Seduction of a King

Chapter 1

Marshall's POV

It's time for me to perform again. The king watches me with a dull glint in his brown eyes. As all the other times have gone, he'll only be amused if I mess up. And so... the cycle continues, whether it's of my own will or not. I have three balls with me of varying colors. Red, Green, and Blue. Pretty stereotypical colors, but their usual bright saturation brings forth a dazzling view for the King. Especially when one of them hits me...

Taking the red and blue one in one paw respectively, and the green in the other, I stand upon two hind legs, balancing myself before I begin. One deep breath in, my chest rises and falls, and then release... here we go. I toss the balls in the air, making that mesmerizing motion where one can get lost in the movement of my throws, and then it dawns on me. The bells on my red jester hat jingle as I focus my gaze upward, but the thing is, my eyes may be attentive, but my mind never is. It only has one objective when performing: thinking of the King. No, not just thinking... lusting, for the King. Yes, you heard me correctly, I love Chase, the ruler of Adventure Bay. However... I don't love the current version because...

"Ack!" The dreaded red ball strikes again. This time, square on my schnoz. Wincing, my head now directed toward the stone floor, I rub it and mutter, "Ow... again?"

My head lifts as laughter echoes off the Throne room walls. It further responds with a slight tilt and a confused expression to boot. To this day... I don't know why he finds it so damn funny. "What is it, Your Majesty?"

Sitting upon his golden throne, sleek and shiny and metallic all over, the German shepherd scoffs and grins. The crown adorned with rare jewels slips back to its proper position as his head slips back down, the humor dissipating. "Heh, why do you ask that every time when you know exactly why I'm laughing?"

I return to sitting on my hindquarters. "It seems fitting, Your Majesty, since I'm always baffled that I let it happen every time."

"Right, right." The shepherd hops off his throne and stalks to me. His white fangs gleam as a grin climbs up his muzzle. "Your mistakes always amuse me, Marshall. Don't ever change. It's so satisfying to hear that ball crack you in the face or you suddenly run out of breath while playing the trumpet, resulting in the funniest sound no man has ever heard but me. The King."

I glance away, my expression stern, emotionless. He's close now, the patter of his paw pads on the stone grow louder every second. My heartbeat hastens. It's never fun when he gets close. His touch sends shivers down my spine. They aren't good ones. I will my head to look forward, have my blue eyes meet with his own. His snout is nearly touching mine, that slaphappy grin still stuck on his face like it was glued there. A part of me likes it this near to my own muzzle. To have his lips on mine. And yet... in this context, no. I don't. "Your performance is over. You fucked up again. Get out of my throne room. You no longer amuse me."

My breath hitches in my throat. Eyes well up, but I stare him down. Down below my head, I'm slightly trembling. But I, will not, show, fear. Taking my pride with me, I swivel my body around, huffing as I do, and I begin to trot out of the throne room. Hopefully some of my dignity exits with me. When I near the large wooden double doors, one creaks open, and I'm taken aback, my body jolting in response. Who could it be? Is it Francois again? That damn Jester always tries to steal my spotlight, my Chase, my love. It's too bad he changed for the worse... No. No use dwelling upon the past. I need to work on the present; I have a mission, and I will succeed.

A light furred head pokes through the opening. A cockapoo, to be exact. Skye. On instinct, my spotted body moves aside to let her in, my expression not wavering the slightest as she walks inside. The silence irks me, makes every sound in this room louder than it needs to be, more prevalent and exacerbated. It sickens me to my core. Rings in my ears. Surely I've gotten used to it by now; however, the urge to wince is still quite strong, and yet, I don't anymore. Maybe I'm just desensitized? That's probably it. Not yearning to be in this room any longer, I continue my way out, and I don't look back, as it is none of my business.

In the center of the Lookout stands a tall cylindrical stairwell, and it offers access to several floors with differing purposes. One floor, near the bottom, houses rooms for the six Royal servants. I am one of them, if you haven't guessed that simple fact already. If you truly didn't, you probably don't have much going on up there, now, do ya? Chuckling to myself at all the imaginary people I just offended, I clamber down the staircase toward the floor the author just mentioned a few sentences ago. Didn't catch it? Reread this paragraph over again. Needless to say, I'm going to keep climbing down these steps regardless of whether or not you approve of my humor. At long last, I reach the area I desire. Heading through the open archway and strolling around the circular area, I long for my room that is my own personal abode. It shelters me from the stresses I face daily. It's not just once a week I perform for Chase. It's every damn day. Time and time again, I encounter a new minor injury. Sometimes, though, it's more than that, either through my own error or the King hadn't been in a good mood. I am unable to please him at times with my own injuries, so he furthers the extent by... creating his own. I've walked out of there with blackened eyes, bruised paws, and even, yes, wounds.

As I trot into my room, the simplicity always fails to faze me, with its dull stone blocked walls and shoddy wooden desk lit only with a candle that could very well light the whole piece of crap ablaze if I'm not careful. The "bed" with a thin mattress lacking in anything resembling comfort sitting upon a wooden frame that, once again, can catch fire from the other shitty piece of wooden furniture near it. Dare I call it furniture? I stomp over to the desk and drive my paw into one of the legs: it shutters and creaks and groans under the pressure. Case in point, it's quite wobbly and unstable, leaving writing upon it a chore and unpleasant. The floor would be a better option, and when you really think about that, it's quite pathetic. My life is pathetic. I gently lift myself up onto the bed, since if I jumped on it, surely the impact would crack the frame in half, and the King is too much of a cheap ass to purchase anything for us, regardless of our needs.

My body moves on its own, and after a few circles, I lie down on the mattress. But I am not tired. My mind is just, getting, started. It likes to do this at times. Go on and on and on like some kind of weaving wheel that continues to spun thread even if it runs out. I sigh, placing my head down on the hard clothed surface. I want the old Chase back. Prince Chase. The one where he served our previous King and always tried his best to be loyal, compassionate, and gallant. I love him. Not the shepherd I know now. He's lost his way, become something he's not, and now... and now, I must get him back. Whatever the cost. But at this rate... with things are going as they are, my luck is running dry. Maybe it's hopeless to try and fight it. He's gone. Like I've said before, I can't dwell on the past.

My paw clenches the thin sheets below, creating crevices and wrinkles. I grimace. I groan. There's no giving up just yet. That's not an option. I know I can get through to him if I just perfect my routine. If I'm perfect and he has nothing to criticize, berate, or mock, then he would be furious. That's the only reason why he likes me now. To think I thought he liked me back then... I don't see any of his past self anymore. The new Chase has repressed all that resembles the old. But perhaps... if he reacts in the extremest of manners, then, he might just realize his errors. That split second epiphany is all I have left to hope for. But look around me. You haven't seen the shambles Adventure Bay has become.

Skye's POV

"So, what do you have to report?" The King sits back on his throne, still as stone.

I stare him down, watch his eyes glower at me. His front paw creates incessant taps against the gold caress his cold metallic stool provides. "Well, Your Majesty, I have once again observed the general populace. I have one man to report suspicious behavior."

His head tilts upward, the whites of his eyes mostly exposed at the top, creating this psychological power struggle between us, as if he was trying to dominate the room. "Hmmmm? And who might this mystery person be?" His paw halts tapping and rests underneath his muzzle, the elbow of said paw placed against the armrest.

I sit my rump down and say, loud and clear, "Mr. Porter, Sir. I suspect that he is meddling with his bread inventory. It's off compared to what he's ordered and sold."

"I see. Well, he needs to be questioned, then. Bring him in. Have Zuma of the Royal Guard tag along with you for support, as little as that actually helps..."

I bow my head. "Yes, Your Majesty." Oh, boy, I get to bust another one with Zuma. Again. Oh, what fun.

Zuma's POV

Guess I'm going on another fetch quest with Skye. I hate these things. I'm never prepared for what I'm going to encounter, and when I'm under pressure, I can't think straight. I mess everything up. We're on our way now to the bakery where Mr. Porter is. I try my best to compose myself as a member of the Royal Guard; my midnight blue plated armor rattles with my steps. Whenever I walk through the town I never like the way Adventure Bay looks anymore. No matter how many times I stroll through the streets, it never looks any different. People and animals alike look malnourished, the humans wearing loose-fitting rags for clothes atop their skinny flesh. Nobody takes care of the streets, littered with trash and rotten food. The houses, decrepit and run down, only serve their purpose to shelter, hardly to provide. It's really sad, and I despise what it's become.

We sure get a lot of attention as we go for a stroll around town. Every eye glances to our position and scowls at us. What are they thinking of me? My father wanted me to join so I could become a man of the household, and yet... I feel like the cause I'm fighting for makes me feel like even less of a man. Who could blame us for our behavior? I'm forced to follow rules and laws I don't abide by, and Skye... well, she doesn't care too much what happens to the people she ruins. If we don't follow what the King orders then I don't even want to think of what will become of us. The mere thought of our demise sends shivers down my spine, jingling my armor. Gulping and hastening my step, I yearn to reach Mr. Porter's bakery posthaste. I don't wait for Skye to catch up with me; I can no longer withstand the brutal accusatory glares I receive.

The two of us halt in front of the bakery. Despite the dreary atmosphere around town, the building looked like the holy light that shines down from the heavens. The savior. Although washed out and pale, and some spots with cracked cream colored paint, the bakery stood tall with a red and white striped overhang over the stone entrance. Near either side of the building, wooden food stands held fresh fruit with two workers standing by to allow customers to either buy or sample. Apples, bananas, oranges, watermelons, any fruit you could imagine were piled in stacks and organized on the stands. You know, I really don't want to do this. I hate tagging along with her, and especially since King Chase forces me along, knowing full well it's like exposure therapy for me. Except I never asked for it in the first place. Skye lightly shoves me with her paw, 'cause apparently, she had been trying to usher me inside while I stood still in a daze. It really shows how much I want to do my job. "You coming in, or are you just going to stall by staying high up there in La-La land?"

I give my whole body a quick shake. "S-sowwy, Skye. I'm just newvous as usual."

She sighs, plants her paw to her face. "You really are no help, Zuma. When will you finally get over that the King will eventually lose his patience with you and resign you from the Royal Guard unless you shape up?"

I can't look her in the eyes. Her head is swiveled toward me, but her body still faces the dreaded building. I can't fathom going inside. "I nevew wanted this, you know that."

She scoffs. "So you wanna go back home to your father? That what you want?"

I groan under my breath, scraping the concrete with my clenched front paws. "No. I wefuse to do such a thing." I gulp. "C'mon. Let's go in."

I follow the cockapoo through the wooden door, and as we step inside, the bells dangling on the handle chimed. The interior had an aroma that the baked bread provided. The prominent smell and warmth inside the small comfy area already made me feel like I didn't live within a town torn to shreds. Both sides had round wooden tables for customers to sit and enjoy a meal, and in the center all the way in the back-this wasn't a huge place, mind you-stood the ordering counter, where you had all your bread needs taken care of. Stationed behind the counter, a bald man wearing a green apron and a blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up took orders alongside a couple more workers beside him handling loaves.

Skye doesn't waste any time getting personal, and walks straight up to the counter, squinting at Mr. Porter as if he had some food bits in his dark brown mustache. The man shoots her the same expression back, only his head lurches back a bit in shock. "What can I do for you today, Ma'am-" He halts mid sentence when his attention adjusts from the cockapoo to my armor. My authority. Skye had only magenta robes on her fur pelt, blending in with the common folk with a hood up to conceal her true identity. "-Sir. How may I assist you today?"

On first glance, some would say he just completely ignored Skye, but everybody knows the rules: address royalty first. I loathe the attention I receive from being authority. It makes speaking to anyone tough because I must change the manner in which I talk to sound more intimidating. However... despite my practice, I can never seem to get it right in the moment. "On behalf of the King's ordews, I must inform you that... that, y-you... will... um. Be questioned? By, by... the King! Yes, the King!"

Mr. Porter furrows his brows at my sudden screw up. "Okay... I haven't done anything wrong, sir, so I'd like to ask you to leave my bakery."

They always refuse when I fail, which is all the time. If my confidence wavers at all, nobody agrees upon the decree that I recite. I have to regain control over the situation. I usually don't resort to this but... I've got to try to be menacing. I grip the sword handle with my teeth, the blade being the confines of the scabbard on my torso, and I hesitate a moment before drawing it in front of the man. He laughs, pointing at my blade. "You really think you can threaten me with that pathetic sword? All rusted and worn like that? Give me a break, I can slice through that weapon with a loaf of my bread!"

I growl and lower into a fighting stance, but it's no use. Mr. Porter crosses his arms with a knowing grin on his face. "I'm not budging with the usage of such cowardice tactics."

Unable to convince him anymore than I possibly ever could, Skye steps in to save the day, and I watch her stomp up to Mr. Porter with a stern expression. "We have your bakery surrounded with more members of the Royal Guard, Mr. Porter, so I suggest you think carefully regarding your next response, because it may be your last."

Now that really spikes some fear within the man, and his teeth clench with worry as his fate becomes sealed. In reality, the cockapoo had bluffed her way out of a jam, which she often has to resort to, considering she's assigned to me all the time. Sighing at knowing his defeat, Mr. Porter hunches over. "Alright, alright. I'll see the King for questioning, even though I still don't know what it's about."

"Good," the cockapoo flashes a devious smile at him with a wink, "follow us please~ and we'll escort you to His Majesty, King Chase."

How professional, Skye, I think to myself, rolling my eyes as the man exits behind the counter. I sheathe my dilapidated sword and tail Mr. Porter who follows Skye out of his bakery. With the suspect in question captured, we return to the Throne room to pay His Majesty a visit.

Luckily Mr. Porter didn't falter in his instructions to follow us back to the castle Lookout. We've had a few instances where the questioned have tried to escape our grasp, and needless to say, Skye didn't give them much breathing room. Once we enter the Throne room, the King was a little busy. I wanted to shield my eyes. Chase had been getting it on with a couple whores and a boy toy while we were away. On his throne, moans and other unpleasant sounds reverberated around the room, and before this continued any longer, I had to intervene to save us the "pleasure" of seeing our King enjoying himself. I clear my throat. "Ahem!" I say, "S-Siwe, we have bwought the suspected as you wequested. Shall I b-bwing him forward?" Of course, I still can't talk correctly in front of the King, either, since I still have to act professionally. I must do this around everyone, actually, now that I think about it. If I don't catch a break, I may find myself permanently inhibited by this anxiety. It's all because of why I have to do it in the first place.

The King only offers us a scowl and a disgusted look as the prostitutes recognized that they had unknown company. They ceased all sexual actions and proceeded to garnish their naked fur with clothes to leave His presence. Despite their being no need to wear garments for animals, sexual solicitors such as themselves usually preferred to do so to tease their patrons. King Chase growls as they walk away, the three female cats and one male wolf making suggestive faces at us before exiting. The King sits up in his throne with a bored expression, elbow of one paw resting underneath his muzzle once again. "Skye, Zuma, bring forth the suspect in question."

"Yes, Your Highness," we both say in tandem.

Bringing up Mr. Porter, we set him down on his knees before the King, in between the two of us. Without hesitation, King Chase bellows, "So, Mr. Porter! I hear you've been low on your bread inventory for several months now. Why is that?"

The man lifts his head up to speak. "Your Majesty, I-"

"You decided to give the bread away? To my sworn enemy but also business partner King Humdinger?"

I still don't know how the King is able to keep stable business relations with that man. He's toxic, and yet... he's all we have in short proximity of us for miles...

The man grits his teeth in response, and I don't know if that means he's guilty or that he's fearing for his life. "N-no, but Sir! Please! Let me-!"

"Guards! I want this man in the dungeon! Keep him in there a few hours, that'll teach him a lesson." On cue, King Chase's more reliable Royal Guard members burst through the throne room doors, two of them, donned in the same midnight blue armor as myself. Except, these dogs were German shepherds like the King himself, but even bigger than he was, and yet these guards did not betray him. Why?

Mr. Porter lifts himself off his knees in protest and fear, but the guards swoop in and snatch his arms before he is able to do anything but wail in despair. I tune it out. I don't want to listen to that poor man anymore. His fate has been sealed. Sure, that's only theory, as I find it illogical to think that King Chase would show mercy on anyone. Especially an imprisonment for such a short duration. My head lurches back as my widened eyes follow the man getting dragged out of the room. His bread tastes so good; I sneaked it every morning for breakfast, and now... he'll be locked away for who knows how long.

As the doors slam shut, sending shivers down my spine, the King dismisses me from the room, as he only wanted a discussion with Skye at the moment. "Suwe," I had said, in a lax and carefree manner, but I know what he will be conversing with her. It's about me. My behavior. This isn't something that happens only so often; it occurs every time I have to apprehend a supposed "criminal". So, I wait outside the double doors, leaving my floppy ear against the wood to eavesdrop as usual.

"I want a report on his behavior," King Chase says aloud. His voice booms inside that room, and I really don't know if he's doing it on purpose or if it's the ergonomic design.

"Yes, Your Majesty," she replies, her voice stern and flat. "Again, he seemed nervous on the way there, and when it came to executing and reciting what he had practiced, he did not deliver it to my satisfactory. I had to cover him when he lost control of the situation, needlessly drawing his pathetic blade and flaunting it at Mr. Porter. I say, quite the keeper you have here, Your Highness. I've covered for him so many times now, but I never really asked what exactly you see in him."

I imagine the King purses his lips and slowly nods his head, but I can't see anything through closed doors. "Nothing. Nothing at all. And yes, I'm well aware he isn't fit for the job. However, his Father pays me generous sums of money each passing month to keep him here. And so, I will do what's necessary to transform that weak minded mutt into a strong-willed guard."

This isn't news to me. My father would do such a thing. After all... he forced me to join in the first place, and besides, he isn't the nicest man on the face of Adventure Bay, either.

"As you wish, Your Majesty. I respect your so called 'sentiment' for the young lab, but please, will you try assigning him with somebody else? I have grown tired of his drivel."

"No. You are the only one able to somewhat tolerate his actions, as the other guards would've chopped his head off by now."

"I Understand, Sire."

"You are dismissed."

My heart races as I realize it's time for me to mind my own business in the hallway a ways from the door, so I tiptoe away and sit against the wall about ten to fifteen feet out. Skye trots out a brief moment after, and she catches me in her peripheral vision, but huffs and pays me no mind. As her tiny cockapoo body disappears down the corridor, I know it's my cue to come back in, regardless of whether I've been beckoned or not, because I've experienced this many times before.

The door creaks when I head inside, and the King squints his eyes at me, as if unhappy to see I allowed myself entry without permission. I take one step and immediately I hear him retort, "You dare, enter without my permission?"

It really doesn't matter if I do or not... the result will always be the same. "My humblest apologies, Your Majesty, I figured, since you always want me in here after, that I could just come in of my own accord after Skye has left."

"Definitely not. Come here. I must speak with you." He ushers me in further using his paw.

I oblige, now sitting before him. "Y-Yes, Sire?" Giving him a quizzical expression, I tilt my head slightly.

He lets out a hard sigh. "Your behavior is still concerning, and even more so today. You know this can't go on forever."

Knowing the end game of this conversation has me trembling. "I-I... understand, Your Majesty..."

He growls, lifting his hindquarters off his throne a tad. "Again, with the timidness! Oh, how I despise it... " The King's posture stiffens as he leans forward, baring his teeth.

I flinch and lean my body back as much as possible without getting up from my sitting position. I know what's coming. And it does. I know my reaction didn't help, either. His clawed paw swipes across my muzzle, catapulting me to the side and onto my torso. Now lying on the floor, I lie motionless, knowing if I retaliate he'll do much worse. There's a burning sensation on my snout. It stings, but I know I can't show any pain or move. He'll punish me. I must sit here and accept it. My eyes wince shut, a groan through clenched teeth escaping my lips, and as soon as I noticed it, he was on top of me. He stomped his front paws into my exposed side with a loud grunt. I watched his crown tip as I yelped in pain, but he pounced on that outburst too; another paw cracks against my muzzle.

My eyes are closed now, and I try to keep my mind occupied, not focused on the several agonizing sensations going on in my body right now. Oh wait.. I'm still thinking about it! Stop! Stop! Okay... think of... um, I dunno! Something! A beach! Yeah! A relaxing day on the soft sand. The waves crash against the shore, recede and wash away the grit once more, over and over. So calming. My muscles lose their tension. I lie lax on the cold stone, since the King knocked me off the luxurious red carpet strip in the center. Paw pad sounds came one after another, pounding in my ears, but I think it's over. Is it safe to open my eyes? To feel the pain? To breathe?

"He's doing me a nice favor. To keep you. Don't ruin it. You're going to get a new sword tomorrow. See the royal blacksmith. Dismissed." I hear the paw pad noises fade away and then the door creaking open.

It's safe. I open my eyes and breathe. "Heh... still like my Father..."