Chương 3: Vol 1. The Problem With Spring

Steam drifted lazily through the bathing chamber connected to Prince Tahir's sleeping chamber. Brilliant rays of sunlight filtered through the stained-glass window mosaic depicting a great battle fought centuries ago involving the family, something Tahir had little interest in knowing, and the light scattered emerald and sapphire patches across the polished stone floor. The air hung heavily with the scent of lavender oils. Prince Tahir let out a gruff, cattish sigh as he stepped out of the bath.

He always hated taking them (who didn't?), but doing so every single day, sometimes multiple times a day, was simply what was not only becoming but mandatory for a young prince with any level of self-dignity. Heading out of the bathing chamber and into the sleeping area, he saw his servant waiting for him.

"Your towels," the servant said, placing a huge stack gently on his sheets.

"Thank you, Neri," he said. He liked Neri. She had been with him since he was a cub. She was getting quite old now, her hands a little more tremulous as she worked, but she still had the trappings of a hardworking lady: workaholic, little taste in fashion outside of what others tell her to wear, gruff in demeanour, though she could be courtly when she wanted to be; not gentlemanly, certainly not!

But well-spoken and well-mannered enough that she wouldn't be sent flying across the room with a backhand from his father. She was a little on the taller side, even by female standards, her naturally black fur giving way to grey, especially around her muzzle. Her ears bore the nicks and tears of a lifetime spent as a working woman.

"Now, come sit," Neri said, patting one paw on the decorously jewel-encrusted stool with a velvet cushion. She draped a towel over the cushion.

"I know you do not like this part, but let us get it over with, shall we?"

"Thank you," Prince Tahir said. He walked towards the stool, his tail drooped, then sat. Prince Tahir cringed and bared his fangs. Neri vigorously worked the boar-bristle hairbrush through his matted fur, tearing out clumps of shed hair that were typically abundant at the beginning of spring. Oh. Spring. Tahir's ears flattened against his head. He knew what that meant—"Prince Tahir, will you be looking for a suitor this year?" He growled internally but said, "Ah, well, we will have to see.

I am sure it will be a very busy spring this year, with spring festivities and the Coniton approaching steadily. Perhaps I will, unfortunately, have to wait another year. Oh, what a shame that would be, truly I tell you." The brush snagged on a knot behind his shoulder. Tahir let out a small caterwaul as several strands were ripped free.

"Tahir," Neri said, dropping the formality, "you are approaching 19 years of age! That is close to a quarter of your life already gone to the wind. I am sorry, but you do NOT have more time to be so frivolous about producing children. What will happen when your fertility has fully stagnated?" Tahir cringed once more. He felt Neri's wrath surging through every furious brush of his fur. She seemed to be deliberately going over the sensitive spot on his tail multiple times, even though she did not need to.

"Neri, why is it so important for me to offer my seed to a woman?" Prince Tahir asked.

"Sahri already has …" he stumbled over his words, trying to find a polite way to say it, "already has an excess of husbands and many, many children. I could be mistaken, but I am sure she is on her seventh husband, and a fourteenth cub is on the way soon. Our noble line is secure even if I never marry." Loose orange hairs drifted through the air and settled across the floor like the drifting leaves of autumn.

"It is not that, Prince Tahir," Neri said, returning to formalities.

"It is about appearance: of you, of your sister, of your mother, for a noble family to have a son that is just fertile, jubilant, handsome, and unwed, but does not even try to find a suitor? It…" she took a deep breath, "it does not bode well for the family name, to put it nicely." Tahir knew that was the correct answer. He didn't want to accept it, though.

"What will happen if I do find a suitor?" he asked.

"You will either be sent off to join that noble family, or they will marry into ours, whichever is more politically viable. Though with the Coniton approaching, I would say it would say the former is more likely to transpire," she said matter-of-factly.

"Great," he muttered. His tail lashed behind the stool.

"What was that?"

"Oh, how delightful that would be," Prince Tahir said in the softest cadence he could.

"It certainly would." Neri set the brush down, then began to dry him off— swishswishswishswish. After about twenty-five minutes of thorough drying, Tahir was led towards his dressing table. A quaint little thing, it was: made of a carved ebony hardwood, with gold filigree lining the sides, a giant antique mirror plastered right in the center, and overflowing jewelry boxes sat on the left and right of the mirror. Above it was an oil painting of the whole family.

That painting always made Tahir smile and flick his ears. Sahri had been painted with that oh-so usual smug grin she had; she really was the spitting image of the female ego. His mother looked perpetually disappointed in something. His father somehow appeared even more done with life and bored despite wearing enough jewelry to feed a peasant family for five generations. The artist really captured them all so well.

"How would you like your fur done today?" Neri asked.

"Oh, just the usual." Neri worked her paws as she wove Tahir's hair into braids that slowly descended from the back of his head, then down his neck. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"And which jewels?" Neri asked.

"The emeralds, thank you," Tahir said. As much as he hated to admit it, he was a very stereotypical manly man when it came to jewelry. There was something about pretty rocks that just made him happy. Neri clipped golden earrings studded with emeralds into his ears, four on each one, and slid emerald rings onto each one of his paw digits except for the pinky, where a wedding ring would otherwise be.

"What do you think?" Neri asked.

"I believe these used to be your father's until yesterday, you know how the man is with his jewelry, he wears it once, and he is already pining for new stuff." His ears perked. The emeralds caught the brilliant light of the morning and scattered little green flecks across the otherwise pristine mirror. Tahir turned his paw slightly, watching the jewels sparkle. He knew full well it was incredibly vain; oh, so stereotypically vain of a nobleman. He didn't care.

"They're… beautiful," Tahir admitted.

"That's good to hear," Neri said.

"Alright, let's get you out of your wife's birthday present." Prince Tahir hated that it made him chuckle. Neri returned with a couple of different outfits: it seemed his parents were adamant that he do something more … arousing today, not perverted, heavens no, but just something that would catch a woman's eye. Ultimately, he talked Neri out of it and was fitted with a dress sewn with soft pink silk and embroidered with silver and gold flowers.

It hugged his torso and accentuated his tiny, manly waist before flowing loosely around his legs.

"You look so handsome," Neri said.

"Yes," Prince Tahir said. Compliments like that didn't mean much to him. He had heard them his entire life. Even by the standards of a pampered nobleman, Prince Tahir was considered considerably attractive by anyone with functioning eyes. His fur was unusually vibrant, with a considerable amount of yellow, a marigold hue that made every man he had ever interacted with jealous. His ebony spots were perfectly symmetrical, and his golden eyes were inherited from his mother's bloodline.

He was lean enough that every contour of his stomach was visible, but he had just enough fat in his butt, thighs, and arms that he didn't look like a starving peasant. He was everything they wanted for their daughters and everything noble sons were expected to imitate; the spitting image of perfection.

"Now come alone, Prince Tahir; everyone is waiting in the dining room for breakfast."

"Very well," Tahir said, lifting his skirt man-like.

"Lead the way." # Tahir walked down the eerily silent hallway towards the dining room. Morning sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the oil paintings of the venerated woman from the family's past: conquerors, admirals, merchants, and other figures Tahir had never cared enough to learn about in detail, which hung proudly on the marble walls. Tahir's tail swished, and his fur bristled. He wasn't looking forward to this meal. Then again, he never looked forward to any meals with his family.

Upon reaching the dining room, he stepped in slowly through the towering wooden doors. There, at the long table, his family sat. His mother was at the front, of course. She looked frizzled and a little tired; family business, perhaps? His father sat to her right, draped in his usual kitschy amount of jewellery. Sahri lounged to the left, and her two favourite husbands sat beside her and next to their father. They were quite pretty, Tahir had to admit.

He could see why his sister married them, even if they had the personality of soggy bread. Tahir took his customary spot at the end of the table. A bell rang. Servants bustled out with trays and slid plates across the polished wood. When they lifted the lids, they revealed goat liver cooked just enough to kill the bacteria but not so much that it wouldn't taste slippery. The iron-rich smell of the liver filled the room. They must want to discuss something incredibly important, Tahir thought.

Each person ate in silence for a while until his mother spoke,"Tahir?" Tahir jolted. He had not been expecting his mother to actually call his name.

"Y-uh, yes, dearest mother?" he said sheepishly.

"How has your week been?" she asked.

"It has been quite ordinary, although somewhat delightful," Tahir said.

"Did you do anything fun?" his mother asked. Tahir swished his tail and pulled his ears back in embarrassment.

"Uh, well, I suppose I … wrote a few sonnets."

"What kind?" his mother asked.

"Oh… well, sonnets. Fixed form?"

"Yes, I know what a sonnet is. I am asking what themes did you write about?"

"Um…" Tahir said, "Well, I guess, love?" he lied. Why was she being so nice? That's… quite strange.

"Oh, that is wonderful, wonderful, dear!" she said ecstatically, clapping her paws together and swishing her tail in happiness.

"That is actually perfect! You can show them when you leave!" Tahir's heart sank.

"L-leave. Leave where, mother?"

"So, you know how the Coniton is about to happen?"

"Of course," Tahir said.

"What about it?"

"Well," his mother joyously exclaimed, "I know our chances of winning this year are heavily stacked against us, with so many GREAT women in this realm, I do say, so I want YOU to represent us!"

"What!" Tahir said, standing up and slamming his paws on the table rather uncouthly.

"What do you mean?" His breathing grew ragged.

"Oh, relax. You aren't going to be doing any fighting," his mother said.

"I found a wonderful young noblewoman"—Tahir's ears flattened against his head so hard that they nearly disappeared into his fur—"she is very interested in finding a husband this spring, and I bet those little love sonnets will just melt her heart."

"What… what do you… mean, mother?"

"It means you're finally going to stop being a virgin," his sister chortled.

"Ugh, inappropriate, learn some manners!" his father chided, though he did have a slight smirk. Tahir felt the world collapsing around him. The room suddenly felt a whole lot smaller. His test tightened like a fisherman tying a knot. No. Absolutely not. No, no, no, no, no, double no. This absolutely could not be happening.