ work, though the way his ears and whiskers twitched showed that his mind was elsewhere. And then Rhea reached over beneath the table as well, and Markus straightened up and squirmed and felt the growing, heated pressure from her touch, from both of them, here in this space with him-

-and then she drew that paw away from his leg, and he breathed out a tense sigh, and wolfess smirked across the table at otter and returned to her work.

Later in the evening Rhea invited Markus to visit the markets again, and while there she slipped her paw into his, and he squeezed back, and they walked side by side while browsing. He could still feel that tension in his ears and flickering out along his tail, and he wanted to ask what all happened between her and Lura the previous day but just could not figure out how to word it without making it sound nosy. But then, as the pair passed by the same stand where Markus had purchased the dragon mask, the wolfess offered the info herself:

“He’s nice,” she told him, her voice low. “Thinks about what he says before he says it, I think out of habit rather than intent. Knowing his history and where he’s from, I can understand why, but otherwise I don’t think I would have noticed.” Then she nudged against him and pointed over at that stand, at a black fox mask carved and lacquered in ebony wood. “There’s a lot to him, Markus. I hadn’t expected anything else, of course, but… I must admit that I am glad that you and him were already… established. Knowing that gives me a lot of reassurance and confidence, and I already feel like we can be very close.”

And that stuck with him on the remaining circuit and back up to the manor house: can, not could. She had another lesson from her tutor that evening, so upon reaching the stairway she squeezed his paw and Markus leaned in for another kiss, and there in the halls thought again about slipping his arm around her and pushing her up against the wall, about running his paws through her clothing and down along the base of her tail – and she nipped his lower lip, tugged, smirked, and then went her own way.

Lura was waiting for the foxwolf when he returned to his quarters, and there they each spoke about their day while becoming steadily less clothed. “I can smell Rhea on you again,” Lura murmured, his voice a soft tingle in Markus’s ear. “She worked you up, didn’t she?”

“Oh, I did it to my own damn self…” he responded, and showed the otter just how much.

Then in the morning it was a gentle knock at the outer door that stirred him awake, with Lura still snoozing beside him. Markus grumbled, sat up, shuffled out into the adjoining entry room, threw the latch and opened the door – and came face to face with a surprised cheetah, Doren’s warm eyes immediately flashing down to his nudity only half-obscured by the door.

Markus blinked blearily, reflexively tugging the door across himself, but then recognized who it was and instead opened it further. Little feline ears flicked back and his whiskers twitched against his muzzle, and Doren put visible effort into not looking, and struggling to remember what he had come to say. Markus rubbed the sleep out of one of his eyes.

“You can look,” he mumbled, and cleared his throat. “If it’ll help you focus.”

And so he did, after a second of shock. But the longer his gaze lingered, the more Markus was made aware of this audience, which had its own effect on him: Doren went on to mention how Rhea had dispatched him to fetch Markus and Lord Strade for a breakfast in the city, and to remember the wine for their visit to the chapel, and this and that and the other with his words spacing out and voice trailing off as Markus felt himself stir even more fully awake under the constant appraisal.

“Thank you,” the foxwolf breathed – and throbbed for good measure, sheath tugging slightly back across the slickness of his growing length. Doren’s ears flicked again. “I will be along shortly.” For a moment he thought about allowing the servant a touch as well and opened his mouth to say so, but Doren bowed slightly – and twitched his nose and whiskers in sniffing at the air, of course – and turned to leave, tail flicking behind him. So instead he made sure to lean out into the hallway a little bit, watching where the base of that long tail slid in beneath his clothing, and the swishing of lithe, sleekly muscular legs.

Meet Rhea for breakfast? he thought, ambling back into the room. The door felt cool against his back as he rested his weight on it, pushing it closed; the foxwolf slid his paws down his body, ran one across his belly, dropped the other down a little bit further… hooked his thumb along the back of his sheath, tugged at the supple line of skin linking the back to his belly, squished it down again, cupped his fingers around his sack, squeezed, released. And the wine. Chapel. So we’re meeting them today.

Lura was still sleeping when he made his way back into the bedroom, though the otter stirred and shifted in response to Markus’s weight spreading around on top of him. He rumbled, yawned off to the side, opened his eyes, took a moment to focus on the foxwolf above him… twitched his nose in recognition of his half-arousal.

“Oh,” he purred, “good morning to you too. Something in particular on your mind?”

“Almost always. But,” and here Markus rolled off of Lura, though made sure to keep his back angled towards him as he bent down to begin dressing, “we’re expected somewhere today.”

Lura shifted, sitting upright. “Expected?”

“Yes. Breakfast with Rhea down in the city, and then we’re coming with her to the chapel.”

“Chapel…” Lura tilted his head. His whiskers flicked. “Ah, she assists there. I remember. And she has her-”

“-lions there. Yes. I’ve been looking forward to meeting them.”

“Sorrel and…”

“Osa.”

Lura turned to stand up as well, now stretching his arms over his head, tilting his body one way, swinging around to the other, his thick rudder propped against the floor for balance as he did so. Unable to resist, Markus stepped over, leaned over to nudge his nose into the mustelid’s neck… nuzzled, nipped, kissed, one paw sliding down along sleek fur.

“That’s… it…” Lura breathed, turning his head to the side. “She’s… spoken very highly of them…”

“She has. Do you think she speaks of me the same way, to them?”

“Markus.” The otter chuckled, his smaller paws planting against the middle of his chest. “Everyone can see what’s going on between you two. Hell, we don’t even need to see it-”

“-since I smell like her more often than I smell like myself. Yes. I know. It’s a good thing nobody here knows what otters smell like, offhand.”

“Oh.” The foxwolf leaned back to tighten his shirt collar. “That reminds me. She brought you up while we were down in town the other day.”

“Bad things, right? All – insults and foulmouthed jabs and what-have-you?”

Markus laughed and pushed at his shoulder. “Oh, stop it. Only good things. She likes you a lot.”

“I thought so. And… I see what you like in her as well, Markus.” Lura stepped away from him, also to begin dressing. “It’s been enjoyable spending time with her in the days I’ve been here. I’ve… really valued it. Getting to see you again, too, and it… reassures me. You know?”

Hearing the tone in his voice, Markus turned back from the door, ears perked, head tilted.

“Knowing that…” Lura glanced away, shrugged, smiled. “Even if… you and I hadn’t worked out. Well, if we hadn’t agreed to try again, and keep on going. Knowing that you would have still had her. That’s nice, you know?”

Outside the open window, the wind blew again. The fur along Markus’s neck ruffled in the breeze; the warmth of Lura’s smile simmered over into him, and he felt his tail sway again.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose… I suppose that is nice.”

“And now,” and Lura closed the distance to him, one paw reaching for his and the other settling on his chest again, “you have both of us.”

“I still just… have trouble believing that you’re both okay with that.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well, because it’s – I-”

“I told you before, the first night I came here.” Lura lifted Markus’s paws, turned them so the palms faced up, ran his thumbs over the pads. “Having a love like this is beautiful, and I’m not going to take that away from you – or from her. I couldn’t want to.” Mismatched eyes flicked up to his muzzle. “And you’ve known about her lions, and you’re okay with that, right?”

“Well I – I mean, yes,” he stammered. Truthfully, he had never put much thought into it: that was just a part of Rhea, her and her lions.

Lura smiled. “Why?”

The way she lights up when she says their names… like herbs, a little bit of spice, a little bit of rich flavor. “I bumped into Osa when down at the markets,” and her eyes glitter, and her tail wags. “Sorrel and I worked together on a patient today,” with her again telling of how his magic mixes so well, so smoothly with her own. And I can feel the warmth that they give her, the glowing appreciation and affection, and seeing her feel that way just fills me with the same pleasant happiness, and…

Have I smelled them on her, the way Lura smells her on me? A little bit of that sharp, sweet herb spice dusted along her neck and shoulder, along her paw when I lift it to kiss the back, and her cheek? That little sparkle along her lips, the spring in her step, the perk to her posture when she returns from whatever it is she does in her time outside of the manor – is that from their kisses? To Markus’s surprise, then, a little bit of that tingling arousal returned as this thought danced across him.

“…Why wouldn’t I be?”

“There you go.” The otter stood up onto his tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Come on. You said we ought to get dressed. Do you know where we’re meeting?”