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A Little Less Counselor, A Little More Concubine

Part 7

For Fyacin_Tia

By Draconicon

It was no accident that the lion counselor was forced to walk the halls of the palace in the nude, nor was it an accident that, somehow, all eyes were drawn to him and all heads were turned to face him as he walked from one corridor to another. Someone had gone ahead and informed everyone of his actions, and so the entire palace, from slave to servant to soldier to noble, had decided they must see if it was true or not.

Fyacin walked with his head as high as he could manage, knowing that he was trailing pre-seed from under his tail, feeling it squelching beneath his bare paws every time that he took a step. His shaft was half-drawn from his sheath, and his rump...

He could not understand how such a thing could have happened, but he could feel the heft and weight of his backside in a way that he had never felt before. Even as he schooled his face to careful neutrality - for he did not trust himself with his usual flirtatious measures - he could feel the slight wobble that his formerly taut rump carried. There was...weight...there that had not been present mere hours before.

Impossible, he thought as he strained to hold what little dignity that he had left. This is impossible...

And yet, he had already given up much of his status, most of which was now on display to everyone. He could not hide this, keep it to the soldiers. He had been exposed, forced to show what he was, at least in someone's eyes.

A slut. A concubine rather than an advisor, and a concubine that did not know how to restrain themselves.

He felt every eye on him, felt the urge to rut burning under his tail again. The humiliation of that urge continued to raise his tail, no matter how hard he tried to hold it down. Some part of him, some deeply buried part of him craved every eye on his rump, to see his body, to want it. That had been a constant for much of his life, but like this...

One of the mastiff soldiers at his side reached over. For a moment, he thought that he'd be offered support, but no. Even the soldier took liberties, groping his rump. Fyacin hissed, turning with his fangs bared.

Instead of backing off, the mastiff chuckled. The lion gripped the dog's hand, pulling it away.

"You will not touch what belongs to the Emperor."

"His seal no longer protects you. You broke his trust," the soldier muttered.

"You will find that his seal protects me still. Until he revokes it, you may not touch me."

"..."

The power of the Emperor of Dol-Ma stood still, and the mastiff stopped. It was scant relief, considering the dozens of eyes still on him.

How many of you do I know? Fyacin wondered, glancing down the paper-walled halls of the approach to the Emperor's throne room. How many of you have I bested in the past?

Too many, he was sure. They would be storing this away, reminding themselves of his humiliation for years to come, merely so that they could feel better about themselves. The lion snorted, crossing his arms, his tail twitching in irritation until yet another little splurt of horse pre-seed oozed from beneath it. Then, for but a few moments, he had the willpower to pull his tail down and hide it.

Not for long, however. It always raised again, always exposed him once more to the shame that he had committed.

They waited outside the great iron door to the throne room for nearly half an hour, and in that time, Fyacin swore that the eyes of every member of the court passed over him as they either left the throne room or came to see the shame of the young counselor. He kept his arms crossed, his eyes forward.

He wished that he could trust himself to flirt, but with the burning, heated feeling under his tail combined with the charges that would be leveled against him, he dared nothing.

Finally, the doors opened, and the soldiers marched him forward. At his back, Shargo was kept in chains, the stallion general arrested and gagged for his 'crimes.' Fyacin dared not allow him free rein in the palace with his own position under threat; who knew what someone else might try?

The great throne room was different to the intimate quarters where he, Alys, and Kisari advised their master. Rather than a small chamber where few may kneel before their lord, where the lord might sit slightly elevated from the rest of them but still among them, the throne room embodied the greatness of the land of Dol-Ma. Pillars rimmed and bound by sky-steel ran from the floor to the great roof dozens of feet overhead, the ceiling of the chamber domed and arching towards the sky. Great sheets of turquoise lined the dome, giving a hint of sky to the chamber, and smokeless torches in the dome cast light upon the gold flecks in the blue, casting a sparkle of daytime starlight upon the proceedings.

A single golden carpet led from the door to the throne, and the throne itself was elevated beyond mere steps, as in the lower kingdoms. Instead, it rested upon a raised plinth more than a dozen feet above the ground, holding the great Emperor of Dol-Ma out of reach of any of the common folk and nobles. The throne itself was made of smoothed silver, polished daily, and upon it the Emperor waited.

Fyacin was led along the carpet, feeling the fibers below finally dry his paws of the stains that he had carried from the Jade Garden. He tried to draw himself up as regally as one could in the nude; he had no shame before the Emperor, though he had a trifling touch of guilt.

As he was made to stop more than a dozen paces back, he finally saw them. A blue-scaled, finned head, and a horned, furred one, both sticking out just a few feet down and behind the Emperor. Kisari and Alys, respectively, taking their seats in the half-hidden advisory chairs.

He flashed them an instant of a glare. From experience, he knew that a single seat was empty behind the Emperor, still, and he could not help but imagine that they were laughing up their sleeves at the fact that his fate was up to their advice and the Emperor's decision. Two counselors that would cheer to see his downfall, and one man that must have felt utterly betrayed at the lion's actions: such a jury did not bode well for his fate.

On instinct, he bowed, bending himself nearly in half before his lord and master. He felt a slight squelch under his tail, and stood up perhaps a little too quickly as a result.

"My apologies, oh Master," the lion said. "I do not wish to disgrace your great hall, but I felt that I must come swiftly to you, lest the tongue of rumor fill your ears before I might speak."

The fox said nothing, but merely gestured for him to continue. It was not the worst result that the lion could have hoped for, but the lack of speech concerned him.

Don't stop. Someone poisoned you, tainted you, and the general took advantage, he thought. You cannot afford to have the general killed by saying he raped you...but you cannot completely put the fault on yourself, either...

For a counselor swore himself to the Emperor, to not give of himself to another. Fyacin had already pushed at the bounds of the rules, allowing Shargo a blowjob in the past to get his attention and to make him talk, but this was a different thing. He had given his body fully to the horse, and yet...

Yet, the poison still burned in him. His hole ached, his insides felt empty, and the teasing nature that he had was bent towards something far baser than his normal behavior. Fyacin took a deep breath, bowing his head.

"I can only beg the understanding of my master, oh Emperor of the Mountain Kingdom. I was overcome with a passion that was unnatural, and I lost my sense of judgment. Had I been thinking clearly, I would not have betrayed you, but my mind has been twisted of late. Ever since my fall, I have found it difficult to...to focus," he said, stuttering slightly as he realized how nearly he had mis-spoken.

He had almost said that he had found it hard to think. To admit such a thing as that would be akin to giving up his position as a counselor, for their duties were merely to think and advise when they were not in their Emperor's bed. A basic slip, indeed, and one that he was astounded that he had almost made.

Glancing up, he saw the Emperor looking between him and the stallion, measuring the two of them in a simple gaze. It was not yet decided, he realized, which meant that he had a chance. Slowly, he knelt, holding out his arms in surrender, in a plea for mercy.

"I am, and have always been, yours, oh master. In my past, I have been more promiscuous than I should have been; I have dallied with those that did not deserve the body that is reserved for you alone. Yet, since I have become yours, I have changed. I have devoted myself to you, and my body, until today, has not been sullied. Even now, it has not been truly sullied; General Shargo came to his senses before he could mark and defile me, before he could erase what you have left on me."

"Enough, Counselor," the Emperor said.

"My master, please, allow me to -"

"I said. Enough."

Hiding a wince at the fox's almost tired tone, Fyacin lowered his eyes again. Any further pleading would only harm his chances of proving his innocence, and he doubted that his master would be lenient with him, particularly after warning him against such behavior only a day ago. He had hoped that he could offer reasons for clemency, but his defense had been cut short before he could build on it.

He could only hope that the idea of being poisoned or damaged by the fall would stick. Without those, he would be left with nothing.

The lion's ears flicked as he heard the sound of distant voices, and he realized that Alys and Kisari would be giving their master advice over what to do with him. He bit his lip, knowing better than to protest.

Please, my master, care for me enough to ignore their hateful words. Care for me enough to know that I am still valuable to you.

More than once, General Shargo tried to stay something, but the mastiff guards forced him to shut up every time. Fyacin did not know if they were gagging him, shoving him, or some other means of keeping him in line, but he could hear the grunts of annoyance every time that the horse's words were cut off. The lion dared not look back, dared not say anything, lest he ruin everything else that he had built.

Losing Shargo would mean that the kingdom of the west would lose its general, and without its general, the soldiers of that kingdom would be worthless in battle. The entire point of bribing them with weapons and gold would be lost, and their mutual survival rode on the edge of a knife point.

Finally, the white fox held up his hand, and Fyacin looked up as the shadow of the Emperor fell upon him.

"You have betrayed my trust, and my commands," the Emperor said. "The love that I held for your father, and the love that I hold for you, is not sufficient to save you when you have disregarded both your own oath and my commands. You, child of a counselor, should know more than any the trust that I place in you, and the meaning behind the oaths that you take as you assume your position."

Fyacin slowly nodded. It was drilled into him long ago that the Emperor required the love as well as the service of his underlings. To be loved was to be less likely to be betrayed, after all.

Expecting the guards to end him there, Fyacin waited for the shadow of the Emperor's protection to be withdrawn. Yet, instead, the Emperor clasped his hand into a fist, and the shadow upon him shrunk, but was not removed.

"However. You have given service, and your aid has not been forgotten. At the advice of my other counselors, you will be restricted and spared."

Restricted? What - wait...

Fyacin's eyes flicked past the Emperor, looking past his master to the faces of the other counselors. Too-knowing Alys, too-cunning Kisari could not have seen this as anything but the chance to get rid of him. Why would they push for him to remain?

The Emperor finally lowered his hand.

"Soldiers. Remove Fyacin from the room, and take him to Master Woan. Have the smith fit him for his restrictions."

"As you wish, oh Emperor."

The dogs pulled him to his feet, and he was immediately turned and marched away. General Shargo was dragged forward, thrown to his knees before the Emperor, but he was not allowed to see what happened next. The doors shut behind them as he was once more led through the palace in nothing but his fur.

Restricted? What does that mean?

There was no answer from the soldiers, and no answer from anything that he had learned as a counselor, nor from what he had learned from his father before taking over from the other lion. Whatever being 'restricted' meant, it was something that had not been done for some time, and he worried what it might mean for him.

He might have been given a hint of mercy, but the lion was no fool. He knew that he was on thin ice, and it would take very little for him to fall again. Whatever had happened to him, whoever had changed him, was likely not done with whatever they had planned. He would have to be doubly vigilant from now on.

The End