Queen Helti growled, spitting blood on the snow, glaring at the two wolves that stood before her. The first didn’t matter, some stray dog the camp had picked up, tall for a male, and a dull grey. The other, however, a heavy looking female, grinned, wagging her tail as she watched the wolf queen get back to her paws. Luna didn't know her name, she was just some whelp from one of the minor fiefdoms, who had clearly found favour with the others while her back was turned.

"Are you going to beg for mercy?" The bitch asked, taking a step towards the slowly rising mountain of meat, blood painting her white flank red from the opportune spear thrust that had started the botched attempt on her throne. "One more fucking stain on your name, right at the end."

The wounded wolf snarled, teeth bared, her growl shaking through her whole body. Her mother had always told her that anger was weakness, that hate was poison, that any real wolf did not act or speak unless they were sure of their path. But that had never been Luna’s way, hate gave clarity, driving away all thought aside from seeing that yapping mouth broken and full of blood.

There was one last bark of warning from the queen’s lips, before her paw batted aside the carelessly advancing man, clearing her path to spring and land a vicious kick to the bitch’s snout, sending her yelping and splashing into the snow. The circling onlookers said nothing, watching, a clear sign that this fight, or one like it, had been a long time coming.

The bitch’s mate recovered quickly for all his faults, lunging forward, needing all his mass to knock Helti from her prey. They rolled in the snow, snapping and snarling, trying to pin one another, but Luna was a trained warrior, the wolf queen of Rusgard, larger and more powerful than just some whelp spurred on by his bitch. She overcame him, throwing him off her, smashing her fist into his face. He hit the ground hard, dazed.

She roared, rounding again on the female and driving a fist into her stomach. The smaller bitch went reeling, plumes of snow snow flying, barely keeping her feet as she struggled to stay upright. She shook her head, glaring at the wolf queen, paws going for a dagger. But then, seeing the queen still standing so resolute, gold eye burning in wrath, her nerve failed, and she turned and ran.

Helti stood there, refusing to pant her bled exhaustion, waiting for the dumb dog to either try his luck, or join his mate and flee. After a few moments he simply ran after his bitch.

Helti spat one last mouthful of blood, and grabbed a fallen spear. It would be a troublesome throw, not least with one eye and the betrayer's head start, but it would bring her no shame to miss, and make a perfect warning to her watching warband should she hit.

The male looked back, hearing the snap of the spear cutting through the air, a shock of shining death that had him yelp, before it embedded in the ground behind him. He cried out his prayers of thanks, sped up, running faster than he ever had before.

Grunting in annoyance, Luna turned back to her assembled cohort and eyed each of them. She didn't bother checking her injury, that would look weak.

"Anyone else dare think they can kill me?" She denied even the faintest quaver in her voice, letting them only hear her anger and certainty, "I've seen many brave wolves take their last breaths as I slashed their throats out, and I'll gladly do the same to any others who think me some cowering pup to be toyed with!"

There was a chorus of growls, snarls, but none dared raise their voice over their commander. She smiled, satisfied, nodding, seeing the business was done. "Good. Now, someone hunt down those cowards. I will double the share for the wolf that brings me their heads, triple it if they're still alive. Now break camp you sorry fucks, I want to be home before the week is done!"

She turned away from the milling pack, the snow crunched under her feet as she walked, stinging her paw pads and making her toes tingle painfully. But she had dealt with worse, and besides, she needed to cool off, to settle herself before she finally returned home.

The raid had taken longer than she'd planned, longer than she'd wanted, but the loot was worth it. A good haul of food and treasures, warm bodies and trophies. She'd even brought back a prize for Linden, something to keep him happy, start things off on the right foot between them both. Despite the pain of her wounds, she was glad that tensions had finally broke and two young upstarts had thrown themselves at her, it brought her mind away from what she truly feared right now.

What did she think would happen? That she could go home and just play at lovers? No, she couldn't fool herself like that, she wasn't some naive pup or stupid old granny. This wasn't a fairy tale, and she didn't want to baby him, she wanted to fuck him, keep fucking him. Only this time without feeling like a piece of shit every time she saw her handiwork.

But no, there was still a way to go before that. And so long as she kept control of herself and her temper, she knew she could do it. After all, he was hers, in as many ways as it was possible saving his own will. She owned him, body and soul, she'd just have to take the time to make him realise that, accept it, and hopefully come to like it. But first, she needed to heal, and to celebrate. The army was satisfied, her soldiers had seen she was still strong, she would not need to fear insurrection this winter.

She climbed onto a covered wagon, wood creaking as she fell leadenly against the side. Tomorrow they would be in her lands, a week at most then she'd be there, ready to greet her son.

Her son... It tasted odd, but the more she felt it out, the more it sat right on her tongue. She wanted to keep him, to enjoy him, to come back to a warm bed with him in it. And soon, if her instincts were right, there might be another joining them in it. 

"We're almost done with this," she said to herself, running her paw over her absent eye, as if that lost sphere could still see the castle and her desire. "Almost home."

***

It was late when Wella had seen her enter the castle. A scout, running with the queen's banner, replete with fresh snow in her pelt and a scroll clutched in her paw. A clear sign that her time of freedom was over, and soon the bitch queen would return.

A day of hurried preparations, and Wella stood beside Linden on the balcony of the queen’s chambers, waiting, watching the torches being lit around the yard. The raiders trickled in like melt water, bringing back the stolen riches and food they'd taken from the south, but that was not who they waited for.

"Just relax, Linden," she whispered, a paw holding his shoulder steady, "it will be alright."

He nodded, glancing towards the gates, watching for the first sight of his mother. His heart pounded, he could feel it beating in his chest. He was afraid, terrified of what might come now she was drunk on violence, the conquering warrior caked in blood. Would she remember her promises, or have tired of toying with him after months of campaigning?

The sound of horns filled the air, followed by the shouts and cheers of returning warriors, causing him to wince. Biting his lip as Wella pulled him closer, whispers and promises not stopping as she worked to assuage his fears.

He knew she was right, that all he had to do was follow her guidance. Before the queen had left, he’d been shown a whole other side to her. She had at tried to make amends, in her own way, to show some care. And if he rewarded that attempt at kindness by spurning and cursing her then she would be unlikely to show it again. The life of a thrall was not about what was fair, or right, but what you must do to survive.

Soon they heard the gates open, the cheers of the returning army filling the courtyard, the first riders entering, carts behind. She’d be arriving soon, and Wella went back into action as the moment neared, tidying the last few traces of her time in the queen's chambers. The various medicines from the leech had been well used, only a bottle of tincture remained by the wash bowl. She checked the bed was well made, and although her nose was not as powerful as a wolf's, she was sure there was no trace of sex about it. She even let the cold air from the open balcony chill the room to what the queen preferred, instead of the warm comfort she had enjoyed with Linden.

The vixen sighed, glancing back at him, to check her final preparations. He stood there, staring at the doorway, his ears flicking nervously. Wella licked her lips, rubbing her paws together, trying not to feel too excited about this. If this plan played out, then her dreams of freedom, or at least relative comfort, would not be as dead as she thought.

A knock a moment later, interrupted her thoughts, another of the thralls hissed through the door that the queen was on her way and wished everything to be ready.

"That's it," she said, taking hold of his paw, leading him towards the door. "Time to show me how good you are."

She positioned him there, straightening his back and arranging his paws, so the first thing the queen would see when she entered would be a compliant and well-trained slave. She had taken every opportunity to make him practice, and despite his lack of experience, he was becoming an excellent little plaything.

"Now stay there, and wait for her," she whispered in his ear, giving him a parting kiss before opening the door and slipping out, knowing her presence there was unlikely to improve the bitch queen's mood.

Linden was left alone in the large room, staring at the door, listening to the noise of the courtyard as the soldiers celebrated their return. His head was filled with the sound of his own breath, his ears flat against his skull, tail curled tight between his legs. He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself, calm the roaring tide inside, but nothing helped. His ears turned to every sound, sure every step outside the chamber walls belonged to her, that every exclamation was her shouts of wrath and frustration, her growls of anger. Teeth grated inside his skull as he bit tight to stop the shivering, the pain unnoticed as he waited, waited.

Then it came, the heavy tread, the chink of mail and plate, the muted sound of her voice as she conversed. She was at the bottom of the steps, she was coming. 
Thud, chink, thud, clack.
 She was climbing the steps. The door would open in seconds. His ears flicked and tracked her ascent, imagination painting the image of the bloodstained beast, rising to devour him.

The door opened slowly, he heard her step over the threshold, felt her eye on him, waiting for her to say something, anything, to take away the awkward silence that hung there between them. But she didn't, she just stood, staring at him, judging him. And it was all he could do to remain and be judged by the cyclopean woman.

She took a step into the chamber, shutting the door behind her, every part the image of a savage warrior. White fur flecked with traces of blood and mud, armour replete with scratches and knocks, clothes still damp from snow. Her absent eye was uncovered, patch lost to reveal the pit of marred flesh. But her remaining right moved down his body, examining him, taking in the simple and oversized shift that sagged off his lithe and boyish frame. But his fur looked thicker, the bruises she remembered healed, he didn't smell like a half-dead invalid, and what little she could see of his sky blue eyes was not red with tears.

"Linden," she huffed, voice as close to a whisper her barrel chest and deep growl could manage. "You're... looking well." Her awkward compliment earned her further silence, and his deference stank of fear, which she could tolerate for now.

A quiet, “Thank you, Queen Helti,” escaped his lips, and she would have to be satisfied with that, and the fact he had not pissed his drawers yet.

She stood there for a while longer before sighing softly and walking over to the fire. The room was warm, but the cold seemed to live in her bones after days of nothing but snow and wind. "Come, boy, help me undress. I've had quite enough of being wet," she rumbled, watching him carefully.

‘At least he obeyed,’ she thought, watching as he stepped over and began unbuckling her armour. She unleashed a sigh as he did so, relaxing slightly as the metal sections were taken off one by one. He scurried to set them aside, and didn’t hesitate in removing her padded shirt and stiff leggings, leaving her in naught but small-clothes and fur.

And the tight, stained binding about her sides and chest.

"Better," she said, stretching her neck from side to side, cracking it, ignoring his wandering eye that went to the unmistakable wound. "Now go fetch me some wine."

She took it from him the moment it was poured, noting how sour it had become compared to the fresh barrels they had plundered. Still, she sipped, and sat in her favoured chair, appreciating the familiarity after so long gone.

Linden turned back towards the fire, waiting for her to say anything else, but she didn't. The terrible silence resumed, each casting an eye over the other, before looking elsewhere. Neither certain of what they'd say should the quiet break.

Finally Queen Helti sighed, "I... was thinking of you, while we were gone."

That had his attention focused again, ears flat against his skull, tail curling tightly between his legs. 

"Don't be so scared boy, I'm not about to eat you for talking to me," she said, then leaned back in her chair and closed her eye. "And... I am sorry about what occurred. I didn't think anyone would be that stupid to touch you after me."

He nodded, again, giving her nothing. Which felt worse than if he had rebuked her.

Not able to let peace settle like that, she pressed on, the various half formed arguments and speeches from her long journey fighting to come free. "I thought... well, I thought a lot of things. I've come to realise, that you are... important to me. I hope you know that. I do have affection for you. Even if I have a poor way of showing it."

She smiled gently, patting the arm of her chair, encouraging him over to her, till he approached like a skittish deer. She put a weather worn and leathery paw on his arm, pulling him closer, closer, till his fur brushed the dark polished wood. She moved it then to his shoulder, resting it there, squeezing gently. He glanced at her face, then back down again, and it was with effort she didn’t let her voice rise.

"Linden, look at me when I talk to you," she rumbled softly, "don't think I've gone soft, I still demand your respect and attention. Now look at me boy."

He did, though it didn’t stop his tail quaking. But she rewarded the effort with a finger beneath his chin.

"That's better. I’ve considered what happened, and reached a decision. From now on, your only duties will be to me, and I will be fairer to you. You have my word." She paused, waiting for something, feeling his pulse quickening through the pad by his throat, "Well... you can speak, Linden, don't make me feel like I'm howling at the wind here."

"Thank you, Queen Helti."

She sighed, shaking her head, releasing him while she finished off her wine. He stayed where he was, keeping his eyes on her paws, watching as they set the goblet down and she relaxed into her chair. "Oh, forgot to say," she snapped a finger at him in sudden animation, "go fetch my purses, on my belt."

He jumped, eager to be moving, hurrying to where he'd set her belongings, picking up the string of small pouches and unthreading them before returning to her and proffering the requested items like tribute. She casually plucked the one she wanted and dropped the rest, fishing around inside the damp bag with two thick fingers, searching for something.

"I said, I was thinking of you while we were gone, and I brought you something back." She held up her paw, displaying a ring nestled in her palm. It was gold, beautifully cast in the likeness of entwined branches, small garnets and sapphires nestled in the leaves as colourful fruit. When she dropped it in his paw he felt the weight of it, solid and high purity.

"Go on, try it on," she said with a prideful grin. "Took it from some low-land prince, a prize from battle. It's yours now, your part of the glory."

He gulped hard, the blood won talisman heavy and cold as he slipped it over a thumb, too large for a finger. Still, he found it beautiful.

“T-thank you,” for a moment his voice stopped there, before stammering out a “your majesty.”

Only the fire spoke, each wolf waiting for the other, for a miracle to wash away the tension, till finally Luna gave a cough, unwilling to linger longer.

"I'm... not good with words, not this kind anyway," she said, glancing towards the fire, trying to find what she needed. "I know what I've done to you, and I know you must hate me for it. But... I don't want you to. I've come to realise that... that I want you, to keep you, to make you mine. I want you to be happy with what I can give you, like it even. 
"It was done badly, but none of it was meant to be cruel, and if you are patient with me you will see. Just remember that, whenever I tell you to do something, I'm not asking of you more than anyone else under me. I just want you to do what I say, and in return, you'll get everything you need."

"I... understand," he said, looking away, still unsure what to think.

She grunted, stroking his thigh, feeling the muscles tense under her paw. She could smell his nervousness, but also the normal scent of him, healthy and virile, and that note of familiarity that made her so rapacious. A deep whiff of his fur did things to her loins, awoke things in her mind, so much so she'd thought to seek counsel from the chaplain more than once. But what did it matter? She was strong, and powerful, and even when he was not her thrall he had been hers. This urge, she wanted to explore how deep it went.

"Now," she said, leaning down and whispering in his ear, "you know what I want from you."

He didn’t hesitate, walking around to the front of her. She grinned, wagging her tail, licking her lips as she watched him kneel, paws resting on her knees.

"Good boy," she whispered, running her fingers through his fur. "I've been looking forward to this for so damned long."

He blushed, looking away, trying not to show how much he was shaking. He had to do this, regardless of anything else. Slowly moving his paws up her thighs, feeling the heat radiating from her skin, his fingers traced the contours of her legs, feeling the thick muscles under the pelt, running them up till he grabbed the hem of her underclothes, the only barrier between his nose and her sex.

"Don't waste time, boy," she growled, tugging the garment down in no need for subtleties. "Get on with it."

Linden pulled them down the rest of the way, letting her tug him in till his snout bumped wet and ill-kept hair. He lapped, tasting her musk, her arousal obvious. He pressed his muzzle against her mound, feeling her twitch as his tongue dug down to flesh. She grunted, growling softly, her hips rising slightly as he ran up and down her slit. He could hear her panting, and it made him shiver with relief, knowing that she was enjoying this.

He flicked his tongue across her clit, feeling her grip tighten in his fur, her claws pricking his skin, tangling in his coat. He licked again, then again, pressing his tongue harder against her. He knew what to do, what she wanted, what she expected of him. And so he licked, and sucked, and was rewarded with her groans. He worked faster, feeling her grip tighten, hearing her growl louder.

"That's it boy, keep going," she hissed, grinding her hips against his muzzle, thighs squeezing his head with a terrible pressure. "Fuck I've been missing this."

She came with a perfunctory grunt, her body tensing, muscles straining, toes curling, till it was done, leaving her leaning back, relaxing as the tremors of pleasure faded. He pulled away, wiping his muzzle on his wrist. She chuckled, ruffling his fur, stroking his cheek gently.

"Very good, Linden," she said, smiling down at him. "Now, go get me some more wine."

He nodded, standing up and hurrying over to the cabinets. He poured her a fresh goblet, handing it to her before returning to his position between her thighs before she could even ask for it.

"Now that makes a change, you starting to like the taste boy?" She asked, sipping the drink.

He blushed. "I just... know what you want."

She grinned, nodding, running her fingers through his fur. "Good boy," she said, leaning down and kissing his forehead. "You're learning fast. You'll make a bitch happy yet." She laughed, sitting up, pushing him back slightly so she could stand and move to the bed. He followed, watching her strip off the bindings about her chest, letting them fall to the floor. As the heavy, treated cloth fell free he saw the many small nicks by the thin patches in her coat. Yet save another grunt as a sticky patch of dried blood and seepage pulled free from the vicious wound in her side, she didn't mention or react.

He blinked, disbelieving his eyes, following her to the bed where she gestured for him to join her. She'd always seemed untouchable, immortal, some natural force like a gale which swept all along in her wake, or blew them away without a thought. Seeing her bleed, as a mortal woman, was jarring, unsettling.

"I... I'm sorry about your injury, my queen," he said, looking away.

She blinked, then laughed, flexing the muscles in her damaged side to show she was too strong to feel pain. "Don't worry, boy, it's nothing serious. Just a little scratch from a lucky shot, that's all."

He nodded, still unsure what to say. She leaned towards him, pulling him into a tight embrace, squeezing him hard. He winced, gritting his teeth, feeling her weight and strength crush him. She held him there for a while, then released him, smiling gently.

"You know, I thought I told you to call me something sweeter," she said, reaching down and cupping his chin. "You know my name, boy, you should try it. Or failing that, you can call me mother, if it doesn’t make you sick."

His face burned at the suggestion, knowing both the perversion she implied, but also the small cub inside him who wished they could call her kin without fear of retribution. An old wish made foully perverse in the twisted mockery of his circumstances.

"Now come here," she pressed on, irregardless of his mood, laying back with legs spread. "You were going to do something for me."

He nodded, positioning himself between her thighs. He ran his fingers over her coat, feeling the heavy guard hairs part for him. She growled softly, licking her lips, wagging her tail slowly till he pressed his muzzle against her, licking the already sopping and reddened meat, hearing her moan. Her body giving away plenty of signals that told him he was doing alright, but she wanted more.

Leaning back, relaxing and ignoring her pain, Luna opened herself to the boy she'd taken for a bedmate. His small tongue worked a miracle and found where she wanted it to go, firm yet spongy muscle tickling her clit, flicking across it. She sighed a huff of relief, closing her eye, paw slipping down to her chest, kneading one of her breasts. Her pleasure only grew, without direction he did just what she needed of him and slipped the tip of his muzzle into her opening, putting delicious pressure on her walls as his nose forced inside and his tongue pushed through her gates.

She shuddered, gasping, feeling her heart pounding in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. She felt the muscles in her belly tighten, a shiver running up her spine. Gods, how could this ever be wrong when it felt so good? She groaned, grinding her hips against his face, feeling him lick deeper, pushing harder, trying to please her.

"Fuck yes," she hissed, gripping his head, claws digging into his scalp. "That's it boy, put that tongue to a fucking proper use!"

He grunted, his paws resting on her thighs, keeping her open for him. He licked her faster, pressing against her walls, trying to touch each part of her at least once. He heard her gasp, felt her shudder, tasted her arousal. He kept going, listening to her growls and moans, feeling her tense and shake.

"Oh gods, better, more," she growled, feeling her orgasm rise. "Keep going, don't stop, make me burst, boy!"

Her goading worked, spurring him onward, drawing louder growls, groans, and snarls as her hips snapped. He kept going, lapping and digging, feeling her tremble. She came with a loud grunt, her body shaking, legs kicking, arms tensing.

"Fuck, yes!" She yowled, panting hard. "Gods, you're good at that, boy."

He pulled away, licking his lips, smiling nervously, looking down at the recumbent giantess. His reward was the sudden grip of a powerful forearm, wrapping about the shoulder and yanking his body down atop her breast, something she regretted when she felt a spike of pain from her injuries, but masked with an aggressive growl.

"You did well, boy," her voice came, sounding distant as she dragged heavy paws up and down his back, enjoying every puff of scent her motions stirred. "I'm glad I chose you. You're a good boy, good with your tongue, and other things."

She added the end a little hurriedly, remembering her resolutions, but she felt tiredness creep into the corner of her eye. After so long on the road, to have such a fine welcome back, it was exhausting. He seemed to accept that with a small nod of his head, and she chuckled, yawned, then dragged him into a tight embrace, his back to her front.
"Come on, get comfortable, I'm tired,"  Her body wrapping ever tighter to him, pressing her nose into his neck, like a conquering vine. She fell asleep within moments, and he soon followed.

***

Linden woke through layers of groggy surreality, feeling a heavy, breath shortening weight of fur about his small frame.

The fire was low, the air chilly. It was no longer night, but not yet at dawn, the amber glow perforated the wooden shutters, but imparted no warmth.

He heard a deep, rumbling snore behind him, and turned over to see his mother lying there, sound asleep. Her white fur looked almost grey in the half-light, still marred by the long journey home. She was a visage of death, of blood and teeth and the myriad times he had seen her fury. Yet her words, and the heavy weight of gold on his thumb, gave his suspicions pause.

A strange mix of fear and longing, guilt and relief, sat in his mind like two yapping dogs. A part of him wanted to believe, anything for her approval, her affection. Another wanted to be free of her, to have a life of his own, away from the terror and the mockery for those things he could not help. But outside that duality, a final part wished to hate her for what she'd done to him, the branding, the denouncing, the humiliation and the endless pain, it was a burning coal that sparked whenever he was alone.

Paralysed by himself, he lay there, looking at her, listening to her snore. She was the most powerful woman in all Rusgard, the leader of armies, the guardian of the tundra, the axe of the faith. And yet now, here, in her bed, she was just a sleeping bitch.

Linden watched, taking in every detail, every movement. He could smell her musk, feel her warmth, hear her slow heartbeat. He closed his eyes, pressing his nose into the fur between her breasts, breathing in her scent.

He knew he shouldn't feel this way, shouldn't love her, shouldn't want her. Yet he did. She was cruel, and violent, and selfish. But he still longed to hear her praise him, to notice him, respect him, to admit that he was her son, and mean it.

He felt her paw slip over his shoulder, pulling him closer, squeezing gently. His breath hitched, glancing up at her face, seeing her eye was still closed. He wondered if she knew what he was feeling, or if she just felt the heat of his body against hers. The great beast, the big bad wolf, held him to her chest like a child's toy, and compared to her he practically was. Who knew if she would still be gentle when she awoke, or if she'd forget her promises of civility and return to harsh lessons and brutal punishments. So for now, best to let the great beast slumber, and live in dread and comfort.

***

Luna woke slowly, yawning, feeling the aches and sores of the campaign. Her side burned, her legs cramped, her paws and fingers were stiff. She blinked, opening her eye, looking around the room. The boy was gone, only his scent lingering.

She sat up, rubbing her muzzle to drive sleep from herself. Disappointed in his absence but more concerned with her body and the demands she needed to put on it. The light breaking through the half opened curtains told her it was nearing the end of morning, and she had spent all that time sleeping. It might be forgiven after their glorious return, but people expected to see their ruler, and more so they needed to see her well and strong to prevent the sickness of doubt entering them.

She made water, and licked the worst of her injuries clean. The spear wound in her side was weeping once more, likely it was to blame for her burning head, and she knew it would need tending. But that had to wait, she was queen, and queens did not bleed, they did not get sick and they did not sleep the day away.

As she finished strapping her feet, dressed in clean clothes for the first time in a month, the door of her chambers opened without the courtesy of a knock. She prepared to snarl and reprimand whoever had the gall to disturb her like this, hackles rising and teeth flashing, but halted in shock just as the one who entered did on seeing she was awake and moving.

The boy stood there, frozen in surprise, carrying with him a bowl of water warm enough to steam, a fresh towel and a jug of wine under his arm.

"You're awake! I uh, I mean um-" He flapped and stuttered, tail giving a small and low wag of the submissive but hopeful. "Good morning your majesty," he got out in the end, "you were still sleeping, so I got fresh water for you, and the wine for tonight. Um, I hope that's alright."

She stared at him, blinking slowly, trying to decide what to say to such a display of… What? Companionship, submission, perhaps even, an attempt at affection? Not often was she the one frozen in indecision, and while she lingered, his smile evaporated till only a nervous grimace was all that was left.

"I... I didn't mean to disturb you, s-sorry, your majesty. I um, just... sorry," he hurriedly placed the offerings on her vanity and went back to averting his gaze.

Her half-bound footpaws thudded on the cold wood floor, till she was close enough to take him by the shoulder, feeling the flinch. "Boy, why are you acting like you've been pissing in my soup? I am not interested in playing games now, so if you have to tell me something best either do it or bury it."

He nodded, swallowing hard, keeping his eyes on the floor as both his shoulders slumped, and his tail stilled.

She sighed, shaking her head, dragging his chin up to see his expression. "Look, I'm sorry I’m not melting in your arms, but I don't have time for this. I need to get ready for the court, just... make the bed, clean this place up and, uh... I don't know. Whatever it is thralls do when they clean. Just… I'm going to be fair to you, and patient, but if you think I'm suddenly going to be become some molly-coddling sap then you're wrong. Whatever it is, hold it in, and don't bother me with it."

The pup struggled to meet her eye, glad to see the pit of the other was again covered. He gulped, finding his words, "It's just... I wasn't expecting you to wake up so soon. I... got water to help you wash."

She blinked, looking at him quizzically, then glanced down at her body. Her clothes were clean, but her fur was caked with mud and blood, sweat and grime. She hadn't even considered bathing yet, too focussed on what others would make of her absence. She gave a patch on her wrist another lick, but the dark red smear stubbornly remained.

"Well, thank you for thinking of me," she said, "but I can manage that much."

He nodded, lowering his gaze again.

That awful silence returned, and she could not be dealing with it now. Her side was splitting, her head aching, she apparently looked like she'd been rolling in filth, and the last thing she needed was her heart fluttering like a girl in her first heat. She gave him one last squeeze and pushed him aside a little firmer than intended, sweeping out of her chambers, mind a mess.

***

Linden watched the queen storm off, then ensured the door was shut, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, finally feeling safe again out of her presence. Since waking he'd been trapped in a vicious circle of worries, fears, and hopes, each biting away till he could take no more. At first he'd slipped out of her chambers to simply be removed from her, but the thought of what she'd do should he not be there when she woke had gnawed at him. The water, wine and towel, all an excuse in case she’d already woken.

He staggered a little to the cabinets, feeling the thunder of his heart shaking in his chest. He lowered his head, eyes flickering shut, feeling the warmth of tears building up. He hated this, he hated her, he hated what she'd done. And yet…

The crackle of the last coals broke his introspection, a sudden breeze stoking embers in one last attempt to start a blaze.

He leaned against the cabinet, taking a few moments to regain his composure before setting the room for her to find. He placed the cup beside the bed. He used the bowl of water himself, rubbing his eyes, shaking his head to send a fine spray about the garderobe, before taking the remainder to swab and mop.

He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, and every step he took to free himself invited new perils. He had just one hope, and that was that Wella was right. That her plan would work, that this would not last forever.

These thoughts hounded him as he did as he was told, not daring leave to break his fast until all that was asked of him was done. From bedlinen to floorboards to hearth to windows, he scrubbed and swept, scrubbed and swept, keeping his ears flat against his skull to try and block out the noise of the bustling castle. The scent of roasting meat wafted in, and he felt his stomach churn. Festivities and celebrations were in the works, a triumph for the army’s return. His eyes glanced from time to time to the gold ring, resting on the table where he’d left it, another spoil of war. Beautiful, but untrustworthy, a gift from her, paid for with blood. Should he wear it, did she wish him to, was it right to do so, and finally, did he want to?

He pushed these worries from him, they soured his aching stomach, and the focus on his labours kept his mind still, and his eyes far from the dark corners of the chamber.

***

"Good boy, I heard her majesty has been even seen smiling since last night," Wella grinned gently at him. "Come here, I snuck a portion aside. Tell me all about what happened."

They were alone, or as alone as two thralls could be at the end of the midday meal. Most others had already finished and gone on to other work, but the ever thinking vixen had ensured there was enough for when her charge emerged from his duties, and as he ate, he disgorged the ordeals of his night and the morning after.

"I know this is hard for you, my prince, but you need to keep a steady paw about you. Remember what I taught you, and if ever she does anything nasty to you again, I will be right here to make it all better. She's already changing, now you must reward her for that change. Small steps."

He nodded, taking a spoon of the heavy gruel, flavourless but filling. He'd almost cried the first day he'd been reduced to eating it, but now he swallowed without complaint.

"Thank you, Wella," he said, smiling nervously. "You've done so much for me, I... I don't know what I'd do without you."

She chuckled, leaning in and kissing his cheek. "Don't worry, my prince, trust in me, it will all work out. It won't be long before she sees what a good boy you are, and then you'll be treated well."

Perhaps she was right, he mused while chewing a lump of root. He knew how difficult it was for a thrall to earn their freedom, an impossibility for almost all of them, but this was not just freedom, but restoration. To be rightfully treated as an equal, with his name and rank restored, that was an impossible dream for almost everyone, and for him it was a distant madness constantly whispered to him.

"I'm still not sure why she chose me..." he mumbled into the luke warm bowl of congealed fats and fibres.

The vixen said nothing, smiling privately at his naivety. That he could not understand the allure of the forbidden, or the fetishes of those in denial. It was charming, childish and so enjoyable to exploit.

"It's simple, my prince, she knows how to pick the right ones, and you are her chosen. Be proud of that. You're a very special boy, sweet and sincere, any lady would love to have you," said one such lady, wondering when she could next arrange circumstances to indulge in him herself.

But the predatory looks of his fellow diner went unnoticed, and he took her words at their face. He smiled, ears flicking, tail giving a little wag. She knew him better than most, and so he had no reason to doubt her words.

***

"Yes my queen?" The leech woman bowed low before the stone throne, tail curled tight in deference, as she was still a commoner, even as a skilled practitioner.

"I want you to tend my wounds, the sawbones can't stitch worth piss," spoke the white bitch, eye narrowed from the pain in her side. Not even the drink could keep her mind off the itch and ache as she suffered one courtier after another.

"Right away my queen," the time greyed crone bowed again, scurrying to the Queen's side. Beneath the yellowed seepage, the injury looked far worse than it was, but the wizened wolf knew that a woman such as queen Luna Helti would hardly listen to a chirurgeon's advice for clean bandages and gentle exercise. The pageantry was as much medicine as her tinctures, "I will take the day to prepare you my best draughts and balms."

Queen Helti grunted, "Just stop it from leaking, And another matter, one which you will not speak of." She waved the old woman in close, and only spoke again when she was sure no other ears could hear. "You will test my waters, to see if something grows in my belly yet. And no word of it is to spread if there is, or I will find a new blood sucker."

The old woman bowed low, not even daring to lick her lips as she promised obedience and secrecy. The Queen grunted again, sitting back in her throne.

"Good. Then work, I have much to do. And no herbs, I need my mind sharp."

Not needing any more cautioning, the old woman called her apprentice and together they worked to clean and stitch the injury while the court watched their stone faced queen. The mind of the leach raced, as a queen hunting for a child could be the best friend of a medicine dealer, or their death should they fail to provide. Still, greed grew stronger than caution as her years got shorter, and she was no stranger to the arcane art of foretelling if a bitch would whelp, sometimes she was even right.

***

Queen Helti glanced around the room, not allowing a single thought to pass her lips or mar her expression.

It was unfair of her, to put his work to such scrutiny. So long as her chambers were aired, her fire lit and she could feel the wood of the floor without stepping in dirt, then she barely noticed if they had been cleaned or not. But with the boy hovering by the door, shaking in... she sniffed... probably fear, she found the need to inspect her den far more closely. She ran a weathered pad over every surface, peered through every diamond of glass in the window, and took a deep and exaggerated huff of the air around her bed.

"Well, this is nice, isn't it?" She said, sitting on the bed and watching Linden jump like a startled hare. "My own little house male to clean up my mess. A bitch could get used to this," she said, looking him over slowly to see if her jibe of a joke settled him, or sent him mewling.

All she got was silence. He didn't dare meet her gaze, watching her from under his eyelashes as he waited for a rebuke. She snorted softly, resting her paws on her knees and shaking her head.

"Linden," she said, "you've done well, I've noticed. Don't go expecting praise for doing your work. But... come here, there's something you can do to earn my thanks."

Heart fluttering, he approached and at once sank to the floor between her thighs, expecting her usual demand. Only for her knees to scissor shut on him as she laughed.

"Eager slut aren't you?" He was pushed back onto his tail, laughter still ringing around him till he saw a wince in her one eye, a twitch in her side. She quickly hid it and continued, "No boy, that ain't what I'm after, not yet anyway. Go fetch me some hot water, and towels, I need someone to get this blood out my fur."

He nodded, standing up and hurrying out of the room. She chuckled at her own jests, watching him scurry away with tail between little legs. Her body ached from just that, she felt tired, she'd only just returned and she was pushing herself as if she was still on campaign. She needed to rest, to sleep, to heal, but she could not afford to be seen as weak.

Slowly she allowed herself to recline onto the covers, closing her eye and resting. It would be a few hours before she could sleep, and she knew it. She had to be awake and alert for the feast, and a sign of fatigue would not do at such a moment.

She heard the door open, and the boy enter, he was back fast She opened her eye, only to see the shadows had grown longer, and her muscles ached from being still. She'd drifted off without realising.

"I've brought a kettle, your majesty, to warm more water should you like. And more wine. Should I pour it now or leave it be?"

She stood up, blinking the sleep from her eye, hoping he didn't see and covering it by starting to undress herself. "Pour it, then I want you to wash me, get those small hands where I can't. Now help me out of these things. And cut the majesty crap, ‘les you want a beating to help remember next time."

He silenced himself, hurrying over and helping her out of her clothes and bindings. Then poured wine for her cup, which she took without a word,  and filled the wash bowl with warm water before waiting for further instruction.

"Here," she marched by, standing spread legged before the fire, tossing one more log on the blaze, "I want fur as white as yours when we're done." Her feet spread a little further, her tail out a little higher, and she filled her time with wine and musings as he knelt and began with her feet.

It felt unbecoming, after all the years of battle and solitude, to let another put paws to her. But it was also good, the hot water soothing her clenching muscles, the soft touch of his fingers. It crawled in like a worm, speaking of how this was what many bitch enjoyed every night. She could feel the weight of the world slipping away, and her shoulders slumped as the tension drained from her.

Water came away dirty, then clean, cooling her off before the fire warmed her back up. Perhaps he could be rougher with her, but she had plenty of wine to sup and wait, and it felt delightful when he started getting higher up her legs. She even found herself playfully batting him with her tail, not that he mentioned or did anything about it, just ducked about her a few times to her amusement. She could almost fall asleep there and then, a good fire, wine in hand, fuck-toy underfoot. Even her half-hearted attempts to correct that thought, to think of him more as a mate than a toy, were too hard when this felt as good as it did. His paws had passed the equator now, and he'd freshened the bowl with more water from the kettle. Almost steaming heat rubbed at her abdomen, wetting fur and revealing muscle beneath.

She opened her eye, looking down, seeing the white fur of his head directly beneath her as he stood there, unaware of her gaze while lost in his task. Without stooping and diminishing himself, she got her first true sense for how much smaller he really was.

Standing at his natural height, no bravado or fear, his ears were barely at a height with her breasts, if she were to pull him in now they'd swallow most of his head between them. He was so small, so helpless, so weak. And yet…

"Linden," she said, watching his ears flick up, "get me some more water, then scrub my back."

He nodded, taking the bowl and walking over to the kettle, pouring fresh heated water and shovelling snow from the balcony in to replace it.

She stretched, watching him, admiring his body. Small, thin, not a fighter, not a soldier. Yet he'd done as told in her absence and put on a little muscle, or perhaps he'd always been trim beneath the puppy fat, she couldn't remember seeing him naked before she took him for herself. Just enough to help put shape on his arms and legs, enough to help rouse her interest. Already she was thinking about the rest of their night, what she'd have him do for her, what she'd do to him. But there was other business to attend first.

She put down her goblet, looking over her shoulder at him. Her change in posture, or perhaps her focus, had him looking up at her and trembling lightly.

"Should I refill it, your ma- My lady?" Came his small voice, small like him, small like the unsaid plea that that was all she was after and nothing else would happen.

She mused on the improvement in title, not yet there, but certainly better. "Not yet boy, stay there, drop the rag, put your paws on my sides."

Once he had, she laid hers over his. She ignored his tense muscles, aware that even a fraction of her strength could make him do as she wanted, and tugged till his arms circled her body, palms flat to her front, to around her navel.

"I saw the leech today," her voice dipped to a quiet, husky whisper, almost reverent, "she knows how to tell if a bitch will pup come spring."

If his brain was not closing itself off with fear at that moment, perhaps he'd realise what she was saying as she slowly rubbed his paws up and down the soft belly fur he'd just scrubbed for her.

"You did good, boy," she breathed quietly, "you did your duty, first time. Took your father many tries to get you in me, but just one for you. You're a man now, Linden, and your woman is pleased with you." Her paw held his, guiding his fingers, pressing them into her flesh, making him rub.
"She can't say how many, but she's confident one's a girl. We’re going to keep it secret till she's sure, so don't tell anyone, not even that southerner you're always with. But... you've done well, feel proud of yourself."

His ears twitched, but he kept his muzzle still, eyes closed, doing as he was told. He knew what she was talking about now, he'd caught conversations, and seen bellies slowly swell over months. That she was his mother as well held no special meaning to him, but that he had somehow made this happen caused his innards to somersault and his heart to flutter.

"I'm... I'm glad you're pleased with me," he mumbled, feeling his cheeks burning with uncertainty.

She chuckled, pushing his paws up and down, enjoying the way his fingers sank into her pelt. "Of course I'm pleased with you, boy, this was what it was all for, and a good fuck too, but mostly this," she dragged his palms up and down again, caressing the flesh that one day would swell. For now there was nothing but muscle, but she knew what would come.
"You're going to be a good father, boy. I'm going to make sure of it, and I'm going to take care of you. So relax, enjoy it, you did good, you're looking to be a fine pick if you get results like this every time."

That brief moment was allowed to hang, his paws moving in a terrified instinct, finding no discernable difference yet, while Luna closed her eye and listened to his breath. He was tense, and she was out of her territory, each finding some animal joy in the simple motions that neither could put words to. Till Luna could take the inaction no longer.

"Now, come on, get my back, apparently someone thinks I need a wash, so they best hurry up."

The moment shattered, and Linden jumped back to grab the cloth, starting with her lower back, feeling the muscles beneath her fur shift and move.

She hummed softly, thinking about what was to come, of what she would do to him, of what he'd do to her. That his seed took on the first attempt was promising, she remembered the trouble she'd had making him. And if it was a daughter, then the earls could finally stop their barking and scheming to get her landed with one of their useless sons. A girl would make her stronger, and her people happier. If there were only boys, well that would be a problem to deal with later.

"Watch my side, the stitching's fresh. Don't want to tear it," she warned, leaning forwards and placing her paws on the mantelpiece, letting him reach without a stool. She was big, and heavy, she had been built for war, and she kept her strength throughout the years. At her age her mother had started to relax, let others lead the raids, only donning her armour for the summer wars. But Luna was still strong, still vigorous, and she enjoyed showing it.

His paws slid up her back, along her spine, across her shoulders, up her neck, down her arms. She could feel twitch of her muscles as he ran his fingers over them, and she wondered if he could feel them as well. She flexed a little, wanting him too, wanting him to know how strong and powerful the bitch that owned him was. She grinned to herself as only a wolf could, glancing at the cup she'd set aside. Maybe she'd had too much, showing off to her male like a girl in her first heat, but she had a right to her joy now a pup was in her belly.

He worked the last of the filth from her, rinsing the cloth one last time in a bowl now pink and brown with all he'd got off, before standing, carrying the mess to the garderobe to toss, and putting the kettle on to boil with one last load of snow so it would be ready should she need it.

She chuckled, looking down at him. "A good boy," she smirked in glee, "a good son, a good stud. My mate, my fuck-toy. Do you know what you are, Linden?"

Looking away, he stood with his hands behind his back, front wet from cleaning her. He swallowed what he wanted to say, to scream out, and said what he'd been taught, to make her happy and avoid her temper.

"I'm yours, my Queen. I'm your... thrall. You can... do whatever you want with me."

She smiled, walking over to him, grabbing his muzzle and kissing him. He tensed, eyes wide, as she held his muzzle there till he stopped struggling. When she pulled away, she saw his ears had gone flat against his head, his eyes shut tight, his body tense. She smiled, licking her lips.

"You know how to excite me, boy," she said, "such a tempting slut for me, such a lovely mate. Just be happy, boy, and enjoy it, it's what I want from you. If you're obedient and loyal then you'll never want for anything."

She rubbed his cheek, smiling, feeling his soft fur under her pads. How had she resisted such things before, when his pelt was as fine as any exotic fur, or spun silk? It passed over her fingers like warm clouds, lacking the course guard hairs a wolf should have.

"Come here," she said, pulling him towards the bed. He followed her lead, sitting down beside her, tail between his legs. "You did good by me, you did your duty, you pleased me. So I want to please you. What do you want?"

"I... I don't know what you mean, my lady."

She chuckled, ruffling his fur. "You know exactly what I mean, boy. Come on, you're going to be a father, time to grow some balls, drop being so timid and name your prize."

Heart hammering he said it, he said exactly what he wanted, daring to dream that she might say yes now she had what she wanted from him.

"I want to be free again, I don't want to be a slave anymore."

Her petting ceased, back resting against the headboard, thinking. "I'm trying to make you happy. You know that's not happening, asking is just going to make you more miserable. Pick something you actually want and it's yours. Clothes, food, a thrall of your own to take it out on, name it."

He sniffed, ears flattened, tail curled tightly, a tremor in his chest. "But... it's what I want... all I want... is to be free…"

She huffed, closing her eye and pinching the bridge of her muzzle. He was making matters difficult, and her patience had limits.

"Listen, Linden, that is not, going to happen. You know what this pup means?" She grabbed his hand and put it back on her now tensed abdominal muscles. "This pup, if it's a girl, is competition for the throne, and if you were a prince then it would be you standing in her way. Do you know how I won my crown?"
She was snarling now in her frustration, and didn't wait for an answer.
"I took my sisters' heads in battle! Cut them down! Because I am strong, and powerful and deserve to rule. You... you are weak, small, pathetic, a runt, Linden, and you will always be a runt. If you were a prince still then whoever gave me pups instead would see you murdered in the snow. And there would be someone else, I need an heir and you were never good enough for that! Do you understand?"

He bit back all sounds, words and cries both, struggling not to cry. She leaned over him, shaking him by the shoulders, staring deep into his blue eyes.

"You're going to be a father, a lover, and my mate, but you're never going to be anything else! This is the only way you live, the only life you get, and you're lucky I've decided to give it to you!"

He shook violently, feeling her fur brushing against his as he stared into her one eye. It was cold, angry, full of rage. He'd seen that look so often now, seen the damage it could do. She would hurt him if she felt like it, and he would be powerless to stop it. A cold dread splashed the burning embers in his heart.

"So answer me!" She yelled, her face just a few inches from his, "Tell me what you want and it's yours. Don't ask, just tell me!"

After long seconds, Linden swallowed. "I... I want... I want to be yours, your mate, your lover, your toy, I... I am grateful... that you didn't kill me," he recited for her ears, struggling not to choke on the words.

His fear scent reached her, and she sighed, closing her eye and taking a deep breath. She sat up, letting him pull away, then sat there, staring out of the window at the city and the forests beyond it.

"I..." she started, then stopped, starting again. "I'm sorry... I did not mean to shout at you, Linden. I was only trying to make sure you understood what was happening." She looked at him now, and saw the damage a little true fear did to him, his lip quivering, his body shaking, chest labouring like a deer at the last moments before the hunter slit its throat. He was a delicate thing, and she had to learn how to handle him if she wanted the benefits of his company.

"I'm sorry... your majesty," he said, and she saw the effort it took to get those words out.

She took a breath, forcing herself to relax. "Just... tell me something I can give you, boy. Something that is possible so I can reward you for once."

He hesitated to say anything, and when he did he said it to his feet instead of her, muttering it quietly as his voice only just dared to reappear. "I'd... like my... old clothes back…"

That elicited a grunt, "That it? Forget those old rags, the guards have probably hawked them already. Tomorrow you get new clothes, good ones, fit for my bedmate, so all can see you're mine and not to be fucked with."

He nodded, tail tucked between his legs. "And... well... I would like... if you didn't... hit me anymore..." he mumbled, eyes looking anywhere but at her.

She snorted, leaning forwards and rubbing his ears, "Linden, you know I won't hurt you if you don't give me reason to. If you're good then you'll never need to fear me."

He was blushing, an embarrassed heat in his ears she could feel through her pads. "I... maybe... maybe you could not hit me... when you have me in bed and... fucking you? You... hit my... my bottom a lot when you're... enjoying it... and it... it stings. Especially on the... the mark."

It was a full throated laugh the launched at his timid request, sending him shrinking back, while her lungs barked out course peels of thunder.

"Sorry, boy, did I hear that right? You want me to stop smacking that plump arse of yours when you're balls deep in my cunny? Is that what you want?"

"Well... it's... it's not nice... and it's hard... and... it... it hurts."

Her laughter grew, filling the chamber as she pushed him back down onto the bed. He tensed, expecting her to hit him, but instead she pressed her lips to his. He whimpered, closing his eyes, trying to relax. She licked his cheek, then bit his neck lightly, growling softly.

"You are a cruel boy, you know that?" She whispered, licking his ear. "To think you'd dare, asking a bitch like me to go out of my way to spare your tender little bum from a few swats, when it's even got my name on it. But... I suppose I can see why you'd want me to. It does make you squirm, and it's even more fun when you're trying to stay quiet. You'd rob me of my pleasure, would you? You'd take it away from me?"

He whimpered, shaking his head. "No... no your majesty…"

She kissed him again, leaning in close with a dangerous smile. "Good, because I would hate to think you were taking advantage of me."

Fear, fear ruled on that bed, ruled his body, his mind, his heart, and it only made her lust burn hotter. Once she'd drank enough of those puppy whines from him, she gave another bark of laughter and rolled off him having had enough sport.

"Get up, boy," she said, standing up, "get me dressed. I have a feast to attend, and I want to look my best."

He stood, rubbing his neck where she'd bitten him, ears flattened. He knew he'd get worse if he didn't obey, and so he moved quickly, fetching her clothes, pulling them on. She watched him, seeing the way he trembled, knowing how much he hated what he was doing.

"You know, boy," she said, pulling her tunic over her head, "you should be proud. You're not just some common slave, you're the slave of a queen, and father of her heir now. You get to fuck a royal cunt every night, share my bed, drink my wine if you wanted, and eat as much as you can. Not a bad position to be in, is it?"

He shook his head, eyes down, unable to look at her. She sighed, walking over and grabbing his muzzle, forcing his eyes up.

"And yet you still whine about it? Come on, you know the truth. You were a shit prince, never amounted to anything, and you know it. This is the best life you could have hoped for, and you should be grateful."

"I... yes... your majesty," he coughed out the words, unwilling to accept them, they came out like the tail end of vomit.

She snorted, shaking her head as she released him. "Come on, don't start sulking again. I have a feast to attend, and I'll be damned if I let you make me late."

She walked over to the window, staring down at the city, then looked over her shoulder at him.

"What are you waiting for? Get my crown."

He nodded, rushing to fetch the crown from the table. The simple circlet was battered and worn from centuries of rulers such as her, and she took it from his hands with as little care as commoners snatched their caps. She settled it between her ears, adjusted it till it was firmly stuck in her white fur.

"Right, good enough. Now fetch me my axe." She followed his progress with a smirk, seeing him stagger with the weight. It was far more than he could carry, but she felt playful, and the joke amused her greatly.

"I think you need some meat on your bones, boy," she said, snatching the long haft of the heavy steel cored weapon from him and hefting it over a shoulder. "Maybe I can get the cooks to give you some venison tomorrow. Would you like that? I thought so," she said, swinging the weapon with a grunt, feeling the weight of it on her shoulders. "Now, let's go. I don't want to keep the earls waiting, or they'll be complaining about missing my own feast."

"You want me there too?" He blurted out, blinking in surprise.

She looked back at him, and he saw the confusion in her eye, the frown on her lips.

"Well, yes. Who else is going to serve my wine? You're my thrall, you can make a decent cupbearer. I want you to be there when I tell the Ladies of my triumph. You know how feasts work, just stand there, serve my meals and keep my goblet full. If anyone bothers you then you can always remind them who owns you."

He nodded, looking down, trying to hide his despair. More work, and before all the people who had seen him publicly humiliated. He'd been to feasts before, as a guest. Never respected enough to sit at her table, but one of the side tables with the other unwed sons and children. Now he'd have to spend all night, fetching her wine, avoiding the eye of drunk she-wolves, and no-doubt being the butt of even more jokes.

"Now come on, let's get going. I'm late enough as it is."

She strode out of the room, and he followed behind, as always, tail between his legs.