In which Veronica shows off her playful side.

(Hey guys, I'm back. I've had some pretty stressful stuff going on in my life recently, and for a while, I just didn't feel like writing. Things are better now, though, so please enjoy the chapter! :))

Felicia is trembling. Even as far away as he is, Alfonse can see that perfectly well. And it isn't difficult to discern the reason why. Her hands are bound, held limp at her waist, fingers twined together. Her face and neck are splashed with color, the dark blues and violets of bruises. She moves gingerly, with just the hint of a limp, as Bruno escorts her in by the arm. Even as Alfonse watches, she won't look at him; she keeps her eyes firmly averted from his corner. He feels a sudden hot rage boil to the surface.

"You bastard!" he snarls at Bruno. "What did you do to her? Release her at once!"

He'd almost forgotten about Veronica until he feels four quick lashes against his bare bottom. His arms buckle, but he manages to keep himself upright, though not without the realization that his trousers and drawers are still around his thighs. He hunkers to the ground, and Veronica whips him twice more, this time with the handle of the crop in a way he knows will bruise later.

"Did you forget so soon, Askran mutt?" she sneers, planting her bare foot atop his head as he moans in pain. "Dogs can't speak! If you continue to disobey me, I will have you muzzled!"

"Do whatever you like to me," Alfonse shoots back through clenched teeth, "but leave Felicia out of this! She's done nothing wrong!"

Felicia perks up a little at that, though still she won't look on him, and he wonders now if it's for the sake of his own bodily dignity.

Veronica seems encouraged as well. "With your blessings, then, very well!" She lifts her foot off him, then kneels to tug his drawers and trousers back over his hips. "But first, cover this unsightly thing! Such audacity to have it swinging about before two ladies like some barbarian!"

She spanks his bottom with the flat of her palm, and he grunts, flushing red.

"I don't know why you're so agitated," she adds, stalking back to the footstool. "So long as she behaves herself, I have no intention of harming your precious maid." She says this very smugly, even distastefully, as she lifts something up in both hands and looks on it with a sort of reverence. From his spot on the floor, Alfonse cannot see what it is. "In fact, if she's a good girl, she'll surely end up enjoying herself quite well."

She brings the thing over, and Alfonse recognizes it as the very same mask she forced Prince Corrin to wear. He rears back, but Bruno appears beside him at once, immobilizing him.

"Hold him still," Veronica says, and Bruno's hands clamp around his jaw, locking his head in place.

"Felicia!" he shouts. She flinches but slowly turns to face him. "Don't worry about me! Just do as she says-no matter what it may be!"

"M-milord," she says in a small voice. "I-I can't..."

"Felicia, that's an order! Please-nngh!" He's interrupted by Bruno squeezing his jaw, forcing his mouth to open wide. Veronica kneels and holds the mask before him, and he sees now that protruding from the inside is a large, sleek bulb of polished wood. It's this that she forces into his mouth, scraping past his teeth and pushing down his tongue, reaching nearly the back of his throat. He gags around it as she fits the mask to his face, fastening it to his collar and around his head. The straps press severely into his skin, but she proceeds to tighten them anyway, unconcerned with his discomfort. Once satisfied, she steps back, admiring her work.

"Oh, you look much better like this," she breathes, brushing her knuckles against a part of his cheek left exposed. "So helpless. Can't stand up. Can't even speak. Entirely at my mercy-you must rely on me for everything."

Alfonse tries to ignore her words, tries to focus on his breathing-in and out, through his nose, stay calm-but he's almost sick with humiliation. If Felicia weren't a witness to his debasement, perhaps it would be easier, perhaps he'd take it as more of the same from the princess who never once showed him mercy anyway. As it is, he can only struggle to hold back tears as Veronica hooks a chain into his collar and tugs on it to lead him to where Felicia is standing.

"Lucky you, getting to play at mistress for the day!" she says. She moves to hand the lead over, then pauses. "Oh, Bruno, cut her free, the poor dear! She's not a prisoner here!"

Bruno steps forward and, drawing a knife from his belt, slices through Felicia's bonds. At once, she brings her hands together and rubs her wrists. Veronica holds out the lead, but Felicia hesitates. Alfonse's stomach drops. He gazes up at her, imploring her with his eyes to obey, and, reluctantly, she does, accepting the lead, holding it gently against her breast as if it were a part of him that she's deathly afraid of bringing to some harm.

"You can make him do tricks," Veronica informs her rather conversationally. "Watch-Alfonse, sit!"

He doesn't stop to think about it-it will only make it worse. He just sits back on his legs, resting his hands across his knees. Felicia blushes, making him blush in turn, again struck with all the ignominy of what he's being made to do.

"Very good!" Veronica ruffles his hair, gives him a playful smack on the head. "Give it a try, dear," she says to Felicia. "Tell him to beg."

Alfonse starts to get into position to spare Felicia from having to ask, but Veronica strikes him across the feet with her crop. The thin fabric of his stockings isn't enough to mute the pain, and he screams into his gag.

"Ah, ah, not yet, naughty doggy!" she laughs. "Wait for your orders like a good boy."

Breathing hard through his nose, Alfonse drags his head back up, forcing himself to meet Felicia's horrified gaze. Please, he begs with his eyes, please, for both our sakes, just do as she says.

"B-beg," she squeaks out, but Veronica clicks her tongue.

"You have to use his name, or he'll be confused! Do it again!"

Alfonse turns to glare over his shoulder, but she isn't paying him any heed.

"Prince Alfonse, p-please, beg," Felicia says.

"Does that look like a prince to you?" Veronica demands. "He's a dog. Dogs can't be princes! Dogs can only obey their mistresses!"

"I-I'm sorry-"

"If you're sorry, say it right this time!"

Felicia's trembling like she might pass out at any moment. "A-Alfonse," she says, cringing as she says it, "b-beg."

Alfonse waits a beat for another correction, and when it doesn't come, he sits back on his legs and lifts his hands before his chest, wrists limp.

"Good boy!" Veronica cries, petting his head again. "You ought to praise him, too, Felicia! Give him a nice pat on the head-he deserves it!"

"G-good boy," Felicia all but whispers, cautiously extending her hand. Alfonse lowers his head slightly to encourage her, but he blushes all the same when he feels her fingers in his hair, cautiously rubbing the crown of his head.

"Hmm," Veronica says. "Let's see what else he can do. Have him roll over for us, won't you, dear?"

Felicia steps back. "R-roll over, Pr-Alfonse."

This takes more thinking. Alfonse crouches on all fours, keeping low to the ground. Using his elbow, he pushes himself onto his side, then turns onto his back. The marble floor hurts his sore, beaten backside, and his bonds force his arms and legs straight up, perpendicular to the ground. He makes a small noise of pain as the cords press firmer into his skin.

"Oh, good boy, Alfonse!" Veronica cries, dropping to her knees beside him. "Come, Felicia! Good dogs deserve a nice belly rub, don't they?"

Alfonse flinches as Veronica brushes up his tunic and puts her hand on his stomach, stroking with the backs of her fingers. Felicia kneels down on his other side but hesitates to touch him.

"Go on," Veronica urges, pushing his tunic up even further so that it bunches under his arms. He's almost forgotten his nipple rings until Veronica yanks on the chain between them, and he cries into his gag, limbs shuddering. "Or would you rather play with these?"

She pumps his left nipple up to erectness with her thumb and forefinger, making Alfonse whimper and kick his lower legs out even as he draws his knees inward. Not that-he hadn't wanted Felicia to see that. It's enough for her to see him like this, bound, exposed, reduced to less than an animal. For her to see how far he's allowed himself to be degraded-it's too much.

Felicia puts her hand on his stomach, and he jolts, arcing his back. She whips back her hand as if it had met with hot coals but, on receiving a sour look from Veronica, returns it to the space between his breast and his abdomen, giving him a few short, swift strokes there before withdrawing altogether.

"I had to pierce him because he was a naughty boy," Veronica explains, flipping his ring back and forth between her fingers. "But why do you look so surprised? Has he not shown you yet? He loves showing his body to innocent maidens, the shameless wretch."

Alfonse makes a noise in objection to that, his face burning, and Veronica responds by pinching his nipple until a bit of blood and pus trickles out from the wound that is still far from healed. He groans, chest throbbing, but she gives him no respite, leaping to her feet and catching the slack of his chain, pulling it until his collar squeezes against his throat, closing it off to air. He struggles to reorient himself, crawl back onto his hands and knees so he can relieve the pressure. He winds up doubled over at her feet, nearly choking on the protrusion in his mouth and frantically trying not to vomit. He hates the damnable thing, and the thought of having to wear it long-term like he suspects Prince Corrin has to terrifies him. He prays it won't become a part of her normal routine.

Is that what this is now? he asks himself then in quiet shock. Nothing more than a routine? Has he become so accustomed to her abuses that they're now his standard?

"We're going to take the doggy on a walk in the gardens!" Veronica declares, clapping her hands together. Alfonse goes very still. The gardens? He's going outside-looking like this?

Felicia, it turns out, is thinking much the same. "Oughtn't we to stay indoors, Majesty?" she asks nervously, playing the leash between her fingers. "It's rather warm out for a walk, and-"

"Be silent!" Veronica snaps. She returns to the sofa where she pulls on her abandoned stocking, then her boots. "Bruno, bring me my reading," she says, doing up the laces. "Then you can go off and do as you please-I have Felicia to entertain me today."

Alfonse notes that Bruno won't even look at him as he passes Veronica her book, and for some reason, his aversion shames him further. Veronica, for her part, turns to Felicia and smiles.

"Shall we?"

Felicia reluctantly follows her out the door, her grip on the lead loose, uncommitted. It gives Alfonse enough time to scramble after her without hurting his knees too terribly on the marble, though he's certain they will be sufficiently bruised by day's end. The pain starts to set in much sooner, however, due to Veronica's clipped pace. Surreptitiously, Felicia slows and exaggerates her limp, allowing him more time to keep up, until Veronica demands that she not dawdle, and then Alfonse is forced to quicken his pace as well. By the time they reach the staircase, his hands and legs are flushed red, and his knees are tender to the touch.

"Down you go, doggy," Veronica says, nudging him in the backside with her booted foot. Alfonse tentatively puts one hand on the step below, pausing when he feels the tug of his bonds against his leg. Warily, he maneuvers one leg onto the step, then the other, sidestepping like a crab until he reaches the third floor landing. Veronica pushes on ahead, muttering her irritation as she passes him by, but Felicia stays close beside him as he begins his second descent, keeping her leg discreetly at his side so as to catch him on it should he slip and fall. She touches his shoulder gently, a show of support, he assumes, when at last, sweating, he reaches the ground floor.

"You're so terribly slow!" Veronica complains, grabbing the lead from Felicia and jerking it so that his collar strains against his throat. "Would you like me to punish you for being a very disobedient doggy?"

He shakes his head wildly, but she cuts him across the back with her riding crop anyway. He yelps, the sound muted by the mask, and cowers against the ground.

"P-please, Your Majesty!" Felicia cries suddenly. "He did his best! H-he didn't want to fall!"

Veronica grabs Felicia by the collar of her dress and pulls her in, tipping back her head on the points of her nails. "Do not speak out of turn, maid, or I shall make you into my second doggy. Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes, Majesty!"

Veronica releases her and hands back the lead. "Then come. Both of you."

She turns on her heel, and Alfonse hurries after her, urging Felicia to follow him. He doesn't want to put this burden on her if he can help it; he wants only to get through this as painlessly as possible and pray that Veronica does not see fit to involve Felicia ever again.

In other circumstances, he might have appreciated the warmth and openness that greet them when they step outside the palace. The air is balmy, but a recurring breeze is enough to keep it temperate where otherwise it might have been sweltering. The cobblestones are still hot beneath his hands, encouraging him to match Veronica's brisk pace into the garden. He tries to keep his attention on his crawling, hand first, then knee, then hand again, but they soon happen upon a servant pruning a row of hedges. Veronica stops to speak with him, and though Alfonse tries to keep his head down, he can't help but glance up from time to time to find the servant's gaze lingering uncomfortably upon him. His cheek is warm from both the sun and his shame.

They walk on for perhaps a quarter of an hour, wending their way through the many paths of the garden. Alfonse's knees and hands have started to ache something terrible, the heat and coarseness of the stones abrading away the skin of his palms until there are traces of blood left on both. Veronica eventually leads them to the large rock basin, pausing for a moment at the bench before it and then taking a seat. Alfonse gratefully falls back onto his haunches, breathing heavily through his nose.

"If you're a good boy," Veronica says, "I will take your muzzle off and allow you to drink. Will you behave?"

Alfonse nods his head vigorously, which makes her giggle. "Alright, alright, you silly boy! Hold still."

She moves his head into her lap and works at undoing the straps. He waits impatiently; his jaw is aching, and the inside of the mask is humid from his breath and sweat. Finally, Veronica pulls the mask away, drawing the bulb from his mouth, clacking against his teeth. Alfonse ravenously takes in the fresh air, saliva dribbling from his lips as his jaw falls shut. There's a ring of sweat around his face where the mask pressed into. His lips are cracked and dry, and his throat is sore with thirst. Veronica rubs his ear lovingly before directing him to climb atop the lip of the pool, which he does with some difficulty.

"Go have a drink, then," she says. "With your face, like a dog-no using your hands."

Alfonse flattens himself against the rim, considering the most practical way to get his mouth to the water. Eventually, he determines the only way is to keep his arms folded beneath his stomach and inch forward till he can reach it. Pressed against stone, his collar cuts into his neck, but he's so thirsty, he hardly cares, dipping his face low to lap up the mercifully cool water. He can hear Veronica titter, but he ignores her, ignores Felicia, who's deathly silent anyway.

At last, he lifts his head, gasping for air, chin dripping. His arms have gone numb and tingly, but somehow, he manages to resettle himself back onto all fours at Veronica's feet.

"Feeling better?" she asks him, petting his hair. He nods slowly, knowing better than to speak. His eyes flick to the side, to the mask lying abandoned on the ground.

"Be a good boy and I won't have to put it back on," Veronica says, following his gaze. "Now, lie down so I can enjoy my reading."

Alfonse lowers himself onto his calves and forearms, but before he can even attempt to make himself comfortable, Veronica leans back against the bench and lays her feet across his spine. He grunts at the added weight but manages to keep himself from saying anything else. He hardly knows why he's surprised that she's degraded him to the role of a mere footstool-it's just like her, after all, to treat him as one of her possessions. He tucks his head between his arms, to hide his tears should they spill over, and to blind himself to the judging glances of any servants who chance to pass by.

They remain this way for a long while. Alfonse focuses on his breathing again, desperate to shut out the world around him. At least he's clothed, he tells himself, a feeble attempt at reassurance. He's bound, but everyone here already knows he's a prisoner. He isn't wearing the mask anymore, which is a small comfort. Nobody approaches their group as far as he can hear, but given their position on the hill, anyone passing through the gardens has a prime vantage point from which to view him, a prince reduced to a bit of furniture. His stomach roils in indignation.

He becomes aware, gradually, of a pressure growing in his lower abdomen. He tries to ignore it at first, but the concerted effort succeeds only in keeping it at the forefront of his mind. He sucks in his bottom lip and chews on it to keep himself silent, but the pressure only mounts, and Veronica shows no indication of getting up any time soon. He quickens his breathing, shifts restlessly under her feet, hoping to rouse her attention. He dares to let out a near-imperceptible groan. Still, she does not stir, but Felicia takes notice at once, casting a worried look over him.

"Your Majesty, I think-" she starts, only for Veronica to loudly shush her.

"Shut up. I'm reading."

Felicia shares with him a desperate, despairing look. His stomach has started to cramp, and his bladder, tight and tender, threatens to release at every movement of her feet. He regrets drinking that water now, regrets not petitioning Bruno to allow him to relieve himself before being brought before the princess. When was the last time he did? No sooner than last night, he realizes, and he shudders. He can't take it anymore. He dips to the ground with a choked sob.

Veronica looks up at that, brows creased. "What do you want, dog?" she asks, sounding quite peevish from the interruption.

Weakly, Alfonse lifts himself back onto all fours, tries to gesture to his abdomen with one hand.

"Huh? You have to pee?"

Alfonse nods, and Veronica bursts into laughter, to his embarrassment.

"You aren't housebroken yet, puppy?" she teases him, drawing back her feet and then crouching beside him. She slides both hands around him and presses at his abdomen, causing him to whine and jerk away.

"Well, we're already outdoors. Let's go over to this grassy spot here so you can do it."

She reclaims his leash from Felicia and leads him to the grass. Unlike Bruno, she doesn't take him into the trees, away from the eyes of the palace, but rather leaves him in full view of any who might be looking. She doesn't pull down his trousers, either, just steps back and says, "Well, go on, then."

Alfonse stares up at her, appalled.

"Oh?" she says silkily. "Did you want your new mistress to take you instead?"

His heart sinks as she calls Felicia over. He shakes his head no, but that only makes her strike him on the rear with her crop. His muscles clench, and he nearly loses himself right there. He whimpers, withdraws into himself, trying frantically not to spill his bladder here, before these two women.

But Veronica's thin patience gets the best of her. "How dare you make me wait!" She brings the crop against his backside again. Alfonse gasps, and his muscles relax, release. He presses his legs together, curls over with his hands to his groin, but it's too late, and he already feels the warmth, the wetness soaking through the seam of his trousers. He tries, in a panic, to regain control of his bladder, but his body, craving relief, refuses to obey. His bladder succeeds in voiding itself, leaving him shaking and humiliated in the aftermath.

"Dirty boy," Veronica says, and it's all that he can take.

"Are you happy now?" he demands, voice cracking and breaking off into a sob. "Now you've succeeded in torturing me-and-and humiliating me-in front of-in front-" He yelps when he feels the sting of the crop against one shoulder, then the other.

"Who said you could speak?" Veronica demands, cutting him across the side and then, once he's collapsed, on his stomach. "Mangy dog!"

"Princess, please, stop!"

Alfonse hears Felicia's voice through a haze of pain. He struggles to draw himself to his knees but succeeds only in falling back onto his side. "Felicia," he breathes. He wants to beg her not to get involved, but he can't seem to form any words beyond her name.

Veronica rains a flurry of blows down on him, each more impassioned than the last. "Disobeying me-you'll come to regret that, disgraceful prince!"

It hurts. He can't recall ever experiencing such pain, not in the heat of battle, nor the aftermath. He can feel his skin cleave apart where the crop connects with bare flesh, can feel the welts and bruises that will torment him later already forming. For a moment, for several moments, he wishes, truly, to die.

There's a weight over him suddenly, warm and soft. He opens his eyes and sees only the corner of a white apron.

"Your Majesty, please stop!" Felicia's voice rumbles from above him, vibrating from her chest to his shoulder; he shivers. "He'll die-he'll really die! Please! I'll do anything!"

He hears the swish of the crop and her scream, and he stirs.

"Don't," he murmurs, shifting beneath her. "Don't touch me… Dirty… I'm so…" He squirms a little in his wet trousers. "I'm… not worth it…"

"Get out of my way, maid, or I'll kill you!"

There's another whip lash, another scream. Felicia doesn't move.

Alfonse tries to roll her off him, tries to talk to her, at least, because he doesn't want her hurt on his behalf, but his vision blurs, then dims, and he's unconscious before he can do anything at all.

So, that chapter 12. Good thing I long suspected something like this would happen and started planting seeds. ;) Expect as much canon compliance as is possible in a canon-diverging story. =)

Thanks as always for your patience and support! Please leave a review if you're enjoying this-it really does help light a fire under me to keep writing. :3