Love and War

Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of it’s characters.

In which Gwendal receives more bad news, and Lady Celi begins questioning certain events in the past…

Love and War
by Mikage

Chapter Ten

The child was sleeping, which Gwendal took as a good sign, watching over him as he rested beneath the sheets and blankets in the spare room he’d been placed in when Gisela had brought him back to the castle. Looking around, the Chief of State couldn’t help but think that it was too dreary a room for someone so young to be cooped up in. The only furniture was the bed, an old, slightly dusty dresser, and a lopsided bedside table. There was hardly any color besides the brown of the wood and the grey of the stone walls, definitely not the kind of room you’d expect any child to reside in.

He told himself he’d have to rectify the situation soon, and have Alexei placed somewhere where he could recover much more comfortably. He would have ordered that the boy be moved sooner if all the guest rooms had not been occupied by a herd of snobbish nobles, and was now forced to wait until they felt like making their departure - which could be weeks from now. Ever since the massacre in Fane, people had become wary of traveling long distances, afraid of a surprise attack on their way home. Most of those who’d attended the wedding preferred to take advantage of the king’s care and hospitality, staying within the safety of the castle walls.

A week had passed by since the incident, and things around the kingdom were only growing worse. They had not experienced an attack since the evening of the reception, nor had they received any information or warnings from Shimeron or any of the other human countries, but their people had reacted as badly to the spreading news as Gwendal had feared they would. He could see the drastic change in their behavior every time he rode through the capital. Their celebrations had ended abruptly and their eyes were now filled with fear. They spent more time inside than they did conversing with neighbors or strolling through the market. A few had even stomped up to the castle gates in order to shout their displeasure in the hopes that the king would hear them.

His Majesty had yet to witness any of their many rants, though Gwendal was severely tempted to drag him outside and force him to listen, see if that were enough to knock some sense into his seemingly empty head. The nineteen year old had more or less closed himself off to the rest of the world since the early morning hours that had seen Gwendal and Conrart in his bedchambers after their return from Fane. The dark haired mazoku had seen him a handful of times - awkward moments filled with silence, in which the king refused to look him in the eye. His Majesty canceled his morning runs with Conrart and his afternoon majutsu lessons with Gunter, took his paperwork into his room instead of sitting at his desk in the study, and rarely came to the dinning room for his meals, choosing to have them brought to him instead.

Gwendal supposed the black haired young man was ashamed of himself, perhaps even guilty for what he’d said and done - or hadn’t done, as the case may be - but Lord von Voltaire could hardly find it within himself to care. He, too, was angry, more so than he’d been in a long time. If he were to be completely honest, he would admit that there was a small part of him that felt a little guilty for being so unkind towards the obviously distraught man, but he ignored those feelings as best he could, focusing more on his duty than the rift that had suddenly appeared between he and the young king. As far as he was concerned, finding their unseen enemy was more important than fixing their friendship.

Not that they’d come any closer to completing that task in the last seven days. What little information Alexei had been able to provide them with hadn’t been very helpful, and they’d inevitably run out of clues after only a few short hours. Yozak was still out scouting around the area where the village used to be, broadening the search when his few leads ran cold, and still he’d found next to nothing. Their enemies seemed very adept at covering their tracks, and had since steered clear of any other villages. No one had caught sight of anyone even vaguely suspicious, leading Gwendal to wonder if the men they were looking for had simply disappeared into thin air - vanished without a trace.

An even worse thought - one that he did not even like to entertain - was that the attack had been carried out by some of their own people, perhaps by those who’d grown angry with the king, and that it had been made to look as if the humans were responsible in an effort to throw off the investigation. Gwendal was not foolish enough to deny that it was a possibility; he just didn’t like to think that the mazoku would do something like this simply to show their displeasure with His Majesty. He couldn’t understand how anyone could carry out such an act of violence on their own people. To be angry at the king was one thing; to take out that anger on innocent civilians was something else entirely.

No one had come foreword to accept responsibility, not Shimeron or any of the other hostile human countries, not any of their more questionable allies, not even a band of mazoku renegades. Shimeron had grown strangely quiet with the coming of fall, their troops stationed along the borders but making no serious moves as the winter season seemed to be approaching quicker than usual. Everyone else seemed uninterested in Belal’s war, besides those who’d allied themselves with him. When almost every human country would have jumped at the chance to get rid of the mazoku years ago, they seemed reluctant to do so now.

Gwendal didn’t know what to do, or even if there was anything that he could do at this point. It was like they’d run into a brick wall, with no way of knowing who or what was on the other side. Someone in the world was laughing at the mazoku right now, no doubt amused by their confusion and inability to find any answers, and everyone else was either as in the dark as they were or too afraid to point fingers. Finding out the truth was beginning to look hopeless, though Lord von Voltaire steadfastly refused to give up. He was not going to let this go without punishing someone.

He sighed heavily as he shook such thoughts from his mind, focusing instead on the young boy who remained in the plain, narrow bed. He was recovering slowly, though Gisela spent a great deal of time with him every day, using her maryoku in order to speed up the process. His broken arm had been set and placed into a cast, the abused limb resting against his thin chest as he slept, and the deep gash in his side was no longer as serious as it had been just days ago. His bruises had almost faded completely, and although it had been touch-and-go for the first twenty four hours he’d spent in their care, he was now on the road to making a full recovery.

The boy’s mental and emotional state, however, was questionable at best. Even after taking the herbs Gisela provided him with to help him sleep, Alexei was tormented by recurring nightmares. He’d woken up screaming more than once, shouting for his parents, crying for his baby sister, and terrified when he didn’t recognize the room or the faces that greeted him. Sometimes it took hours to calm him down, and even then he was too frightened to go back to sleep, babbling about the “bad people” and again calling out for Mama and Papa. It pained the stoic man to watch the child cry uncontrollably, sobbing until he was reduced to harsh hiccups and pitiful whimpering, but Gwendal didn’t know what to do or say to comfort him.

He felt for the boy, and some part of him was already somewhat attached to the tiny blond, but he had no idea how to act on those feelings. The most he could do was stand by and watch over him, supervise his visits with Gisela and the other medics to make sure he was taken care of properly, then offer him a kind word before going to see to his duties. There was something about Alexei that pulled at his heartstrings, that had him sitting here now, knitting quietly, just as he’d done for Greta many times before. Those large, teal colored eyes would fill with relief when they fluttered open and saw that he wasn’t alone in the small, strange room, and the rare smiles that crossed the boy’s face caused Gwendal to smile lightly in return.

Alexei had rarely spoken to many people since they’d brought him here, at least not any words that weren’t shouted in complete terror. They’d been able to ask him more questions about the night of the attack after his condition had been stabilized and he’d gotten some much needed sleep, but the mazoku child had been unable to provide them with any more information than what he’d already given. He was too scared to speak of the event for very long, his memories often leading him into a panic, and Gwendal could not find it within himself to push him any further, no matter how important it was for them to have what little information Alexei possessed.

The mazoku boy was the only one who knew exactly what had happened that night, and he could potentially be the key that helped them unlock the secret of their enemy’s identity, but that was not a responsibility Lord von Voltaire felt like burdening him with. It was already bad enough that the poor boy would have to live with those memories for the rest of his life; recounting his tale multiple times in an attempt to answer their questions would only serve to deepen his many emotional scars. He’d gone through more than any child his age should ever have to face, and Gwendal could not force himself to put the child through anything else. Alexei needed time and space to overcome his fears and be a child again, and the dark haired man was not about to delay his return to happiness.

A small, wry smile crossed his face at the thought that it was the older brother in him that was making him feel and act as he was presently. He’d been an only child for many years, before his mother had been named Demon Queen and his father had been killed in a battle, but once he’d had younger siblings he’d taken to the task of caring for them with as much focus as he put into everything else. Conrart had been the first person he’d ever really felt responsible for, and though he’d often resented the fact that their mother had conceived a child with a human, he hadn’t been able to hate his brown haired brother. He’d never treated him the way Conrart had once treated their youngest sibling - reading him stories, sharing a bed at night - but he’d never let anyone or anything harm him.

Wolfram had been different, perhaps because Gwendal had been too old at the time of his birth to care much about a new baby in the family. He’d acted more like a father to the boy than anything else, especially after Captain von Bielefeld and their mother had divorced before Wolfram’s fifth year. Mother and Conrart had done the nurturing - wiping his tears away when he skinned his knees, praising him for the scribbles he drew on pieces of parchment, cuddling him when he grew scared of bad dreams and thunderstorms - while Gwendal had been the disciplinarian. Wolfram had been a far more difficult child than Conrart, and had required a firm hand and the strict rules that Mother was too soft-hearted to set.

He could easily remember when both of his brothers had been Alexei’s age. Conrart had taken to his lessons during the mornings and trained with his father in the afternoons, whereas Wolfram had ran about the castle, leading his tutors on a merry chase through the wide halls, loud and demanding when Conrart had been quiet and obedient. ‘I want to play outside!’ the blond had shrieked on more than one occasion. ‘I want Mother! I want Little Big Brother!’ he’d said when everyone else refused to give in easily. More often then not, Wolfram had gotten exactly what he’d wanted; very few people had managed to say “no” to him without feeling guilty and giving in later. Even Gwendal had let him do whatever he’d wanted on occasion, if only to shut the brat up for more than five seconds.

He smirked now as these memories played out in his mind, pausing for a moment in his knitting to stare at the slumbering child. It had been a while since there’d been children roaming the halls of Blood Pledge Castle. The palace had become dreary over the last couple of years, dark and gloomy, when it had once been so full of life and laughter. Greta’s arrival had helped to lift that dark cloud; she was a little ray of sunshine in the form of a playful, inquisitive human girl, but she had grown up much too quickly, more concerned about clothes and boys now than she was about stuffed animals and fairytales. She had become a young woman, almost an adult according to mazoku law, no longer the small, scared, and lonely child she’d been upon her arrival.

Perhaps it would do them all some good, then, to keep Alexei here, to allow him to roam through all the rooms and halls the way Greta used to, and Conrart and Wolfram before her. The young boy had nowhere else to go; a search for his extended family had ended with no success, and Gwendal could not even imagine taking him to an orphanage once he’d completely healed. A place such as that was not suited for someone who’d become so emotionally scarred. He required a special sort of attention now if he were to return to the happy child he’d probably been before this nightmare had taken place, something no orphanage could provide him with while there were fifty other children running around.

Gwendal’s thoughts were disrupted when the door to the tiny room creaked open, and he stopped his knitting to look up from where he sat in a wooden chair by Alexei’s bedside, his left eye twitching slightly when bright red hair and sky blue eyes met his gaze. Anissina offered him a small grin, quietly shutting the door behind her when she noticed that the boy was still sleeping. He wondered for a moment if he should be worried at all, if he should make his exit and find somewhere else to hide, but when he saw her empty handed, with none of her crazy inventions to strap to his head, he supposed it would be safe to stay for the time being.

Anissina stepped quietly across the room, her smile faltering somewhat as she made it to his side in less than four steps, peering down at the child laying in the bed, a look of sympathy crossing her face. The red haired mazoku noblewoman had long been a supporter for women’s rights - she’d begun preaching about the weaknesses and mistakes of men as soon as she’d learned to talk - but she was also very concerned about the children of the world. She’d spent a majority of the last war setting up shelters for women and children who’d been displaced, and when she wasn’t using the money she’d inherited to enhance her lab and buy parts for her many inventions, she was pouring it into all sorts of charities, working to protect and better the lives of those less fortunate.

She’d been to see Alexei more than a few times. There was a stack of books containing all of her children’s stories on the bedside table, waiting for a time when the boy felt well enough to seek entertainment while he continued to recover. She’d offered to fund the effort to find his extended family, even though they’d been met with little to no success. Gwendal had a feeling that if she were given the opportunity, Anissina would do a lot more, perhaps take Alexei under her wing until they decided what they should do with him.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said, keeping her voice low so as not to awaken the sleeping blond.

“I don’t have the time to help you with your useless inventions,” he replied gruffly as he went back to knitting, hoping that if he ignored her long enough she’d take the hint and go bother someone else about being her guinea pig - a tactic that usually never worked, but it was always worth a try.

Anissina von Karbelnikoff had annoyed and terrorized him since her birth, six years following his own - a short span of time in the life of a full blooded mazoku. Their mothers had been close friends; Cecilie and Lady von Karbelnikoff, Lenore Menz, had gone to school together - a prestigious girl’s academy that only daughters of the nation’s wealthiest were fortunate enough to attend. Lenore had been an old-fashioned, very demure woman, while Celi had used finishing school as an opportunity to expand her already large social circle. Despite their differences in personality, they’d become and remained friends over the years, leading Gwendal and Anissina to grow up in close proximity to one another.

Unfortunately Anissina had taken after her inventor father instead of her quiet, timid mother, and had begun following Gwendal around, tricking him into helping her with her own little experiments as soon as they’d been able to walk. As they’d grown older, and after Lady Lenore had died when they’d been in their early seventies, Anissina had practically moved into the castle, spending more time in the capital than she did in her home territory. Her time with he and his family had only increased when her beloved father passed away from illness once she’d reached a hundred years, and the redhead had made herself a prominent fixture around the palace since then. She’d headed Wolfram’s education before Suzannah Julia had taken over - and had then continued it when the blue haired woman had met her end - and now offered private lessons to the children of aristocracy.

Many times since Gwendal had become an adult, his mother had attempted to persuade him into developing a more than platonic relationship with his childhood friend - especially recently, with all the excitement revolving around His Majesty and Wolfram’s wedding - and while he’d always found something undeniably appealing about a woman who could take care of herself, he had little to no desire to change how things were between them. He could not deny that there was an attachment, a bond of some sort that kept her constantly chasing after him and he unable to truly despise her company, but right now marriage and romance were the furthest things from his mind.

Anissina was a friend, almost like a sister to him, and any sort of deeper feelings would only make life ten times more complicated than it already was. He already had enough to lead a satisfied life; his position as Chief of State gave him the ability to look over and protect the kingdom - a task that was more important to him than all else - and the money he’d inherited from his deceased father would allow him to live comfortably upon his retirement. There was nothing more he wanted, nothing more he could possibly ask for, and he knew Anissina would feel the same way as long as she was permitted to keep her laboratory.

“That’s not why I’ve been searching,” she answered him with a light chuckle, her cerulean eyes sparkling in amusement. “Although I’d be more than happy if I were able to acquire your assistance later this afternoon.”

“And you will understand if I am disinclined to offer my assistance,” Gwendal said, eyes focused on the Sand Bear he’d been working on so diligently for the last hour or so. “There are other things that require my attention.”

“More important than helping an old friend?” she prodded teasingly, her cheeky grin still in place.

“You already know the answer to that.”

The red haired female released a heavy sigh, though Gwendal couldn’t help but think it sounded empty and fake. “If you were any other man, I might feel insulted,” she said, bringing another wooden chair up to the bed’s side and sitting down in it with more grace that one would expect from someone as loud and outspoken as Anissina. “But you’re not any other man, and I’d never expect anything more. The next time Lady Celi suggests marriage to you, you should go ahead and tell her you’re already married to the kingdom.”

Gwendal’s response was a grunt, but somewhere inside he was seriously considering it, wondering if that just might work. It would be a relief to have Mother stop hounding him, and perhaps turn her attention to Conrart instead - who was more adept at handling their rambunctious mother than he had ever been.

“Anyway,” Anissina began again, returning to the real reason she’d come to find him. “Günter’s been looking for you. He said something’s come up, and I figured I’d be able to find you here.”

Gwendal frowned, not realizing he could be so predictable, before fixating his attention on things of a greater importance. “What is it he wishes to discuss?”

“Apparently Yozak’s returned.”

“With information?”

“I’m assuming. I doubt he’d come back empty handed when he knows you want nothing but results,” Anissina observed, knowing how important all of this was for her childhood friend. He’d spent so much of his life protecting and looking over the kingdom that not knowing who and where their newest enemy was was frustrating him to no end. “Everyone’s waiting for you in His Majesty’s study.”

The dark haired Chief of State released a heavy sigh at that, placing his knitting aside as he stood from the uncomfortable wooden chair, intent on making his way to the designated room and discovering what all of this was about. He stopped momentarily in his journey to the door when his sapphire gaze fell upon the child still asleep in the bed, and feelings of regret began to wash through him as he thought about leaving the child on his own. What if the boy woke up and saw that he was alone? What if he became afraid when no on was there to greet him when he opened his eyes?

Anissina seemed to notice his indecision, for she smiled up at him reassuringly, maneuvering her chair so that it was a few inches closer to the bed than it had been. “I’ll watch after Alexei,” she offered, turning to stare at the small mazoku child. “You go play mediator.”

Gwendal grunted in reply, but was truly thankful for her generosity. He was about to leave the tiny room then, preparing himself for the arguing that was no doubt about to commence, but was stopped from departing when Anissina called out his name, her voice quiet, but the seriousness in it caused him to take the time to turn and face her again.

“What are you going to do about the boy?” she asked, truly concerned about his fate.

The dark haired man didn’t know what to say, and so he stayed silent for a long moment, contemplating the question that had been presented to him. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he couldn’t not do something, that he couldn’t just leave the child to himself, to attempt to survive in a world that had brought him so much pain. But beyond that he had no clue. It was as much of a mystery to him as their current crisis was.

What was he supposed to do?

Or perhaps the correct question was: what did he want to do?

“Whatever I can,” he finally said, figuring that was the best answer he could give at the present time.

He left right after the words had escaped his mouth, shutting the door as quietly as his friend had when she’d entered, his frown deepening as he began his trek down the halls, wondering what Yozak had to say that Günter felt it important enough to call everyone together for a meeting. He’d heard very little from the orange haired spy in the past few days, at least not anything encouraging, so he could only hope that now there had been some sort of a break through, and that the information the blue eyed man had could help alleviate their present situation.

He took the less used halls of the castle, familiar with every foot of the large structure, having lived there for a majority of his life. He had no desire to run into anyone on his way to the king’s study. He was in no mood to talk, not to any of the snotty, spineless dimwits currently taking up residence in the guest rooms, nor to the giggling and gossiping maids. There were very few things on his mind at the moment that did not have to do with the kingdom, and he did not want to be distracted in any way, focused on this issue to the point of obsession.

It didn’t take long at all for him to arrive, and he quickly opened the heavy door, dark blue eyes scanning the room to take in all those who had gathered. The high-backed chair behind the king’s desk was empty, their black haired sovereign no where to be seen - although Gwendal had not seriously expected him to be there. Everyone else was standing in various places about the room. Mikhail was by one of the tall windows, staring out over the castle grounds somberly, arms crossed over his chest, his usual pleasant mood having dissipated many days ago. Winifred, Griselda, and Marlena stood of to the side, whispering amongst themselves suspiciously, while Julius chose to seclude himself in one of the room’s corners, away from all the others.

Auberon was by himself, though closer to the others than von Mannheim. His younger brother stood by the side of the previous queen, who’s flirtatious smiles had disappeared after she’d learned of the attack that had occurred within her country. Odell and Stoffel were at her other side, the later quietly speaking with Raven, though it was easy to tell by the serious look on his face that he was no longer as concerned with getting into His Majesty’s good favor as he used to be. His Highness was present in the room as well, standing in front of the wooden desk with Yozak, Günter, Conrart, and GegenHuber, dark eyes looking intently around the room.

“Gwendal,” Günter said his name to acknowledge his arrival, the others quickly falling silent as he shut the door behind him.

Against his will, Lord von Voltaire’s eyes settled on the vacant chair behind the desk, a part of him having hoped that His Majesty was concerned enough to attend this meeting despite the harsh way they’d previously spoken to one another, disappointment filling him when nothing filled the desk’s space but stacks of papers, a quill and a jar of ink.

“His Majesty is returning his parents to their home on Earth,” Conrart informed him when he noticed the direction of his older brother’s gaze.

Gwendal didn’t care what the reason was. He didn’t think there was any excuse that could explain the dark haired boy’s negligence of his duties. “You have information,” he said to Yozak, half in question, half as a casual statement.

“Not the sort we desire,” Gunter said lowly, turning his lilac eyes away in what appeared to be sadness, leaving the Chief of State to wonder what had occurred to make his old friend seem so glum.

“Explain,” von Voltaire demanded of the spy, frowning deeply at von Christ’s reaction.

“Merton, one of our coastal villages in the territory of Christ, was subject to an attack early this morning.”

He didn’t have to say any more than that. It was obvious by the solemn looks on everyone’s faces that it had not been one of the normal attacks carried out by Shimeron before the wedding, but one similar to what had happened in Fane - another massacre. It certainly explained Günter’s fowl mood, and the sternness adopted by the rest of the council. Gwendal himself began to feel a familiar rage bubble up within him, his hands fisting at his sides.

“It was reported by one of the local militiamen who managed to escape,” Yozak continued, staring at his commanding officer levelly.

“Who was it?” Gwendal asked, voice harsh and dark.

“Our friends in black. We weren’t able to get much more out of him before he died. I sent a group of men to investigate, but I don’t think there’s much hope in finding anything else.”

Silence reigned for a long moment, all of them thinking about what to do.

“His Majesty will need to be informed when he returns,” Lady Celi spoke up, her cheerfulness and laughter gone in the face of this sudden disaster.

“His Majesty should be here attending to his kingdom, not off gallivanting around in other worlds,” Auberon said bitterly, light blue-green eyes narrowed sharply. “And where is his husband? I didn’t agree to this marriage for that brat to sit around doing nothing.”

“It’s no wonder out enemies think so little of him,” Winifred muttered, more to herself than to anyone else, though they all heard her, and knew what she was referring to. The note that had been left at the scene in Fane had been read by them all, and while they’d taken the threat seriously, a few of the Aristocrats chose to see a certain amount of truth in the written words instead of taking it as an insult - as they rightly should.

“I don’t believe any of your slanderous comments are necessary at this time,” Gwendal bellowed at her before she could continue any further, glaring angrily, feeling his anger increase at the old woman’s apparent lack of respect.

“Gwendal,” Celi called to him. “Please remain calm,” she said soothingly. “What we now face will not be solved through arguing.”

“We would not be facing this now if we had a king who actually saw to his duties!” Griselda von Hassel shouted.

“Hold your tongue, you conceited witch!” Günter barked in return, his lavender eyes blazing with an angry fire as his gaze shot up to her. “How dare you insult His Majesty so flippantly!”

“I can think what I want,” the woman responded defensively.

“It’s one thing to think it,” the king’s advisor stated, “it’s completely different when you speak such treasonous words!”

“How can you support him after all that’s happened? Your people have been targeted, von Christ,” Marlena cut in. “Your citizens have been savagely murdered. No doubt they’ve done the same in Merton as they did in Fane. How can you still aid a king who cares naught for the people you serve?!”

“You know nothing of what His Majesty cares about!” Günter continued in a raised voice, defending the king even now, making it obvious that the lavender haired man still believed in him, despite the tactics he and Gwendal were using to succeed in having a Declaration signed. “He thinks of the people more than you ever have or will! Do not speak so lightly of his devotions!”

“Then why is this still happening?!” Auberon forcefully asked. “Why are we continuously being attacked?”

“That has nothing to do with the king!” Mikhail joined in, defending Yuuri as well. “Instead of attempting to place any sort of blame on him, you should be more concerned about the identity of our newest enemy, as well as their current whereabouts!”

Odell turned to Yozak, his well aged face pulled down as he frowned, the stern set of his features causing him to look even older than he was. “Was there no new information that could be provided to us?”

The orange haired man shook his head slowly, a disappointed look entering his bright eyes. “Nothing different from what the boy could tell us. They wore black, and it seems as if they are far more skilled than our militiamen. They’re trained soldiers, that much we know.”

“He couldn’t further describe their uniforms, or the flags they carried?” Stoffel wondered, though few of them thought it would be so simple to discover their identity, not when they’d had so little luck in the last week.

“They carried no flags,” GegenHuber answered him, having been helping Yozak in his search. “And we know of no countries with black uniforms.”

“Then they’re concealing their identity,” Julius stated the obvious.

“We’ve got men searching around Merton and Fane, and still we’ve found nothing,” Yozak said. “Whoever these people are, they’re skilled at hiding their tracks. There isn’t any sign that they’ve been through the forest in recent weeks, nor were we able to gather any information in the nearby villages. No one’s seen anything. As of now, we’ve run into a dead end.”

“Merton is also along the Garonne River, just as Fane was. They could have followed it and escaped by sea,” Wolfgang observed, knowing the lands by the sea better than anyone currently in the room.

“Wouldn’t we have noticed their ship?” Stoffel inquired, appearing doubtful.

“Perhaps they boarded one of our own,” Marlena replied, crossing her arms under her bosom. “They may have used a passenger liner or merchant’s vessel.”

“Their numbers would have been too great to utilize such things without rousing suspicion,” Mikhail pointed out, remaining at his place by the window, though his gaze was no longer looking upon the world outside, but on those who shared the room with him.

“How many men do we suspect carried out the attack?” Odell voiced another question.

“It’s difficult to say,” Yozak answered him. “Our only living witness doesn’t have a clear recollection.” His gaze strayed to Gwendal at this statement, a pointed look that clearly stated he knew there could be more information if only the older man would allow them to further question the boy. “It could have been as many as a hundred, or half that depending on the level of their skill.” He paused, allowing a short moment of silence to pass. “It could have been as little as twenty.”

Auberon scoffed in his usual fashion. “You expect me to believe twenty men were enough to massacre a village the size of Merton, or the size of Fane for that matter?”

“It’s entirely possible,” Julius said. “Both villages were surrounded by natural barriers - the oceans, forests, and rivers - but that does not mean it is impossible for intruders to make their way in. We had no soldiers stationed in either village, and the local militias were made up of nothing more than fisherman and farmers. Pitchforks and hoes will not get you far against a soldier who’s spent years perfecting his swordsmanship.”

“What else do we know about this invisible enemy?” Winifred demanded of those with the intelligence, her face pinched in displeasure.

“They spare no one,” Conrart finally spoke up, slightly annoyed that she’d even have to ask when they’d all spoken on this topic more than once in the last seven days. “The soldiers of Shimeron at least have enough compassion to spare the lives of women and children.”

“That, and we know the color of their uniforms,” Yozak added. “The boy could have been mistaken the night of the attack in Fane since it was so dark, but the raid in Merton happened while the sun was out. There was no way our witness could have been mistaken.”

“I know of no country who’s military uniforms are black,” Griselda said, the same observation they’d made more than once already. “Kings and nobility may wear it, but not common soldiers.”

“So unless you expect us to believe a group of human royalty banded together and sacked our villages, the child and the militiaman are both mistaken,” Auberon said dismissively.

“We’ve spoken with the boy more than once,” GegenHuber retorted smoothly. “He’s very adamant that the attackers were wearing black.”

“He was probably terrified,” Winifred suggested. “You can’t expect him to remember anything clearly.”

“The mind of a child is an amazing thing,” His Highness spoke for this first time since this meeting’s commencement, shaking his head at von Yale’s conjecture. “If he claims black was their color, then we have no right to question it.”

“And do you have any idea who would be insane enough to conduct such a heinous act, Your Highness?”

“I don’t,” the Great Sage denied, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

Gwendal didn’t know what had gone on in the King’s chambers before he and Conrart had arrived in the early hours of that fateful morning, but the Sage seemed to have distanced himself from his friend since then, speaking to him even less than Gwendal himself did. Von Voltaire had yet to question the dark haired young bespectacled man about the incident, but he thought it obvious that there was suddenly a rift between His Majesty and His Highness as well. Whatever they’d been discussing, they hadn’t done so civilly, and the end result had put a strain on their friendship.

“Could it have been one of Shimeron’s allies?” Stoffel wondered.

“Possibly,” Hube nodded imperceptibly. “Though we’ve detected little to no activity from them.”

“What about Isidore?” Julius suddenly asked, causing a cold shiver to travel through many of those who had gathered. None of them relished the idea of Lyron joining Belal in his insane objective.

Yozak shook his head quickly, orange bangs shifting over his forehead. “Lyron’s interest in forming an alliance with Belal seems to have died,” he said, though he did not at all sound confident. Just because Lyron refused to join the king of Shimeron did not mean they had no plans to attack on their own. Either way the results would be disastrous. “He’s refused to sign a treaty. So far, they’ve remained a neutral country.”

“They do not need to work alongside Belal to be hostile towards us,” Griselda said. “They are fully capable of acting on their own.”

“But why stoop so low?” Conrart wondered, not thinking Lyron would resort to such things when he had in his possession the greatest military power in the world. “Isidore’s army greatly outnumbers our own, and Lyron knows that. Why would he resort to such tactics if he could very easily gain victory over us.”

“Perhaps he’s toying with us,” Stoffel suggested.

Marlena shot a heavy glare in his direction. “Perhaps we wouldn’t be in this situation now if you hadn’t forced us into war all those years ago,” she muttered under her breath.

Lady Celi heard her either way, her gaze hardening as she speared the other woman with the most intimidating glower she could muster. “If you have something to say, then you should say it so we all can hear you. Otherwise, shut your mouth.”

“Do not try to order me around!” Marlena shouted at the older woman. “You gave up that right when you stepped down! Now you’re nothing more than a powerless twit, whoring yourself out on your so called ‘journey for free love!’ It’s no wonder the author of that note thinks your son is a whore when you’re no better than a common prostitute!”

“How dare you?!”

Rarely had Gwendal ever seen his mother truly angry. She could be annoyed, frustrated, but infrequent were the times when she would raise her voice in fury. A majority of the times she ignored what others said about her, unconcerned about their thoughts and opinions, but she would never stand for anyone insulting her family, especially her three sons. She’d been forced to defend Conrart and her second husband many times over the years. A half human child - or a full human child for that matter - had never been considered a legitimate heir until His Majesty’s adoption of Greta.

Bastard children, also, were not held with the same regard as those born to parents joined by marriage, and although their mother had married Captain von Bielefeld before Wolfram’s birth, the fact that he’d been conceived out of wedlock had never sat right with many of those in the imperial court. He’d been looked down upon for most of his life, especially when his poor behavior had escalated following the revelation of Conrart’s parentage. His tantrums had always been a great source of irritation among the nobility, as many found such inappropriate childishness atrocious, not befitting of a prince.

Gwendal himself had attempted to curb his youngest brother’s foul disposition many times, but all of his efforts had been in vain. He could say that being the youngest child had been the main source of Wolfram’s spoiled nature, but the true answer was the mixture of traits he’d received from both of his parents. Wolfgang von Bielefeld had been known for his hotheadedness in his youth; adding to that the stubbornness that was prominent in many of those of the Spitzweg family would turn out a young man who was exceedingly rash. The ease with which Wolfram fell into his jealousy as well as his desire for attention had also been passed onto him from their mother.

“What right do you have to question my children’s honor?! What I have done in my life has absolutely nothing to do with them!” the previous queen continued to shout, barely held back by one of her brother’s hands on her shoulder. The murderous look on her face was so like one that Wolfram wore that it was almost frightening. The striking resemblance between the two had always been apparent, but no more so than when they expressed the emotions they kept locked away.

Gwendal amused himself for a moment with the thought of his mother breaking free and gouging the hateful woman’s eyes out with her perfectly manicured fingernails, but stopped himself from smirking at the mental image with a reminder that this was no laughing matter. As much as he despised a majority of those among the Ten Aristocrats, allowing themselves to be drawn into an all out fight now of all times would be the least productive thing they could possibly do. The animosity would always be there, he knew that well enough, but now was not the time to act on it.

“That’s enough,” von Voltaire broke in before the argument could escalate further, wondering why he was the one always breaking up the squabbles that occurred when he and the others were gathered together. “Let von Grantz think as she wishes. Her ignorance and lack of respect for the monarchy will not get her very far.”

Cecilie backed down, although her glare did not dissipate, while Marlena continued seething, turning her look of umbrage upon the oldest of the blonde woman’s children. “Ignorance? If there is anyone in this room plagued by ignorance, Lord von Voltaire, then it is you! How can you, von Christ and von Karbelnikoff continue to follow the king after everything that’s happened. Is it not obvious to you that he no longer cares?!”

“We follow the king’s orders because it is our duty to do so,” Mikhail responded in Gwendal’s place.

“It is also our duty to question him when he is at fault,” Winifred countered. “He is not a god, and although he possesses many of the Original King’s powers, he is as imperfect as the rest of us.”

“You’re right about that,” the Great Sage spoke up again, attracting the attention of all the others, many of whom held higher respect for him at this point in time than they did for the king. They felt as if they could reason with him better, that he would be more likely to listen to their concerns and attempt to do something about it instead of simply listening and making promises that were beginning to seem empty. The Sage was a source of comfort to them, perhaps the only person who could convince the king and prince of the necessity of warfare.

“However,” the younger man went on, dark eyes slightly narrowed behind wire rimmed glasses, “Your unwillingness to serve the king could potentially lead our people into a rebellion. That is something we do not currently need to deal with. You should be focusing your attention on that which is most important, and right now that’s discovering who launched these two attacks.”

“Why don’t you speak with the boy,” Auberon wondered. “Surely you would succeed where the rest of us have failed.”

“Shibuya will not be easily convinced. I have spoken with him and Prince von Bielefeld already. Neither of them are willing to sign a Declaration.”

“Fools!” Lady von Yale scoffed. “The both of them! How do they expect us to accomplish anything when they continue to resist. If anything is going to start a rebellion it will be their resistance. Surely you’ve all heard the people ranting at the palace gates. It will only be a matter of time before it escalates into a riot.”

She was correct to state that, and though Gwendal agreed with her in that respect, there was still nothing any of them could do to force the king or prince to sign the documentation until the right moment. His Majesty being away as he currently was presented them with a wonderful opportunity, but the fact that Wolfram had not joined them in the study, as well as the presence of Conrart, their mother, and Captain von Bielefeld gave them very little chance of doing anything without starting another huge argument. They would have to bide their time, do what they could now and wait for another chance.

Gwendal could only hope it would be soon. Once all this bickering was over and they could finally do something productive about their present problem, then things would be solved relatively quickly. It was His Majesty’s hesitance that was prolonging the madness, that was putting their people in so much unnecessary danger. Once they were passed that, there would be nothing to hinder them further.

“I want you to return to the scene of the attack,” Lord von Voltaire said, turning sapphire eyes to Yozak and GegenHuber, the pair of them nodding their heads in acceptance. “Spread out the search party,” he ordered, “and follow the river. Perhaps Captain von Bielefeld was right about them using it as a guide to the coast.”

The navy captain stepped foreword at that, his pale blue-green eyes staring levelly at the oldest of his two step-sons. “I will depart tomorrow and rejoin my men. We will set sail and begin searching the waters for any alien vessels.”

“That would be wise,” Gwendal agreed.

Griselda and the other two Lady Aristocrats simply glared further, their displeasure more than apparent. “How long will you allow this to continue?” von Hassel asked, the look of fury neither leaving her face nor lessening in the least. “What will it take before you finally do more than what the king will allow?”

“There is nothing more we can do,” Günter put in, “not until we discover our enemy’s identity. If we went to war now, who would you have us attack? We cannot blame the innocent, not unless we want to anger them and increase the number of countries we have rising against us.”

“Put more pressure on Shimeron,” Auberon suggested. “Surely they know who is responsible.”

“They wouldn’t tell us even if they did know,” the Great Sage told them all, his youthful looks often causing them all to overlook the vast amounts of knowledge his many previous lives had provided him with. “Right now, this is all we can do.”

It was a sobering thought, considering they had close to nothing to go on. But none of them could argue the fact that he was correct. The room fell eerily silent then, with the only sound being the strong gusts of early autumn wind that blew outside, chilling the world around them. It was a world that had suddenly been thrown into darkness. After so many years of peace following the previous war, after all that His Majesty had done to bring happiness into the lives of their citizens, there was nothing they could do now but watch as all of their efforts began to crumble down around them.

* * *

“I’m worried.”

Cecilie von Spitzweg sat demurely upon a cushioned arm chair within the sitting room that connected to her bed chambers, stacks of old, crumbled and slightly musty documents spread out across the low table that rested by her knees. Not much time had passed since the most recent of the many meetings that had taken place in His Majesty’s study, and once it had completed she’d felt the desire to seclude herself away from the others, at least until she was able to replace her cheerful mask. The most recent events that had been taking place in the kingdom had made it difficult to do so, leading her to spend many hours without the presence of others.

That wasn’t to say she was alone, for even when she felt the need to hide away, she disliked being completely by herself. Wolfgang stood off to the side, though it was difficult to say if he was even paying attention to her, his concentration seemingly focused elsewhere. His scarred face remained as blank as always, but by the look in his pale blue-green eyes she could tell that he was in deep thought, his lips turned down in a severe frown. He had not spoken much with her since the beginning of the hostilities with the humans, but the former queen knew that her former king was just as concerned as she was about the current affairs.

The raid in Fane - and the most recent one in Merton - frightened her, for more reasons than the fact that they knew not the identity of their attackers. The destruction they’d experienced was oddly reminiscent of certain incidents that had occurred in their country’s past, when relations with the human nations had been no where near as pleasant as they were now. The mazoku, as proud and strong as they were, were not without faults, and had been known in times before to engage in certain tactics that were not always considered ethical. They could be just as corrupt as the people they’d fought against for so many years, and had once - long ago - been compared to Shimeron in the vile manner in which they had conducted themselves.

Cecilie’s own father had been a great warrior, and had often recounted the battles in which he had fought during the dinner parties he’d hosted to entertain his friends. As a child she’d been held captivated by his many tales, some of which had amused her, and others that had frightened her enough to make her wonder what kind of man her father had truly been. In her years as queen, it had been these memories that had caused her to strive for peace, what had sparked her hatred for warfare and bloodshed. But even then she’d been unable to stop the inevitable - and she knew their current monarch would be just as inept, no matter the amount of compassion he possessed.

“You should tell them,” Wolfgang spoke quietly, his cool, solemn voice breaking the blonde woman out of her thoughts.

She looked up at him in surprise, but did not pretend to be ignorant of what he was referring to. He knew her too well to be unable to know what she was thinking, or what caused her such worry. “I may be wrong,” she replied, hopeful still. “I was sure someone else would have mentioned it by now. I could be mistaken. You know I’ve never been very knowledgeable about politics and warfare.”

“The similarities are too striking for it to be mere coincidence,” the navy captain pointed out. Apparently he did not doubt her suspicions as much as she herself did.

Lady Celi averted her green eyes down to the papers splayed before her, knowing deep down that he was right. Gwendal and Conrart, and others of their age may not have noticed the likeness of the recent attacks to some the mazoku themselves had conducted before even she had been born, but it surprised her that none of the older Aristocrats had made the connection yet. It wasn’t as if such things had been omitted from their history books or kept from their knowledge. They were all aware of the shortcomings of their ancestors.

There had been many wars in their country’s history. The kingdom itself had been founded after the great war with The Sovereign over four thousand years ago, and they’d continued to fight major military battles since then - some that they’d irrevocably lost, and others in which they’d gained victory. Even now they had many enemies, human kings and queens who mistrusted them because of their great powers and inhuman life spans, rulers who wanted to vanquish those they thought were capable of standing in the way of their endeavors. Shin Makoku had had to defend herself many times since the year of her birth, and had suffered many losses because of it.

But though the mazoku had been attacked more times than they had done the attacking, it did not mean they were free from blame or guilt. The previous Lord von Spitzweg had told her many times - most often while he’d been in a drunken stupor - of raids their people had conducted upon the humans. They’d been ruthless and vengeful, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people, more than they could ever hope to account for and record correctly. Even in the war with Shimeron that had taken place twenty-four years ago, some of their men had taken to ravaging human villages along the borders - both abroad and within their own country - setting them on fire and massacring their citizens.

Maybe back then they hadn’t been nearly as vicious, but the attacks on Fane and Merton were almost direct copies of assaults the mazoku had conducted on their enemies before. Her own childhood had been filled with trying years consisting of battle after battle, and the destruction that had taken place had been like nothing anyone had experienced since. Disaster after disaster had befallen many a kingdom, to the point where they’d been left crippled practically beyond repair. Shimeron had split into it’s Greater and Lesser entities back then, and Franshire - once a strong, proud kingdom - had become the weak, defenseless, dependant one it was today.

“At least inform His Majesty,” Wolfgang told her after a long moment of silence. “He has a right to know.”

“Oh, Wolf, I couldn’t do that!” she bemoaned, thinking of the poor, distressed boy. She felt sorry for him, knew all too well what it was like being forced into these sorts of decisions, the frustrations and pressures it brought that were almost overpowering. “He’s already got so many other things to worry about at the moment. He’s upset enough as it is. I couldn’t… I couldn’t put more unnecessary pressure on him.”

“Then speak with Wolfram.”

Green eyes rose up to meet his level gaze, her pale face contorting in grief as she shook her head.

Just thinking of her youngest son caused her heart to tighten painfully. For years now she’d alternately supported his engagement to His Majesty and wished with everything in her for it to end. She’d been both surprised and excited upon the night of the new king’s proposal, having known that the boy had had no idea as to what he’d done (or gotten himself in to), but happy for her youngest child, almost relieved. He’d spent so much of his life struggling to catch up with everyone else, to prove himself to those who looked down on him, that she’d been comforted with the idea of their betrothal.

At least with His Majesty he would be provided for. Neither she nor Wolfgang could do much in the way of accommodating his wants and needs, for both she and her former husband were second children, and had been left with very little money. Wolfgang had lost most of what he’d gained over the years through his own struggles, and she herself had made the error of flagrant spending, so that she was left dependant on her older brother after stepping down from the throne. That had left her two youngest children with very little to live off of. Conrart had been lucky that his own father had earned enough in his life for his son to live comfortably; Wolfram hadn’t been as fortunate.

Before the young boy-king had come along, Wolfram had been under the primary care of his oldest brother - Cecilie had had very little to do with his upbringing once he’d begun his sword and majutsu training, and had counted upon her oldest to take care of him. The only money Wolfram had ever received had come in the form of a monthly stipend from Gwendal in return for his servitude, though even if the blond boy hadn’t done anything in the way of patrols and guard duty, Celi doubted her eldest son would have left him to fend for himself. Giving Wolfram small missions to go on had been his way of disguising what he’d given in pity - and indeed love - by allowing the younger boy to believe that he was working for his allowances.

Because he was the youngest of the von Bielefelds, and because he had been conceived out of wedlock, Wolfram’s rank had been barely above that of a common soldier’s. He had had little authority, and was forced to live with the humiliation of taking orders from those who had once taken his when Cecilie had been the queen. The level of respect he’d received had been appalling - even now there were many who constantly put him down - and his future had been bleak. There had truly been nothing for him, and for a long time Celi had wondered if he’d spend the rest of his life under the care, protection, and dependency of his older brothers.

His engagement to His Majesty, then - however much of an accident it had been - had been a bit of a relief to her. She knew Wolfram had at first felt threatened by the boy who had come from another world to assume the throne, worried about what would become of him should he fall from the king’s favor. The stress he’d experienced and the worries he’d had had all been for naught, however, and though the king had been reluctant to acknowledge the engagement, the mere fact that he now had some sort of a future to look forward to had thrilled her little boy - and her as well. The only thing she’d ever wanted above everything else in the world was not her own happiness, but the happiness of her three sons.

Her oldest had never been happy. Gwendal was content with his role in life, found a small bit of comfort in all the did for the kingdom, but there had been little joy, if any at all. The responsibilities she’d never been capable of facing had been placed upon his shoulders as soon as he’d come of age, and though he’d taken to such things very well and was more adept as solving the problems that faced the kingdom than she was, it had forced him to grow up much too quickly. His childhood had been filled with lessons in etiquette, history, penmanship, and arithmetic, his adolescence with sword and majutsu training, and his adulthood with the duties he’d since turned into his primary focus.

Gwendal had been born into this world frowning, and she feared he would leave it without ever showing anyone a true smile. There were small ones, occasionally, that managed to slip passed his emotionless mask, but they remained incomplete, false smiles that held very little meaning. Rarely had she heard him laugh, and when he did it was nothing more than a bitter chuckle. His relationships with people were not close ones, and though it was often obvious how much he cared for others - despite his attempts to hide his feelings - rarely did he act upon his attachments. His work came first, making any possibility of him settling down and starting a family as bleak as a snow covered winter plain.

Conrart, at least, had found happiness in his younger years, and out of all of her children, the brunet had probably had the easiest time growing up. Even when his father had left them, Conrart had remained smiling and optimistic, spending almost half of each year with his father on a variety of journeys and adventures, and then the rest of the year at the palace with her, catching up on the studies he’d missed while he was away. When his father had died before ever really saying goodbye to him, Conrart had been old enough to understand the differences between a human’s lifespan and that of a mazoku’s, and had most likely prepared himself for the inevitability of his father’s passing.

He’d been faced with constant insults from those of pure mazoku blood, and had been made to feel bad about his human heritage - though Conrart had never been spiteful over his mixed blood. He was proud to be half-human, just as he was proud to be half-mazoku, and had spent a majority of his later years defending others like him, forming a special unit in the military where other half-bloods could hone their skills and fight for the country in which they lived, the country they gave their loyalties to. Over the course of his life, he’d learned that there were many more like him than others would suspects, and he’d been drawn to them, his brothers in arms.

It wasn’t until much later in life that his happiness had been taken away. Suzannah Julia’s death had been his downfall, his loss of faith, hope, and cheer. She’d been one of his closest friends - there was no one else he’d felt more comfortable around, besides Yozak - and he’d taken her passing harder than he ever had that of his father’s. Cecilie had often wondered over their relationship, and though she’d been happy that at least one of her sons was responding to the care of a woman, she hadn’t wanted them to grow too close, lest there be some animosity between her second son and Julia’s fiancé, Adalbert - the once General von Grantz. Both men had taken her tragic death hard; Conrart had been stuck within his grief for years, and was only now beginning to pull himself out of it.

Wolfram, like his oldest sibling, had never been happy, nor had he been given much of a chance to find happiness for himself, since it seemed as if it was pulled away from him every time he tried. As a child he’d been content, but then most children were often locked in their innocence, too busy with toys and games to care much about what was happening in the world around them. As he had grown, Wolfram’s boyhood years had led him into a painful adolescence, filled with mistrust and the hardships of warfare; his innocence had been violently stripped away from him in such a short period of time, whereas most people slowly gave it up on their own. The blond boy had had very little control over his life and his fate, and had simply followed whatever path he thought would lead him to achieve respect and honor.

In recent years, he’d been able to find certain things - people mostly - to ease him slowly back into the contentment he’d had before. The engagement between he and His Majesty had always been rocky at best, and even now there was still the absence of closure. Even so, his friendship with the boy-king had brought him a sense of comfort, a safe haven from the world and it’s troubles. He’d never had to prove himself to His Majesty, nor had he ever been faced with the double black’s resentment or disappointment. He’d found an equal in the king, someone he could look up to without feeling inferior, and someone who looked up to him at the same time, someone who needed him for who and what he was. The acquisition of a daughter had also given him a bit of peace, as he was able to focus on raising her into a well-mannered princess when His Majesty’s attentions were lacking.

However, now that the engagement had been consummated with the recent marriage, her youngest was beginning to fall back into a life of melancholy. Regardless of what became of the betrothal, he would never be completely satisfied until his affections were returned. As of now, that seemed unlikely to happen any time soon. His Majesty seemed both frantic to force him away and desperate to keep him close. Wolfram was constantly being pulled back and forth, his emotions toyed with and inevitably crushed, his future looking as bleak as it had before the dark haired boy came.

And now he was stuck with the duties of a prince. Never had she wished these sorts of responsibilities onto him. Her older two boys had already been plagued by their duties; she’d hoped that at least her youngest would be able to escape from all of that, to do what he wished with his life without the constant worry of failure. Though it was common for boys of Wolfram’s rank to enlist in he army when they came of age, she’d prayed with all of her heart that at least one of her children would not be relegated to that sort of life. Watching Gwendal and Conrart head off to war twenty-four years ago had been painful enough; seeing her youngest off would be even worse.

No parent should ever have to bury one of their children - and that was her greatest fear, that one of her three sons would die before she met her own end. It had already happened once before, and though Wolfram’s heart had been given back to him, the time between the moment he’d had it taken away and the moment it had been returned had seemed like an eternity. It had been the worse twenty-four hours of her entire life. She would have given anything to see him open his eyes again, to have him push her away and shout at her for smothering him.

“I couldn’t tell him either,” Lady Celi shook her head at Wolfgang’s suggestion. “His situation is already bad enough; I don’t want to make it any worse for him.”

The navy captain appeared as if he were about to argue with her, but the former queen was quick to cut him off. “He’s not happy, Wolfgang. You know that,” she pointed out sadly.

“Marrying His Majesty was his choice,” her ex-husband told her, shaking his head almost imperceptivity, meeting her with a level blue-green gaze. As much as there sounded as if there were no compassion in his voice, Cecilie knew better than to think Wolfgang did not care for his son. There was not a soul in this world he cared for more.

“Was it?” she asked him, looking up at him sorrowfully. “Was it really, Wolf? What other choice did he have? If he had decided against it, what kind of life would he have had? If he’d broken it off years ago, where would he be right now?”

She knew exactly where he’d be: out on the front lines, trying to regain his honor in the only way he knew how.

“Sometimes I look at him, and he frightens me,” she admitted, averting her green eyes so she was once again staring at the many documents spread out before her. “I stare into his eyes, and I see so much of myself. I don’t want him to end up like me, Wolf! He tries to be so strong, but no matter what he does…” she trailed off, one of her slender hands coming up to nervously play with the necklace that encircled her throat. “I can’t sit here and watch as he falls apart! I can’t!”

“You can’t protect him from everything, Cecilie,” Wolfgang warned her seriously. “He’ll never completely grow up until you stop trying to shield him.”

“It’s always been so hard with him. Gwendal and Conrart… it was so easy to let them go, because I knew they’d be alright without me. I never had to worry about what would become of them; somehow I always knew that they’d make it just fine. But Wolfram…”

“He’s no less capable than his brothers are.”

“I know that!” she exclaimed, slowly becoming exasperated. She couldn’t tell which worried her more at the moment: the stability of the country, or the fate of her youngest son. “I know that more than anyone! I’ve always believed in him!” she cried passionately, feeling a few stray tears gather into her eyes. “But I keep thinking… I’m so afraid for him. I’ve already lost him once before. I couldn’t go through that again.”

“You won’t have to,” Wolfgang stated, and she knew he was trying to reassure her, though to others his words would have seemed like nothing more than a casual statement.

“You don’t know that! You weren’t here three years ago when the boxes were opened! You didn’t have to deal with the pain of knowing that each of your sons had been created merely to be used as keys! They were nothing more than pawns, Wolfgang, and it took me over a century and a half to realize it! By then it was too late! By then all I could do was watch them drift away from me, and pray to Shinou or whatever god was listening that they’d come back to me!”

There was a long moment of silence before the dirty blond haired man replied to her, as if the captain were trying to come up with something to say in response. “I may not have been here,” he slowly agreed, taking a few sedated steps towards her, his voice low but unthreatening, “but you know more than anyone that I know what it’s like to lose a child, Cecilie.”

Immediately the former queen felt guilty. In her own grief and worry she’d neglected to take the one-armed man’s feelings into account when expressing her most troubling thoughts. Out of the four children Wolfgang had conceived, Wolfram was all he had left. The three daughters he’d had with his first wife had died in the previous war - one from illness, one in childbirth, and his youngest girl had been murdered by the traitors that had swept through their kingdom, savagely killing anyone who stood in their way. For years, after the trial that had occurred following the incident in Bastille, Wolfgang had secluded himself away from the world, perhaps lost in the grief that had fallen over him those two decades ago.

“There must be a traitor among us,” he said then, and though it seemed as if he’d drastically changed the course of their discussion, she knew it was all interconnected - the battles that had taken place throughout their country’s history, the war with Shimeron nearly a quarter of a century ago, the massacre in Bastille, and the destruction of both Fane and Merton were all interconnected, and the both of them knew it. Each would inevitably have an affect on their son’s life. “You are obligated to inform His Majesty of every one of your suspicions,” he continued. “For the sake of our son, Cecilie, at least bring it up amongst the Aristocrats. There’s only so much we can do right now. If we were to find the traitor…”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” she wondered, staring up at him with desperation in her green eyes. “We have very little to base our suspicions on. If I brought it up with the Aristocrats it would only lead to more unnecessary chaos; they’d start pointing fingers at one another instead of broadening their search. And your brother…” Lady Cecilie stopped, her sentence trailing off as she thought of her former brother-in-law. “He… he has something against Wolfram…” she began again, somewhat timidly, concerned about how Wolfgang would react to her suspicions.

“You can’t possibly think he’d betray us,” Captain von Bielefeld replied, slowly shaking his head. “He’s not so ignorant as to believe that he could get away with something like that. He doesn’t care for Wolfram, it’s true. He never has, but he depends on His Majesty’s support. The Territory of Bielefeld cannot afford to turn against the crown. We have enough enemies in the world.”

Celi said nothing to respond to that, knowing that what he said held true. Though there were a few exceptions, most of the territories depended heavily upon the monarchy, to the point where they would be unable to function as independent states. It had not always been that way, but with so many wars taking place in such a short span of time, and the constant shift in power had depleted a lot of the country’s income. Shinou’s recent passing had also caused major issues to arise in how the country was governed; laws that had stood for the past four millennia had to be rewritten in order to accommodate their changing nation, and the country had been forced to adapt to life without Shinou’s presence.

More than that, Bielefeld had made it’s own set of adversaries in the world, mainly after Auberon had been voted in as their representative. The man had a habit of making enemies with nearly everyone he came in contact with, his arrogance and caustic attitude making it difficult for him to get along with even the most patient of people. She could tell by watching the expressions that crossed His Majesty’s face that even the kind hearted boy-king - as caring and compassionate as he was - could not stand to be in Auberon’s presence for very long. It was truly remarkable, the way Lord von Bielefeld could turn a person against him after only a few moments. Then again, first impressions were the most important, and Auberon had a way of making a negative one.

Wolfgang, also, had come across many foes over his time in the military, and since he’d become Captain and begun manning his own ship, the number of those hostile towards him had only grown. Most of them were nothing more than petty pirates and mercenaries who’d happened to cross his path, finding themselves housed within a brig or jail cell and awaiting trial. There were others, however, with more power and authority than a few vindictive criminals, Admirals and Captains of human countries who were relentless in their pursuit of revenge against a man who had cost them dearly in previous naval battles.

Over the course of her friendship with the scarred man, Celi could remember a great many threats coming in from those who felt they’d been wronged, and though the former queen had always found such things frightening, Wolfgang had taken them in stride, hardly caring for the danger to his life. It was only after his three daughters had been born, and more so with the birth of his son, that Captain von Bielefeld had begun taking those threats seriously, doing everything in his power to protect his children, even if that meant leaving them and repudiating his role in their lives. She knew he regretted it, but it had truly been the only way to make sure his family was kept safe.

“I don’t think it’s Auberon who’s turned traitor,” she eventually told him, again fiddling with her jewelry. “I simply meant that to even suggest that someone had betrayed us would throw the Aristocrats into a frenzy. You know how they’d react, what they’d do. They’d shout at His Majesty and Wolfram more than they already are, even blame them for the betrayal. I can’t force that sort of pressure onto them. They’re too young.”

“Celi,” Wolfgang began reproachfully, moving to stand closer to her, but making no move to reach out to her. “His Majesty has been an adult for three years, Wolfram for nearly six. They’re perfectly capable-”

“I was much older when I was named queen,” the blonde haired woman pointed out, “and I still had problems governing, and not all of those troubles were due to my inability to handle political situations.”

“You doubt your own son?” he questioned her despite all her previous denials, his voice dull and even.

“No!” Cecilie exclaimed, pushing herself up from the couch, the quick motion causing a few pieces of parchment to fall from the low table and flutter to the floor. “I doubt the people who serve him, and I fear for his safety! He’s in danger, Wolfgang, he and His Majesty both! I can feel it!” She turned towards him, moving so her hands could grip onto his navy colored jacket. “Can’t you do something? Can’t you order a private investigation? Find the traitor, but keep the Aristocrats out of it.”

“Gwendal will not like it,” the captain replied, voice still neutral, containing very little emotion, if any at all. “He’d want to know what you have planned. No doubt he already has suspicions of his own.”

“This is for you son, Wolfgang. Do it for Wolfram.”

He may not have been a very big part of the young prince’s life - and Wolfram may not appreciate or even be aware of his father’s concern - but Lady Celi knew the slightly younger Captain would do anything he possibly could if it meant protecting his only son, the only child he had left. Her former husband had left after Wolfram’s infancy, when the boy had been little more than a toddler, but he’d paid a few visits over his youth, and though those visits had stopped after the trial twenty years ago he’d still expressed great concern for him in the letters he’d occasionally sent to the queen. Wolfgang would do anything for the boy… even kill for him.

“I can spare a few men,” he finally relented, releasing a light sigh as he momentarily shut his turquoise eyes, opening them again to spare a look at the relieved expression that had crossed her face. He’d never been able to resist her pleas. “I’ll keep the investigation quiet,” he added, but stopped her from becoming overly excited. “That doesn’t mean we’ll keep this between ourselves forever. You must at least tell Gwendal and Conrart. They’d be more adept at dealing with this than I would, anyway.”

“Yes, I’ll tell them,” she reassured him quickly, pulling away and averting her gaze so he couldn’t see the look in her eyes. “Eventually,” she said, slowly returning to her seat on the cushioned sofa, riffling through the various papers before her and retrieving the ones that had fallen.

“Cecilie,” Wolfgang tried to regain her attention, but he was met by stubborn resistance.

“I’ll tell them eventually,” the previous demon queen repeated. “I don’t want to worry them now when they’ve got so many other things hampering their attention. I’ll wait until things settle down a little.”

She knew Captain von Bielefeld wished to say more, perhaps continue to try and convince her that she was going about all of this the wrong way, and though she had doubts of her own concerning this little plan they’d devised, she’d convinced herself that this was the best way to go about things at the moment. Gwendal was so focused on finding the ones who’d destroyed Fane and Merton that any more stress added on to all of that would no doubt prove to be too much for the loyal Chief of State, and Conrart’s main concern had always been His Majesty. It was better to let them continue as they were, and do what she could from behind the scenes.

Perhaps it was unnecessary, and perhaps it was over protective of her to do such things; she didn’t care. Her first priority was to make her youngest son’s life as easy as possible. There was no need for him to worry about things of this nature, not when he was already having so many problems with His Majesty. Let the boys work things out between themselves before placing these sort of hard decisions and heavy responsibilities onto their shoulders. For now she would take care of that for them, and at the same time hopefully make up for the mistakes she’d made twenty-four years ago.

* * *

Captain Conrart Weller walked solemnly through the near silent, desolate halls of Blood Pledge Castle. He had no true destination in mind, and though he was curious about a certain someone’s whereabouts, the plethora of thoughts currently taking up residence in his mind kept him from actively seeking the young man out.

He’d just come from His Majesty’s office, having spent a good portion of the day with His Highness, Gwendal, Günter and the rest of the Aristocrats, formulating plans and readying a troop of soldiers for departure, as well as writing up dispatches to be sent to those still patrolling the area around Fane. His day had been filled with the tedious pre-war duties he’d not had to deal with since the last war, looking over maps and defense reports with Gwendal, discussing the state of their military units with General von Mannheim, and helping Günter with his research on the human kingdoms, all the while hoping to discover the identity of their attackers.

After such a long period of peace and stability within the kingdom, it took a while to readapt when things began to turn sour, though Conrart had not been foolish enough to believe that peace would last forever. For the past two decades, ever since he’d returned from guiding His Majesty’s soul to Earth, he’d spent a majority of his days training the soldiers, recruiting young men who’d come of age in an effort to rebuild an army that had nearly been crushed in the previous war with Shimeron. Occasionally he’d gone out to settle small disputes within their villages or skirmishes along the borders, but the work then had not been as stressful as it was becoming now. Although the main cause of their present frustrations had more to do with who their enemy was rather than what they could do to stop them.

Yozak and Lord Griesela had just left to begin scouting the towns and countryside for information again, and Captain von Bielefeld was preparing for his own departure at that very moment. The rest of the Aristocrats had gone off on their own, unable to bear another second in one another’s presence - save for Gwendal, who remained in the king’s study, and Günter, who continued his research in the library with the Great Sage serving as an assistant. The lull in activity gave the brown haired captain ample opportunity to see if their monarch had returned from Earth.

He’d seen the boy off this morning, the sudden turmoil that had befallen the kingdom making it a bit unsafe for the Shibuya family to be present any longer than necessary, and so His Majesty had made the wise decision to return them to their home on the other world. He’d promised to returned before the day ended, but Conrart had not seen him since then and - more than that - he was sincerely worried about the younger male.

The double black had not been acting like himself recently, and with the sudden turn in national conditions, the king’s entire attitude had changed drastically. Gone were the wide smiles and joyous laughter, replaced now by long, sorrowful looks and heavy signs. It made Conrart a bit apprehensive, and though he’d tried to speak with the king about the recent tragedies, he hadn’t been able to say much before Yuuri had requested to be left to his solitude and the brunet had not dared to say more, lest he upset the raven haired young man further.

Conrart could not say he was exceptionally pleased with how things had been going as of late, and though he understood the king’s feels and felt sympathetic towards his plight, he also could not help feeling a twinge of disappointment. He knew this was not easy for their boy-king to handle - even after spending four years on the throne, Yuuri had not completely adapted to the ways of this world, and the ideals he’d brought with him from Earth had placed him into a rather compromising position. Still, he’d hoped that along with the physical growth he’d undergone, Yuuri would come to mature enough to see that peace - though ideal - was not always as easy to achieve as speaking with dignitaries and signing treaties.

The captain himself could not claim to fancy warfare, although, at the same time, he could not deny it’s possibility, nor could he oppose it. There was only so much he could allow to take place before he too was left itching to wield his sword. He’d fought in a great many battles over the course of his long life - some that had been relevant to ensure their country’s survival, and others that had been immoral and unconnected to any dire need for protection. There was more blood and his hands that he would ever admit to his youthful charge, and he’d slain more people than Yuuri’s innocent mind could even comprehend.

Yet he still held hope deep within his heart, and it had been the nineteen year old who had instilled it within him. Yuuri had come a long way from the adolescent - almost child - he’d been when he’d first arrived, and though there were still many instances where he needed the help provided to him by his retainers, he’d grown more independent, and could now make kingly decisions without much prodding or provocation. It was only in instances such as these where he continued to balk, stubbornly refusing to give up on the last bit of his Earthen principles.

Conrart feared that would be his undoing.

Turning into the hallway where the rooms of the Royal Family were contained, the hazel eyed man made his way to His Majesty’s chambers, hoping the find that the boy had indeed returned while he’d been kept busy, intent on speaking with him before any of the others could inform him of the latest bit of distressful news. He was slightly dismayed to see the door opened, a further inspection leading him to discover the maids cleaning the large room, dusting and polishing the wood and redressing the bed. The king was no where to be seen.

Frowning, Conrart began his search again, another partially opened door some distance away attracting his attention before he could go too far. The door leading to His Majesty’s private bath stood slightly ajar, wisps as steam filtering out into the hallway. Instantly the kings guardian was heading towards it, pushing it open further to peer in, gazing through the mist in order toe rest his sights on the warm pool of water. No one sat bathing within it’s depths, nor was the serene surface disrupted in any way, devoid of the rippling and swirling that usually accompanied His Majesty’s transportations.

The room was not without occupants, however, as Conrart discovered the moment he allowed himself to walk further in. Seated on the floor against one of the walls was his youngest brother, fully clothed and not appearing at all bothered by the noticeably warmer temperature in the private bath, though his hair hung limply about his face, a few stray strands sticking to his fair skin. He sat with his knees bent, arms wrapped loosely around him, as his head leaned back into the stone wall behind him. His eyes were closed, though Conrart knew the younger boy was not sleeping.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting here all day,” he said, watching with only the slightest bit of amusement as the blond jumped in surprise, obviously having not heard the older man make is entrance. Green eyes fluttered open to glare up at him, and Conrart met the look with a small smile.

“It’s none of your business,” Wolfram snapped at him, clearly not appreciating his presence, though he made no move to leave his current location, turning away to focus his glare on the tranquil water.

“His Majesty hasn’t returned then?” he inquired, though he knew it was really a stupid question to ask. He merely voiced it as a way to keep Wolfram engaged in conversation, intent on speaking with him regardless of whether the prince would rather be left alone or not.

“Do you think I’d be here if he had?”

Conrart released a light chuckle, taking a few steps in order to stand beside the seated royal. “He said he’d return before night fell. It’s not even sunset, Wolfram. It could still be a while yet before he arrives.”

“Does it look like I care?’ the prince muttered, tightening his arms’ embrace of his legs a fraction. “I don’t want the Aristocrats to start hounding him the moment he gets here,” he admitted quietly. Though he hadn’t been present at this morning’s meeting, it appeared as if he were more than aware of the event. Either their mother had chosen to discuss it with him, or the Aristocrats had taken out their anger towards the king on the dark haired boy’s spouse.

“You’re very devoted,” Conrart observed, his smile widening. It relieved him to see that, despite the distance that still existed between the prince and their king, Wolfram was doing everything he could to stay close to the other young man, and hold to the promises he’d made the night of their wedding. Conrart had honestly been afraid for the two of them, and had wondered if forcing them closer would have done nothing more than push them further apart. “But all of this has been very hard on you as well.”

Since the night of the first vicious attack, Wolfram had been by Yuuri’s side night and day, hardly leaving the boy to himself. Yuuri, for his part, had been going through periods of shouting at the blond to leave him alone and actively seeking out his companionship. Though Wolfram would never openly confess to such a thing, Conrart knew it hurt his brother to be constantly pulled back and forth, their relationship stuck in limbo for however long Yuuri continued to give into his fears and denials.

“I can handle it,” the blond boy responded harshly, a sign that this topic of conversation was not up for discussion. Sometimes the prince was too stubborn for his own good; rarely did he accept support or concern when he needed it most.

That wasn’t to say Conrart didn’t believe in his younger brother, for truthfully he trusted him a great deal and put a large amount of faith in him. It wasn’t exactly proper for a betrothed couple to share a room until after they were married, but having Wolfram with the king had made the brown haired man less worried about the dark haired boy’s safety. Wolfram could protect the king when the others were not present, and though certain enemies may be stronger than the fair haired noble, he’d at least be able to hold them off long enough for the rest of His Majesty’s aids and guards to arrive.

The emotional support Wolfram provided the nineteen year old with also brought a great sense of relief to the hazel eyed captain. Four years ago Yuuri had been willing to tell Conrart anything - when the king had had a problem that needed to be resolved or a question that needed a quick answer rather than Gunter’s long explanations and historical speeches, it had been Conrart that the king had sought. In recent years, however, Yuuri had become less inclined to do so, keeping things to himself a lot more than he used to. Conrart had tried numerous times to get the Japanese boy to open up more, but many of his efforts had failed.

In those instances, Wolfram had occasionally succeeded where he could not. The relationship he shared with the king was a special one, and although his common practices were often seen as improper among a majority of the other nobles - insulting the king to his face, openly yelling at him, making demands that were not of his station, and numerous other occurrences - Conrart knew that Yuuri needed that from the other young man. In his own way, Wolfram was trying his best to reshape and mold Yuuri into a decent king, while at the same time attempting to make it so that he could retain his innocence and cheer. All that pushing and shoving had been done with love and his best intentions.

But it had changed the blond youth as well, and Conrart had to wonder if Wolfram even realized this fact.

They all had weaknesses, and these defects had absolutely nothing to do with the level of their skills. Conrart knew he was the best swordsman in Shin Makoku, and though he knew it did not make him any better than anyone else, it was a fact that he could not escape. Even then, there were ways in which to defeat him, just as there were ways to get to Gwendal, Yozak, Gunter, and Wolfram. Should their enemies look into their backgrounds carefully enough and observe them for extended periods of time, they’d know exactly what to do in order to gain victory over them.

Conrart’s weakness was his devotion; the same thing that gave him his passion was also the thing that most endangered his life. He’d do anything if it meant protecting someone, especially the king, even at the cost of his own life. Gwendal’s weakness was his adoration for children and his commitment to the kingdom; should the kingdom ever fall, Conrart knew his older brother would fall with it. Yozak was far too careless for his own good, and took risks that were - more often than not - unnecessary. And Gunter had allowed himself to become too influenced by their current king; where he would not have hesitated to kill before, he now refused to spill blood, and though he understood the necessity of warfare, he greatly supported His Majesty’s ideals.

Wolfram’s weakness was also the source of his strength, it merely depended on the circumstances on whether it was the former or the latter. His love for the king gave him the will to fight, and to actively delve for a brighter future for himself, and yet, at the same time, it could very easily lead to his downfall. Since the moment of the engagement slap, Wolfram and Yuuri’s lives had been so tightly intertwined it would be hard to separate them into two different existences. Everything that happened in Yuuri’s life affected Wolfram as well, and vice versa. The two boys were as close to one another as they possibly could be with so many unreturned feelings and sentiments.

The newly crowned prince was in danger of being hurt by others as well as by their beloved king, and with the suspicions that had begun to build within the brown haired captain since the ceremony before the actual wedding (Why had the Aristocrats agreed unanimously? They’d been arguing so heatedly before; there had to be some sort of an explanation, and Conrart didn’t think he would like it when he discovered what it was.), it angered him slightly to remember that he had been the one to suggest this marriage to the younger boy. He had known before hand how his little brother would inevitably feel about the whole situation, and yet he’d spoken with him about it anyway. His loyalties to the kingdom had truly blinded him if he’d thought things would turn out any differently.

Before either of the two half siblings could say anything else on the matter, a noise from the pool of bath water attracted their attention, and Conrart lamented the lost opportunity. He watched the clear liquid within the steaming room being to ripple and swirl, and though he was delighted to see a head of dark hair rise up from beneath it’s depths, he was disappointed that he had been unable to converse with Wolfram for any longer than a few moments. As soon as Yuuri reappeared, Wolfram’s attention was completely focused on him, completely ignoring his second brother to the point where Conrart wondered if the blond even remembered that he was there.

“Yuuri!” he said the other boy’s name, nearly jumping up from his place on the floor to great him, helping the older looking male out of the bath and offering him the towel Conrart hadn’t even noticed he’d had set aside for him.

The brown haired captain watched his king smile warmly at his little brother, taking the drying cloth gratefully, and not complaining at all when Wolfram took it back in order to rub at his raven hair himself. There was an adoring look in the king’s onyx eyes at that moment that Conrart would have been foolish to mistake for anything else, that warmth and fondness strengthening the hope the older man had in him that the two of them could be happy together one day.

“Jeez, Wolfram, I can do it myself,” His Majesty complained, but there was a small bit of laughter in his voice, a spark of the cheerfulness he’d recently been without, and he made no moves to stop his pale skinned spouse. The large smile that bloomed across his youthful face when he turned to greet his guardian made it difficult for Conrart to tell him what he knew he must. “Hi, Conrad! What‘s up?” he greeted, appearing livelier than he had been since Fane’s destruction, his short trip to Earth having obviously provided a great lift to his previously dashed spirits.

Conrart didn’t have the heart to dash them again.

“Welcome back, Your Majesty,” he said in return, showing the younger boy the warmest smile he could muster, hoping he wouldn’t notice that his trusted guardian had other things on his mind right now that dampened his mood.

“‘Yuuri,’” the nineteen year old correct him out of habit, shooting him a reprimanding look that quickly smoothed out, used to the constant correction he was forced to make when it came to how the captain referred to him. “You guys didn’t really have to wait for me, you know. It’s not like I was gone for very long.”

When neither of the two brothers said anything to explain their presence, Yuuri speared them both with a suspicious look, taking the towel from Wolfram when the boy’s hands went lax and letting it fall over his shoulders. “Has something happened?” he wondered, all signs of happiness melting away once again.

“Nothing that we have to discuss here,” Wolfram was quick to reply, green eyes gazing at his half-human brother imploringly, silently beseeching him to refrain from mentioning anything about Merton. “You should come back to our room and change before you get sick,” he added, returning his undivided attention to the king.

“I’ve never gotten sick from teleporting before,” Yuuri made sure to remind him, and it was the truth. Over all four years of his reign, the black haired boy had never once fallen ill; a couple of minor colds didn’t count, and neither of them, Conrart was sure, had been caused from transporting between worlds. Wolfram was merely making excuses in an attempt to divert the king’s attention. “What’s happened?” he asked, his suspicions immediately raising, dark eyebrows lowering in seriousness.

“I’ll tell you in a little while,” Wolfram replied. “Change first.”

Yuuri appeared ready to argue, and probably would have if the blond boy hadn’t been so insistent, releasing a sigh and allowing Wolfram to lead him out of the bath. Conrart could only give him another small smile as the two boys passed him by, and the taller man followed them as far as the hallway, before stopping to watch as they crossed into the bedchamber the maids had only vacated mere moments ago.

He knew that His Majesty would eventually have to be told, just as he knew it would most likely be sooner than he would like, as the black haired young man would continue to prod until the truth was revealed. For now, however, Conrart would leave things as they were, and allow the king and his brother some time alone together - without any heartache - before things fell apart once more.

TBC…

A/N: The next chapter is full of Yuuri and Wolfram, I promise. I hope to have it out some time before the end of April. Once again I’d like to thank everyone for their reviews; it means a lot to me to know what you guys think!! Again, the next chapter is ‘Embrasser,’ and I can say that with certainty now. It means ‘to kiss’ or ‘to embrace.’ I’ll leave you to guess my meaning…