Love and War

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

A/N: I'd like to thank those who left a review for the previous chapter!! Your kind words and thoughts were very much appreciated. I'm happy to know that people actually like this story!!! Thank you again!!

Now, on to chapter twelve…

In which Wolfram ignores his brothers and only listens to the women of the palace (probably because he’s afraid of them… I would be too…).

Love and War
by Mikage

Chapter Twelve

Gisela walked down the halls of Blood Pledge Castle at a steady pace, the heels of her shoes echoing off the thick stone walls. She’d awakened a few hours ago, and after looking in on little Alexei and seeing that he was healing properly, she’d taken some time out of her usually busy day to pick some medicinal herbs on her own, a task she usually left up to the maids. She’d waited a while before making her way to this section of the palace, wanting to put her visit off long enough to give her most recent patient time to cool off.

She’d been told of the occurrences of the previous evening not long after they’d happened, one of the castle guards coming to her to speak of the young Prince’s condition, and although in any other instance she would have gone to check on him right away, the reassurance that he had done nothing more than slightly injure his hand had kept her away, as had the warning of his current bad mood. If the rumors that were circulating about His Majesty’s departure were true, then she knew for a fact that the Prince would not want to be bothered, not by anyone or anything.

But she couldn’t ignore him completely, nor did she want to. After the young mazoku had refused to come out of his and the king’s room for the early morning meal, and when he’d shouted at Doria to leave him alone when she’d tried to bring his breakfast to him, Gisela had finally been given a formal summoning. Her adopted father had come to her in the middle of her herb picking, looking more than a little exasperated, both by the Prince’s behavior and by the current affairs of the kingdom. She’d put her work aside immediately, and had begun her trek to the royal bedchambers.

There wasn’t any real concern for Prince von Bielefeld’s health, at least not at this point in time, as the injury to his hand had not seemed too severe according to the guard who’d spoken to her yesterday evening, and if he was still able to shout at and frighten the maids then he was no doubt still in perfect health. Gisela suspected the only issue at the moment was his anger, an emotion that, when felt in excess, could cause him to act in an exceedingly childish manner. That in itself was enough to explain her father’s vexation. If the Prince was in a bad enough mood that he’d shut himself away in his room and refused to take food, then the king’s duties were not being seen to in his absence, and Wolfram’s apparent lack of responsibility was upsetting the Aristocrats.

Gisela had known Wolfram long enough to be used to these sorts of things by this point. She’d made many trips to the capital in her childhood, when her father’s presence had been requested at the palace, and she’d been acquainted with the blond mazoku Prince for a good portion of his life. He was a rather hard individual to ignore; his childish fits and tantrums had become rather legendary, stories that some of the older maids told to amuse themselves as they cleaned and went about their daily chores, tales that made the younger ones quite reluctant to be anywhere near the blond haired mazoku.

Gisela herself didn’t think they were so bad. Being of a lower social status, she’d had the displeasure of meeting more than a few snobbish nobles in her lifetime, ones she could stand even less than the fair Prince. Although others may not agree or feel the same way as the green haired healer, Gisela von Christ was sympathetic towards Lady Celi’s youngest son, and although she was truthfully closer in age to Lord Weller, she felt deeper feelings of friendship towards the blond boy.

Many years ago, when Prince Wolfram had been nothing more than a child, she hadn’t known him all too well then, but she’d felt sorry for him regardless. She’d spoken to him very few times, usually only when necessary, but she’d easily been able to see the loneliness within his green eyes, the kind of loneliness no child should ever have to feel. He’d been loved by his mother, it was true, and looked after by both of his older brothers, but just because he’d been showered by attention at times didn’t mean he had never been neglected. Lady Celi had had her duties to attend to, Lord Gwendal had had the kingdom to watch over and protect, and Conrart had had his adventures with his father to pull him away from the castle and his little brother.

It was no wonder Wolfram had closed himself off, had felt isolated and betrayed, and though Lady Celi held a deep love for each of her sons, her constant travels had had a lasting effect on the young prince, as had Gwendal’s aloofness - his attempts to shield his feelings and act as if he cared for no one - and Conrart’s family secret, ones that, when revealed, had awoken feelings of betrayal within the blond mazoku. He’d had very few people to turn to over the course of his life, fewer that he could trust, and many of those he’d given his love to had been too busy to return it adequately or had left him behind in some way - his father had left all together; Julia had died.

It was easy to see that that loneliness still lingered, even though his mother had more time for him, even though Gwendal had begun to ease up, and even though his relationship with Conrart had begun to heal. It was still there, beneath the surface, and it broke her heart to see it. It reminded her too much of her early childhood, when she’d been abandoned, before being adopted by her father. It’s what made her so fond of the younger boy, what had made her help him so many years ago when Conrart had left for Big Shimeron and the king had been missing. He’d looked so pathetic wallowing in his loneliness and misery.

The green haired medic sighed as she came to the thick doors that blocked off the royal bed chambers, her emerald eyes spying Conrart standing off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the stone wall. She spared him a smile before lifting a hand to knock on the door, knowing how worried he must be a the moment. He’d devoted himself to protecting the demon king from the moment he’d been entrusted with Julia’s soul, but that commitment did little to prevent him from continuing to look after his little brother, whether said little brother wanted his care and protection or not.

“Go away!” she heard the shouted order from within the room, and she wasn’t surprised at all by the level of anger and annoyance demonstrated in those two words.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Your Majesty,” she said with a smile, calling him by his new title, one she had yet to get used to when she’d spent so many years calling him by something else. Slowly she eased the door open, wary off any objects that may end up being thrown in her direction, and when nothing was projected her way and nothing more was said, she slipped passed the door and into the room, closing the portal behind her to allow them some privacy.

Wolfram was sitting up at the head of the bed, resting back against a few large pillows that had been propped up, looking as if he hadn’t slept at all the night before. He was still clothed in his pale pink nightgown, having not cared enough to get dressed and make himself presentable. The only thing protecting him further from the cool early morning temperatures that plagued the palace was a white bathrobe, hanging loosely from his narrow shoulders, his arms not even slid into the sleeves.

He looked somewhat paler than usual, no doubt caused by his anxiety and lack of sleep, his green eyes swollen and puffy, enough evidence that, in his solitude, he’d allowed himself to show more weakness than he would in the presence of others. He held his injured hand in his lap, the damage apparent from where she stood by the door. It appeared more bruised than anything else, though it was stained with blood in various places, mainly along his knuckles. She shook her head at the sight of it, wondering if he would ever be able to control his temper enough to prevent him from causing harm to himself or others.

“I’m not hungry, and I’m not going to eat anything,” the Prince warned her, refusing to look her way.

“And you know I’m not here because of that,” she replied, her smile still present despite the harsh tone of his voice. “Starve yourself if you want. That isn’t going to bring the king back any faster.”

He winced at her words, shutting his eyes tightly as his uninjured hand clenched into a fist by his side. He trembled ever so slightly, so minutely that it wouldn’t have been noticed by those who did not know him well enough to have memorized his reactions and mannerisms, though whether it was in fury or in anguish she was unable to tell. Sometimes he would react similarly to both, making it hard to distinguish what he was feeling. He masked most feelings that he did not wish to expose with anger, so that it was often difficult to discern any others.

“So,” she began, slowly walking towards the large bed, and the boy sitting dejectedly in the middle, “would you mind telling me what happened to your hand, Your Majesty?”

“I injured it,” he answered her shortly, annoyed that his period of self-pity had been interrupted.

“How?” she asked him patiently, setting her medical supplies down on one of the bedside tables, opening the brown satchel to begin removing medicinal balms and a roll of bandages.

“Does it matter?” he wondered quietly, still not looking in her direction, his eyes staring off at the other side of the room, though it didn’t appear as if he was looking at anything in particular, merely staring off into space.

“It’s not every day I’m called to see you for a bloody hand,” she pointed out, opening a jar of antiseptic. “Usually it’s for an upset stomach, recurring nightmares, insomnia…”

“I haven’t had insomnia in years,” he said once she’d trailed off, and Gisela thought it a wonderful accomplishment that she was actually getting him to speak to her without him shouting in a fit of rage.

“Not since I started giving you those herbs to mix with your tea before bed every night,” she smiled lightly, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed. Gingerly she reached out for his hand, though he didn’t seem to notice her movement, not even snatching the appendage away when she pulled it towards her and began applying the liquid medication to his split skin. “I trust that they’re working well, then. Perhaps you should suggest them to His Majesty. Hasn’t he been unable to sleep as of late?”

He flinched again at the mention of the king, snatching his hand away quickly, as if snapping out of a trance and coming to his senses. “There isn’t much point in that now,” he shot back harshly.

“And why is that?” she prodded, as if she didn’t already know the answer. When he refused to reply she continued to speak. “Are you going to tell me how you injured your hand or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

He frowned deeply, looking off to the side and determinately not facing her, bringing said hand up to cradle it against his chest. “I punched a wall,” he said quietly.

“Why?”

“Because I felt like it,” the prince replied sarcastically, slowly becoming annoyed with her questioning. He rolled his eyes, a better reaction that his previous ones, at least in her mind, since it was more normal than silence and tears. “I was angry; why else?”

“And what had you so angry that you’d hurt yourself?”

“I wasn’t trying to get injured,” he frowned, his bottom lip sticking out in a slight pout.

“But you did anyway,” Gisela reasoned, reaching out to grab his bruised hand again, pulling it back to finish applying the antiseptic.

“Are you going to bandage my hand or not?”

She ignored his attitude as best as she could, used to it after so many years. She knew it was nothing more than a defense mechanism anyway, that he was trying his best to act as if the king’s sudden departure had no affect on him, when in reality he was probably crushed. “Not until you tell me what happened. I think I at least deserve an explanation, whether you give one to the others or not.”

“I punched a wall,” he repeated his explanation from a few seconds ago, obviously not feeling he should elaborate.

“From the beginning,” she prodded again.

The prince was silent for a long while, still refusing to look her in the eye. The green haired woman waited patiently, continuing the task of seeing to his hand, inspecting it for any severe damage, testing each of his finger to make sure none were broken. He winced a bit when she moved his pinky, but she didn’t think he suffered from anything worse than a sprain, nothing that wouldn’t heal quickly with the proper care. He was lucky he hadn’t hurt himself more severely, and prevented his use of the sword.

She took a moment to spare a look at his face as she set the jar of soothing balm aside, noting his deep frown and the harsh set of his delicate jaw. His eyes had tightly shut again, concealing the emotions currently swirling within them. She raised a green eyebrow in curiosity as he began to tremble, pausing in her act of healing as both of his hands began to shake, and she slowly reached out to take hold of one of them comfortingly. If he noticed her act of compassion, he refused to say anything about it, either that or he chose to ignore it completely.

“It’s Yuuri,” he finally spit out, and if she listened closely, Gisela could hear the small amount of pain in his voice.

“Was there an altercation between you and His Majesty?” she asked curiously, though she was more than aware of the circumstances leading up to his injury.

“Isn’t there always?” he reasoned, sounding bitter.

Gisela simply smiled, stilling the shaking in his hand enough to begin wrapping it in white bandages. “And what was the argument about this time?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business!” he replied defensively.

The female medic knew his statement was true. The private lives of the king and fellow members of the royal family where of no concern to those below them, and although trouble could be found in questioning the boy further she continued on. She knew there was little he would do to her besides shout in her face and demand that she leave. Gisela was one of the very few people Wolfram trusted, one of those special few who earned the right to be called a friend.

“Pardon me for intruding, Your Majesty,” she apologized, her smile remaining despite his shouting. “It’s not my place as a mere medic to question you. However, I’d like to think that, as your friend, I’d be able to help you.”

“And what could you possibly do?” he wondered. “You’ve already said there isn’t much I can do to make Yuuri come back! He’ll return when he’s good and ready, and until then…” he trailed off for a moment, pausing in his speech, as if figuring out exactly what he wanted to say. “Until then…”

“Until then you’ll continue to lock yourself in your room, starve yourself, and ignore everyone who shows concern towards you?”

Finally he looked at her, glaring sharply. She fully expected him to start yelling again, and so she was surprised when he opened his mouth and spoke softly instead, his voice somewhat choked up. “How would you feel if the person you’ve devoted yourself to for four whole years left you over and over again?” he wondered rhetorically, though she knew he was speaking of himself and the king. “How would you feel if the man you love constantly pushed you away, when you want nothing more than to help him? How would you feel if a week after your wedding, your husband leaves you because he can’t stand the idea of kissing you?!”

His voice raised steadily, growing louder with each question, until he was nearly screaming into her face. Her smile left her then, and she was severely tempted to pull the younger mazoku into a hug. She held that reaction back, however, knowing he wouldn’t take too kindly to being smothered, whether he accepted her as a friend or not. There were still certain things he would not tolerate from anyone. Few people in the world had ever been allowed to touch him; everyone else he kept a safe distance from.

“I’m sure that’s not why he left,” she said quietly, shaking her heard, not knowing the full details, but hoping with a little more prodding the prince would finally spit it all out.

“What would you know?!” he spat harshly, pulling away from her again, moving so that his back was facing the older woman.

“I know that His Majesty is too kind to hurt you intentionally.”

“Intentionally,” Wolfram stressed the word, his shoulder tense and his voice tight. “That doesn’t mean he’s never hurt me,” he added quietly, as if it took all he had just to admit to something like that, to admit that he could be hurt, so easily, and by the one person in the world who stubbornly refused to bring harm to anyone, be they friend or enemy.

Part of Gisela wondered if King Yuuri was even aware of what he was doing to his former fiancé and current husband. She’d like to think he had no clue, that he was ignorant of the pain he’d brought to the young mazoku prince, but she knew that wasn’t the case. It would be hard for him not to realize when everyone else within the castle had known all along. That thought made her heart clench in her chest, wondering how their kind hearted king could possibly leave Wolfram like this, knowing all the while what it would do to him, how it would make him feel.

Gisela loved the king the same as everyone else - well, maybe not everyone, considering a majority of nobles within the royal court were angry with him right now, but she respected him a great deal, looked up to the younger man and hoped and prayed for his success. He reminded her too much of Julia for her not to like him. He was kind like Julia, compassionate, and willing to sacrifice himself as she had. It was painful to think about, and she prayed daily that his fate would not be the same as her old friend’s.

Despite their similarities, however, it was easy to see the differences the boy-king possessed. He was more stubborn than Suzannah Julia had ever been, more forceful with his ideals and desires for a peaceful world. Yuuri was more likely to act on those beliefs, to actively make them a reality, whereas Julia would have simply spoken with others and tried to convince them. Her soul was what made Yuuri so kind and generous, Gisela was sure, but there was something else within the boy that was constantly at odds with that.

She supposed it had something to do with the Original King’s powers, which had been passed down through their long line of Kings and Queens. Perhaps if their present king had been allowed to grow up with the knowledge of the powers he possessed, his alter-ego - the personification of the feelings of hate and anger that Julia had never held within herself - would never have been formed. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so conflicted with himself now. Maybe if he’d been born and raised here, he wouldn’t be having such a difficult time in this world and, in turn, wouldn’t have accidentally hurt Wolfram as he was.

Internally, Gisela shook her head, sighing as she continued to stare at the blond prince’s back. She knew just as well as everyone that His Majesty being born in this world wouldn’t have been possible, even if Shinou had not given the order to send his soul to Earth. It had been far too dangerous in Shin Makoku those twenty or so years ago, with constant threats against the royal family and against the future king’s life. Somehow it had been discovered that a new king would be born soon, and there had been people who’d sought out a way to prevent such an occurrence from happening. As stretched as their armies had been, there had been little they could do to seek out and stop these men from succeeding in their attempts, and so His Majesty’s soul had been transported elsewhere.

Knowing that, however, didn’t prevent her from wishing for an alternative. The prejudices present on Earth were affecting the king here, affecting Wolfram, troubling the both of them with their ignorance and hatred. His Majesty had been influenced by the people in the other world, and there was little that could change his mind about it, just as there was little that could change his mind about everything else he believed in. For all his open-mindedness concerning the relationships between humans and mazoku, the double black demon king was still blinded to other things and had yet to truly open his eyes.

His incapacity to accept relationships between the same sex was having an unhealthy effect on Prince Wolfram, that she could clearly see. Whether the king realized it or not, he was only adding on to it by leaving as he had, further alienating the boy who was supposed to be his husband, his unintentional neglect serving to further harm the prince both mentally and emotionally. His inability to love Wolfram would, if this continued, have detrimental effects on the blond’s state of mind.

And that’s all Wolfram wanted really - to be loved - and she knew that all too well. The boy could care less about the physical relationship found between any normal married couple, although if the king wished to partake in such things she knew Wolfram would sooner die than deny him what was rightfully his as king. The prince merely wanted to be cared for, to be held on occasion, or do the holding as the case may be. He wanted companionship, someone he could trust and talk to about whatever was on his mind, someone he could be with and not feel weak and inferior, not feel isolated and alone. He wanted to be understood, something very few people in this world were able to do for him.

“I’m sure if you spoke with the king about this, he’d realize the error of his ways,” she said slowly, moving so that she could face the younger mazoku again, taking his hand to continue bandaging it. “I’m sure you’ve rarely told him how you truly feel. Maybe if he knew, he-”

“He does know,” Wolfram cut her off, his voice filled with bitterness. “He just doesn’t understand.”

“Perhaps if you explained to him-”

“And how am I supposed to do that?!” he shouted, glaring green fire at her again, although thankfully he refrained from removing his hand from her grasp, allowing her to finish the task she’d started. “How do I explain it to him when even I don’t-” he cut himself off, falling silent as he lowered his gaze, staring intently at the thick winter bedclothes that pooled in his lap.

“You don’t understand either,” she completed the statement for him, watching as he nodded slowly. “Perhaps, then, it’s not something you’re supposed to understand.” She smiled when he looked up at her curiously, feeling for the moment like an older sister lecturing her little brother. Something about Wolfram always brought such feelings within her, a maternal instinct to guide and protect. “I’ve never been in love before, so I wouldn’t know, but I always assumed it was something that just happened without any sort of reason or explanation.”

A slight frown marred his face, as if he were giving her words some serious thought. “Yuuri’s mother told me to… to feel, not to think. She said the reason Yuuri is the way he is is because he thinks too much.”

“Maybe he does. You’d know that better than I would.”

Again he fell silent, staring back across the room and out one of the large windows, the curtains swept aside to provide a stunning view of the castle grounds. His hand lay limply in her hold, and although she was able to finish bandaging the appendage, she had yet to release it, instead keeping her hand over it and concentrating on healing the abused limb. A green light enveloped both of their hands, soothing his, and though she was able to take the physical pain away, there was nothing she could do to stop the pain from eating away inside of him.

“Prince Wolfram,” she called to him, watching as he slowly turned to face her again, looking strangely empty now, his green eyes not really focusing on anything in particular. “Perhaps you should be a little more patient with him,” she suggested, only to earn another baleful glare.

“Four years isn’t patient enough?”

“It was only recently that he even began to acknowledge your engagement. He may just need a little more time to adjust.”

The blond frowned at her, obviously not agreeing with her statement in the least. Yet another period of silence descended between them, and although the green haired woman would have liked to continue attempting to cheer her friend up, she didn’t think he’d appreciate hearing it all right now, not when it seemed as if her words were doing nothing but making his mood worse. His yelling had ceased - thankfully - though she knew it would take very little to start him up again. One wrong move and his tantrum would begin anew.

Finally he said, so quietly she first wondered if she’d even heard him right, “He kissed me, Gisela.”

The older woman tried to contain her surprise, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from widening. She’d seen them kiss before, at their wedding, and though most of those in the audience had not cared or paid attention to the king’s reaction, she could tell even from the distance between them that His Majesty hadn’t been keen on the idea at all, whether it was tradition for the recently married couple to share their first kiss or not. Hearing that he’d done so willingly, in the privacy of their own bedroom with no one there to force him was somewhat shocking.

“He kissed me and then he ran, and denied that he’d even tried,” he continued bitterly, trying to keep up his angry face, but his expression was steadily becoming more somber looking, his emerald eyes darkening in sadness, lips lowered in a pathetic frown. “Does he really think it’s that revolting?”

“I’m sure that’s not the case at all, Your Majesty,” she attempted to reassure him. “I think maybe he’s just confused. Things are different here than they are on his world, correct?”

“Just because it’s different here doesn’t mean he’ll end up changing his mind. If he doesn’t love me, then he doesn’t love me. There isn’t anything I can do to change that.”

“Maybe-”

“There is no ‘maybe!’” he cut her off again, not allowing her to complete her sentence. Still, he had yet to raise his voice as he had earlier, speaking quietly, voice filled with a sadness he rarely allowed to show, especially in the presence of others. “I’m tired, Gisela,” the blond told her, sounding every bit as exhausted with all of this as he claimed to be. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“You’re giving up?” she wondered in shock. After so many years of unrivaled perseverance, was the young prince finally giving in?

“No,” he shook his head, disliking her question and what it suggested about his character. His pride had already taken a huge blow when Yuuri had so viciously shoved him away. He couldn’t handle any more. “I’m just admitting to myself that I never really had a chance in the first place.”

“You don’t know that, Your Ex-… Your Majesty,” she told him, correcting herself immediately, having slipped in her efforts to appease him, forgetting for the moment that he was a prince now, not a young noble whose rank was closer to her own. “If you’d just give it some time-”

“I’ve given it enough time.”

“Your Majesty-”

“Don’t!” he snapped, turning away once more. His hands were trembling again, clutching at the blankets in his lap, as if doing so could cease the shaking within them. “It’s useless.”

Gisela frowned deeply, though it was more in sadness than in anger. It hurt her to see the prince suffering so, and she hated that his fate was such. After everything he’d done, after everything he’d been through, after all the years he’d spent trying his hardest to gain the king’s love, it seemed as if it were all for naught. Gisela wished with all her heart that there was something she could do, something she could say to make him reconsider, keep him from giving up just yet. Regardless of the fact that the king was so unwilling to admit it, Wolfram had gotten so close. Any more and surely… surely…

But she couldn’t say anything, because she knew that he wouldn’t listen, no matter how she pleaded with him. If he’d already made up his mind then there wasn’t much she could do to change it, just as there wasn’t much any of them could do to change the mind of their king. And she hated that fact most of all, hated that Wolfram had been left so shattered, despite his attempts to hide it, that the double black king refused to open his eyes. If only things had been different, if only things had worked out, if only His Majesty weren’t so cowardly as to run away every time something concerning the blond haired prince frightened him

Of course, it went both ways. She could curse the king for turning and running all she wanted, but that did nothing to change the fact that Wolfram was running as well, an act so unlike him it was almost hard to fathom. She knew - some part of her knew - that if he only hung in there a little longer, something would happen, something would make things right. If he just gave a little more effort, maybe, just maybe, everything would end up all right, the way it was supposed to, the way they both wanted it to.

“How’s my hand?” the prince’s voice broke through her thoughts, jarring her back to harsh reality. He was staring her in the eye, perfectly calm, as if he hadn’t just decided to give up on the most important thing in his life, his emotions back under the careful control that usually concealed them, his shields back in place.

She could only offer him a small smile, one that didn’t even come close to reaching her eyes. “You’ve suffered a sprain in a couple of your fingers, and your hand on a whole his badly bruised, but if you take it easy for a few days you’ll recover in no time.”

He nodded, turning once again to look across the room and out the window. “Then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone.”

“Of course,” she replied, though she would have given anything to stay in there longer and attempt to talk some sense into him. Despite that, she stood from her place by the large bed, not wanting to try his patience at this time, and hoping that some time alone would ease his mind, perhaps make him begin to rethink his plans.

Slowly Gisela placed the jar of antiseptic and roll of bandages back into her brown satchel, moving sedately towards the door. When she reached it, she turned to glance at the prince one last time before exiting, trying to think of something, anything to say. She thought of nothing, however, and released a heavy sigh as her small smile instantly vanished.

Lord Weller was still standing by the door when she walked back into the hallway, straightening up when he heard the creaking of the hinges as the heavy slab of wood was pushed open. His face was twisted in concern, and although she would have permitted him to enter under any other set of circumstances, she said nothing to encourage him to go in. She shook her head instead, watching his face morph into a frown.

It was painful to turn and leave the prince to his misery, but in the end there was nothing more she could do.

* * *

Conrart was seated in a chair in his small office, staring with dull hazel eyes at all the work that had piled up since the last time he’d felt like coming in here. His office was one of his least favorite places to be while within the palace, and not because of any desire he had to skip out of work, but because of the fact that the room was so dreary. Of course, he’d made it that way, long ago when he’d been given this room to use as his own, so he figured he only had himself to blame.

Besides the pile of papers that had steadily grown upon the surface of his plain wooden desk, there were a few trinkets resting against the shelves on the bookcase to his right, but nothing more than that, nothing to brighten the office up a bit or make him feel like spending any more time in here than he absolutely had to. There were no portraits or maps hanging on the walls as there were in His Majesty’s study, and the chair he was sitting on was not the least bit comfortable like the one in Gwendal’s own office. This was a place for work, and it gave him no small amount of comfort.

Unless he felt like being along, keeping to himself, and sorting out his many thoughts. This was the perfect place to do such things, as there was nothing here to distract him and very few people came in here, especially since he was rarely in here himself. There were many other places people would search before coming to find him here, places he frequented much more often. His office was really a last resort for him, and most of the castle staff knew that it was better not to bother him when he entered this particular room.

Briefly he looked through the papers that completed three stack before him, not really interested in the words scrawled over the parchment, simply searching for something to occupy himself with. There were a few reports that needed to be filled out and filed, but nothing of great importance. Most of the paperwork that needed to be completed immediately was sent to Gwendal first, for the Chief of State to look over and correct, so there wasn’t anything pressing that Conrart needed to worry about at this point in time. Both attack incidences were being handled through Gwendal and his men, leaving Conrart with nothing to do but wait for orders.

Instead, he found himself drifting away on his thoughts, sitting back in his chair and staring straight ahead as his worries played out within his mind. There were many things that concerned him, though he was able to hide his uncertainty quite well, and it was moments like these, when he was alone with nothing there to disturb him, that he found himself looking over it all, trying to come up with a solution. The surprise attacks were certainly a main concern, but he found that these were not the main cause of his sudden anxiety.

He was worried about his younger brother, more so than about his king, although there was cause for concern for their double black monarch as well. He’d heard about their argument almost immediately after it had happened - he had a feeling there weren’t many people residing within the palace who didn’t know about the occurrence (the maids could always be counted upon to spread the castle gossip) - and though his first concern had been His Majesty’s resulting confusion and departure, he’d found those feelings shifting towards the blond prince as the days went on.

Three days had passed without any sign of the king, three days that had seen Wolfram locked in his room, refusing to come out for anything. The maids had not been aloud to enter in order to clean, nor had he permitted anyone to bring him his meals. The only person who’d wandered in without being yelled at and in danger of having something thrown at them had been Gisela. She’d made more than a few appearances in that section of the castle, visiting the prince daily in an effort to heal his injured hand and get him to eat something.

The most Conrart could do was stand outside the door, and watch as Gisela came and went, and as others were turned away. Their mother had tried to check on her youngest son, only to find the door locked and she’d received no answer when she’d called his name. Gwendal had been met with the same barrier when he’d come to demand that Wolfram see to his duties, and had ended up shouting at the blond from out in the hall, before storming away with an angry scowl on his face, muttering under his breath the whole way. Conrart had not been able to hear his words, but he couldn’t imagine they’d been in any way nice or supportive.

The second son of the former Demon Queen would admit to being somewhat angry over this new turn of events, frustrated that this was happening at a time when they needed their King and Prince to remain strong, so as not to further strengthen the confidence and resolve possessed by their enemies. Most of that anger, however, was not directed at either of the two boys, but at himself. Part of him knew that if he’d only guided Yuuri better, none of this would be happening right now. If he’d only taken the time to sit down and talk with him before the wedding, perhaps none of these misunderstandings between he and Wolfram would be taking place.

It had been a while since His Majesty had last come to him for any sort of advice, since he’d taken the dark haired boy aside and spoken to him about what was bothering him, and help him sort out him troubles. He supposed he’d been a bit distracted lately; he’d been so focused on monitoring Shimeron’s activities and making sure that the royal family was indeed safe that he’d forgotten to pay attention to things of a more personal nature, and now there was very little he could do to fix everything, at least not until His Majesty felt brave enough to return.

Some part of him had suspected that something like this would eventually happen, and though he’d been inwardly prepared for it, he felt stupid for not talking with Yuuri about these sorts of things at least once over the last few weeks. It would have helped, he was certain about that, if His Majesty were able to get all of his distress out in the open, if Conrart had helped him work through his problems like he always had. There were most definitely feelings between their king and Conrart’s younger brother, he thought that fact was fairly obvious; the problem was convincing Yuuri that there was nothing wrong with it, that there was nothing abnormal about the way he felt.

There was love there, perhaps unnoticed by the king himself, but Conrart could easily see it, even if others couldn’t. There had always been a commitment between His Majesty and their newly crowned prince; from the day the two of them had met, they’d been connected by a bond of some sort, one that had connected them over vast distances and unrequited feelings. Wolfram would follow Yuuri anywhere, over mountains or oceans, and he knew that Yuuri would do the same, and that the feelings fueling those actions would be the same, even if neither of them realized it.

He knew there was a love inside Yuuri’s heart for Wolfram; he could see it in his eyes every time they were together, every time His Majesty glanced at the moody blond. He could see it in the way Yuuri was so concerned about his best friend’s happiness, how he’d do anything to see him smile, and how he always made sure Wolfram was close by, albeit unconsciously - he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it, but the double black could never stop himself from glancing around wherever he was, as if seeking out the younger looking man, accustomed to his presence.

But fear had a way of compromising things, and Yuuri’s inability to accept his feelings was no doubt caused by his fear of change. The boy-king had a tendency to ignore and/or deny things that didn’t fit in with his perfect picture of life. Any amount of pain or death was an injustice deserving of punishment, and even then the king would not permit the taking of any life, innocent or not. War was not an option, no matter what the circumstances, and love was not something that could be controlled by prejudiced laws. ‘Love whom you choose’ was one of his mottos, regardless of class, color, or race - although it seemed he had a bit of a problem living by his own words in that respect.

It was at that moment that the door to his office creaked open, and Conrart broke his gaze with the piece of parchment he’d been staring at blankly in order to see who would enter at a time like this. He shouldn’t have even had to waste time wondering, he knew, his brown eyes settling on his older brother’s imposing form. He and Gwendal had hardly spoken to one another at all in the last week and a half, at least not about anything that didn’t have to do with their enemy. The older man was probably more frustrated and angry than he was, making these attacks the main focus of all his attention. He hardly had time to deal with anyone else, and the only person he spared even an hour of time for was little Alexei.

“There’s been another attack,” his said by way of greeting, eyes narrowed dangerously, hands clenched into tight fists, his face set into a glower even darker than his usual one.

Conrart was not surprised by this information, saddened that it had happened, enraged over the fact that their people were being killed and there was very little they could do to prevent it, but not surprised in the least. Two attacks had already been conducted successfully, so why should their enemies stop there? There hadn’t been a doubt in his mind that there would be more - although he’d hoped with every ounce of his being that some sort of mercy would be shown - the only questions had been where and when.

“Where?” he asked monotonously, sorrow sweeping through him at the thought of how many more lives had been taken. This was not the kind of news he felt like informing His Majesty of whenever the boy happened to return.

“Pallene and Carne,” the darker man replied shortly, one of his hands still gripping the brass doorknob tightly, as if it helped in relieving his stress and could prevent him from falling into a fit of rage.

The second brother’s eyebrows rose at that, and he stood from his seat, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. “Two villages?” That was enough to surprise him, although he supposed they should have suspected their enemy would up their efforts after escaping detection the first two times. Their successes had surely increased their confidence. “Simultaneously?”

“No,” Gwendal shook his head, slowly dropping his hand and entering the room a bit more, though he made no move to suggest that he would be staying more than a few seconds. “Carne was attacked first and word spread to the neighboring village of Pallene. Their militia then went to lend aid, but by that point most of the village had been leveled. Our enemies then followed them and decimated Pallene. Both villages are now completely destroyed. As in the last attack, there were no survivors,” he said all of this in as calm a voice as he could muster, but Conrart knew he was seething inside, he could see it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw and the tense line of his broad shoulders.

“So our enemies left the territory of Christ and traveled south to Yale,” the brown haired man observed, knowledgeable enough about the kingdom to know exactly where Pallene and Carne were located. He sighed deeply, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead as if it pained him. “Tell me there’s at least some small bit of information we’ve been able to gain after all this.”

“GegenHuber sent a message through carrier pigeon after investigating both scenes,” Gwendal said, a small portion of his frustrations easing out of him as he did so, “there was one body found in Carne that does not appear mazoku. The man was clothed in black.”

“But nothing else could be discovered?”

At that, Lord von Voltaire shook his head, long, dark gray bangs shifting in front of his sapphire eyes. “His uniform was unidentifiable as any that we know of, and he carried no form of crest or identification. His body is being brought back here for Anissina to examine, but I highly doubt there will be much we can learn from a rotting corpse.”

“Could we not learn anything from his belongings?”

Another shake of a dark haired head. “His clothing, armor and weapons were all made of common materials - nothing that could possibly lead us in the right direction.”

“And no one saw anything? Not their ship or whatever means of transportation they used to make it to Yale?”

“That’s all the information we currently have. If we had something more useful, we wouldn’t be sitting here while our people are continuously being attacked!!” Gwendal snapped then, the level of his ire rising with his vexation. “We have nothing!! No clues, no way of knowing when and where they’ll strike next, and no King to take care of his kingdom!!”

“You know why His Majesty left,” Conrart said in return, not allowing his own voice to raise. There would be no use in arguing with his older brother, as much as he was displeased by the fact that Gwendal seemed to be straying away from the dark haired king. This wasn’t the time for arguments or disunity, not among those closest to their leader.

“Because he is a coward who can’t set his personal problems aside long enough to take care of his people,” the older man replied venomously, his compassion for the boy seeming to have sharply decreased. “Winifred has threatened to secede should nothing be done about this.”

“She can’t do that.”

That was a lie and he knew it. The fact was that it had never been done before. No matter what kind of discontent had been present between the Ten Aristocrats since the day of their founding, none of them had ever tried to secede from the kingdom before.

“She can try,” Gwendal corrected him, face grim. He’d yet to move from his place in the doorway, just as Conrart had not yet moved from his place behind the desk. “If she does, Shin Makoku will be thrown into chaos. We’ll be even more vulnerable to attack that we already are.” He paused then, leveling a glare at his younger brother as he asked, “Where is Wolfram?”

Conrart didn’t hesitate in replying, though he knew his answer was not the one Gwendal wanted to hear. “In his and His Majesty’s room.”

“Go to him,” the taller man demanded, growling in anger. “Drag him out if you have to. It’s time he stopped acting like a child and took care of his responsibilities.”

“Have some compassion, Gwendal. He’s not in any state to deal with this right now.”

“I’ve shown enough compassion!” his older brother snapped again, his face slowly turning red, his blood near boiling. “If he’s too weak to deal with this, then he should not have agreed to marry the king!!”

“That is not entirely his fault,” Conrart readily objected. “Yes, it’s true that he agreed, but if it weren’t for you and the others pushing for the wedding to take place, he never would have made that decision!! You forced it on him before he was ready!!”

“He should have been ready!” Gwendal countered heatedly. “He knew the day His Majesty proposed that the day when he would rule would eventually come!!”

“How could he have possibly known? You know as well as I do that His Majesty had no intention of going through with the proposal until you and Günter suggested the wedding as a way to stabilize the kingdom!”

“And obviously we were wrong to suggest it. Nothing has gone the way we planned.”

Conrart stared at him carefully then, noting the disappointed glint in his brother’s dark blue eyes, the way his voice tapered off towards the end of his statement. Suspicion blossomed within him again, the way it had during the ceremony in which the Aristocrats had given their approval of Wolfram, when none of them had opposed the union, though he’d been certain before hand that at least a few of them would have had some objections. What had changed in the short period of time between their meeting in Gwendal’s study and the evening of the ceremony?

“Not the way you planned…” the brown haired man repeated curiously, as something in his brain suddenly clicked, and everything fell into place. “You convinced the Aristocrats of the wedding’s necessity in order to make them agree. But they wouldn’t have if…” he trailed off, noting the way Gwendal’s expression had not changed in the least. “You promised them a signed declaration, didn’t you?”

Gwendal refused to reply, but his silence was the only answer Conrart needed.

“You planned on making Wolfram sign a declaration behind His Majesty’s back. That’s the only way they would have agreed.”

“It doesn’t matter what tactics I employed to win their approval. We’ll be lead to war regardless of who signs what. Our enemies will continue to attack, and we will have to stop them, one way or the other,” the blue eyed man said, in no way defending what he’d done, simply stating what they both knew was fact.

“That doesn’t give you any right to force this on Wolfram!” the king’s guardian finally permitted himself to shout, something he rarely did in the presence of his older half brother, having learned at a young age that it was inappropriate to show any amount of disrespect to his elders, be they his relatives or not. “He’s still a child, Gwendal!”

His brother’s left eye twitched at that, a sign that the brown haired soldier’s comment either annoyed him or struck something within him that he did not want to feel - perhaps the older man didn’t want to admit that he agreed. Inside, some part of Conrart suspected they would always look at their little brother and see him as a child, no matter what measure of growing up he may go through.

“According to the law, he is not,” the older man stated, cold and dispassionate.

Conrart knew he was right and that there was very little use in arguing with the darker man about what the law did and didn’t state. It was a well known fact that a mazoku reached the period of adulthood at the age of eighty - the equivalent of sixteen human years (1). At that point in a young mazoku’s life, a boy was considered mature enough to be a man, to begin their majutsu training and enlist in the army. Whether they were physically, mentally, and emotionally mature enough to handle the pressure had never been taken into account.

Wolfram, Conrart knew, was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and others; the problem was his erratic emotions, which had a disastrous effect on his behavior when he was unable to control them, leading him to bursts of immaturity. Physically he was fine - he still had a lot of growing to do in that respect, but he could handle a sword and use his maryoku as well as anyone else. Mentally he was more than efficient - he’d been well taught in every subject, and although he’d complained to his tutors many times in his youth, he was intelligent enough to make a name for himself in the world of politics.

His emotional growth, however, had been stunted. He supposed it had something to do with the amount of coddling their mother had done in his childhood, more protective of her youngest son than she had been of her first two, perhaps because Wolfram had been a different sort of child than he and Gwendal. ‘Needy’ was the best word Conrart could come up with to describe the young boy, ‘clingy,’ too, although that had steadily decreased over the years as Wolfram had learned to depend on himself rather than others. The blond prince was strong, dependable, brave, but he still needed love and attention in order to feel as if he were actually worth something; he needed to know that people were proud of him, that he was needed, in order to have any true confidence in himself - not the fake sort that made him appear arrogant and haughty.

There wasn’t anyone in the world Conrart would trust more with the care and protection of their king than his younger brother, and yet the blond was still a child in the emotional sense. Having all of this thrust upon him at a time when the king was away, when he was as unsure of himself as he was now, wasn’t something he’d be able to readily deal with, not until he managed to get his confidence back - which may not happen until the one who’d lowered it returned. With Gwendal being as cruel and uncaring as he currently was - which had reached an extreme compared to how the darker man usually acted - and the Aristocrats disrespect and constant insults would do nothing to help raise his sense of self worth.

“I want him out of his room and seeing to his duties by sunset,” Gwendal barked harshly, preparing to make his exit of the room. “If I don’t see him in His Majesty’s study in an hour, there will be hell to pay,” he threatened, his voice deep, leaving no room for argument.

“Gwendal-” Conrart tried anyway, taking a few steps in order to move after him, but when his older brother refused to turn and gaze his way again, he stopped a few paces away from his desk, running out of words to say in order to convince the taller man, to make him see things his way.

“I don’t want to hear it,” von Voltaire replied. “If he wants to stop being treated as a child, then he must stop acting like one.” He left then, refusing to look back, heading down the hall to his own office, leaving the brown haired man alone to his thoughts again.

Conrart sighed as he watched him go, turning to glance blankly out the window, resolving himself to his current task. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Gwendal wouldn’t follow through with his words if his demands were not met in a timely manner, and that would most likely result in much shouting on the dark haired man’s part, directed mainly at their young brother. That didn’t mean Conrart had to enjoy doing what he knew he must, and in fact he dreaded heading to His Majesty’s room and confronting the blond prince.

He’d devoted himself to the king since he’d been gifted with Suzannah Julia’s soul, had found a source of comfort in protecting him and watching him grow over the years, feeling much like a father looking over his son - and in a way he had been as responsible as a parental figure in Yuuri’s birth and development - but that didn’t mean he’d abandoned his responsibilities to his little brother. There was little, if anything, that could prevent him from caring for the younger mazoku, whether Wolfram returned his feelings or not, and he’d do anything to protect him if he felt he were in any sort of danger.

With Julia gone, Wolfram and Yuuri were now the two most important people in Conrart’s life, and it hurt him immensely to see the situation they were in. In a way, he himself was stuck in the middle, between the boy he’d looked after since birth, and the boy he’d committed himself to when he was nothing more than a soul in a glass bottle. He loved them both, and prayed for both of their happiness, whether they found it together or apart, though he wished for the former - for his brother’s sake if nothing else.

Firming his resolve, Conrart turned again to the door, and began walking towards it sedately, telling himself he’d try to do as Gwendal requested, but if Wolfram still refused to leave his room he’d leave it at that and deal with their older brother on his own. He refused to subject Wolfram to any more abuse, not when it was slowly becoming obvious to him that the Aristocrats were using him in order to achieve their own desires, the war they so desperately wanted.

That was their sole reason for agreeing, for going along with all of this with less of an argument than what any of them had expected. Knowing this, Conrart would not allow the boy to be used as a vessel towards warfare. He was worth more than that, no matter what anyone else thought.

* * *

Wolfram was still holed up in his and Yuuri’s room when he heard a soft knock on the thick wooden door. At first he ignored it, focusing his attention on the food in front of him instead. Gisela had convinced him to eat something the last time she’d come in to look at his hand, refusing to use her healing maryoku any more than she already had until he’d put something into his empty stomach. She’d come again half an hour ago with a tray of food, and had promised him her wrath should he not eat every last bite.

Normally Wolfram would not have cared what the green haired woman’s threats were, for although she could be frightening if she chose to be, there was nothing Gisela could legally do to force him to do anything he didn’t want to. The only reason he found himself picking at his food now was because he was hungry, not because of any fear he felt towards the older woman - or at least that’s what he told himself; the fact remained that Gisela could be quite scary (and very convincing) if her demands were not met and her orders refused.

Either way he was hungry. His appetite had decreased substantially when Yuuri had first left, but after a few days of turning away all food and refusing to eat anything, his stomach had begun to rebel, demanding to be fed and threatening to eat itself. Even now, though, he found that he had very little interest in the meal that had been sat in front of him, and although he picked at it for a while, eating only what he liked and shoving aside what he didn’t, he hardly tasted anything, consuming enough to keep his body functioning but not much else.

When the knocking came again, he looked to the door with narrowed green eyes, as if the one responsible could somehow see how annoyed he was and stop, but he didn’t say anything, simply remained sullen and quiet. He didn’t want to be bothered right now, not by anyone, and he wasn’t about to open the door. The only one he’d allowed in over the last few days had been Gisela, and that was only because he’d rather have his hand tended to and healed than leaving it a bloody, bruised mess. Everyone else he didn’t feel like seeing, much less speaking to, already knowing what they’d say.

Gwendal had already come to yell at him more than once, and Mother had begged him to let her in, but he’d refused them both. What did they care, anyway? They didn’t understand what he was feeling, or what he was going through. He barely understood it himself, couldn’t see how Yuuri had changed him so much, made him so ridiculously pathetic in such a short amount of time. Only Yuuri could reduce him to this piteous, worthless individual he’d become. Only Yuuri could so easily suck all of his strength and confidence away.

At the third knock against the room’s door, Wolfram finally allowed himself to release an annoyed growl, dropping his spork onto his plate - which wasn’t even half empty yet - and giving the slab of wood that separated he and his source of annoyance another heated glare. Who the hell had the nerve to bother him? Wasn’t it obvious by now that he didn’t want to be bothered?

“What?!” he snapped harshly, not caring at all who was on the other side, merely wanting them to go away and leave him alone.

“Please open the door,” his second brother’s calm voice could be heard from out in the hall, soothing even from the distance that separated them. “I have to talk to you.”

“Go away!” was Wolfram’s immediate reply, wanting to speak with his half-human sibling even less than he felt like talking to anyone else. Conrart was the one closest to Yuuri, and the one who most reminded him of the double black king.

“Wolfram,” the brown haired man said his name, and the blond could hear the regret in his voice, the guilt he held for bothering him. “It’s important.”

“I don’t care!”

Silence, but only for a moment. He hadn’t expect it to be that easy to get rid of him, anyway.

“Two more villages were attacked.”

The prince’s heart sank at that little bit of information, his eyes squeezing shut as he raised one hand to his chest, holding it over the organ within himself that had once been used as a key to one of the four boxes, as if doing so could relieve the pain he felt within. More death to sadden their king, more innocent lives taken for hardly any reason at all, and partly his fault, too. What would Yuuri think when he got back? What would Yuuri do when he found out? Would he be upset again? Angry? How would he react, knowing that they’d both let their people down?

“And what do you expect me to do about it?” Wolfram wondered softly, so softly he doubted Conrart was able to hear him well at all.

“Wolfram…” the brown haired soldier tried again, but it was obvious his heart just wasn’t in it. He wouldn’t force the prince out of his self-imposed confinement.

“Do you want to go to war, Conrart?” he asked his brother then, having yet to truly hear his opinion on this matter - not that it would change his mind at all. He’d already made his promise to Yuuri. He couldn’t, wouldn’t do what Gwendal and the others wanted and sign a declaration, not without Yuuri’s approval - which he doubted he would ever get.

“It doesn’t matter what I think or what I want. You have responsibilities. Gwendal’s already mad enough as it is. Don’t make him any angrier,” was Conrart’s reply to his question, not a straight answer at all, which was to be expected from his hazel eyed brother.

“So Gwendal sent you to get me,” Wolfram stated, not needing to question him to know the truth.

“I know you’re upset-”

“You don’t know anything,” he cut him off, not allowing him to finish whatever he was going to say. He knew what he felt all too well; he didn’t need anyone else pointing it out to him.

“Wolfram, please don’t be difficult. Not now,” the brown haired man continued to speak through the door.

“I’m not being difficult. In fact, I think I’m being fairly simple-minded.”

“I don’t want to force you-”

“Then go away!”

He didn’t want the older man’s compassion or his understanding. He didn’t want false reassurances and hopes for a brighter future. There was very little that could change how he felt or thought, not when he’d already made up his mind. Conrart could do any amount of begging he wanted; Wolfram was not opening his door, nor was he going to do as their older brother wished. There wasn’t much more they could do to deal with an enemy they didn’t even know anyway.

His second half brother fell silent after his outburst, and Wolfram inwardly hoped it meant he’d given up. He knew the older man would probably be back later - either that or Gwendal would come to take his place, shouting through the door instead of speaking calmly - but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. He felt drained, like the energy had been sucked out of him the moment Yuuri had left, and he didn’t want to do anything, or think of anything that reminded him of the black haired boy.

In truth, he was angry at the other young man. There was nothing more he wanted than to shout insults into his face until Yuuri cowered and begged for forgiveness, nothing that would satisfy him more than smacking the younger boy on the back of his black haired head and curse him for being such an idiot. He could understand the fact that Yuuri was stressed right now, that he was upset about how things had turned out recently, and that he was confused as to what he was supposed to do about everything, but he running away was unforgivable.

Where was the old Yuuri, the one so full of smiles and laughter that even dark times seemed bright? Where was the optimistic, energetic, trusting boy he’d first met so many years ago? Yuuri never would have run away back then. He’d faced and handled his fears better than Wolfram ever could, had talked and worked through his insecurities instead of keeping them all to himself, and never would have allowed things to turn out the way they had. Yuuri had always been a wimp, but never before had he seemed like such a coward.

‘Like you’re any better,’ he thought to himself with a deep, disappointed frown, allowing himself a moment of self-deprecation. ‘What do you think you’re doing, locking yourself in your room when the kingdom is in danger? You should be out there taking care of everything. If anyone’s become a coward, it’s you.’

‘But I didn’t want this,’ another part of his mind countered, shaking his head slowly. ‘When I agreed to marry him, I didn’t think I’d have to deal with any of this.’

‘You knew he didn’t love you. You knew. Just as you knew the kingdom was slowly following down around you.’

How had things turned out this way, he wondered? How had things changed so much in such a short period of time. Just four years ago they’d been welcoming their new king, had celebrated his arrival and felt their hopes and confidence renewed. There had been hard times then, surely, but nothing like it had been twenty years ago, nothing like the war at all, because even through their hardships Yuuri had still been there smiling, reassuring them all that things would be okay, that he wouldn’t let anyone down, human or mazoku.

Just three years ago they’d honored Shinou’s true passing and Yuuri’s unexpected return. Their kingdom, which had been thrown into a state of sadness and confusion after their cheerful king had gone back to earth, was rejuvenated with his reappearance. Things had improved in the world over the time of his rule, so that the conflicts between the two races had been drawn to a minimum. There had been little threat of warfare, not with the way Yuuri had been able to charm nearly every human ruler he came into contact with.

Wolfram supposed they could blame Shimeron for all their problems then, like always, although from the looks of things Shimeron was no longer their main concern. Belal had continued to oppose them, no matter what kind of treaties Yuuri offered to sign, no matter what sort of peace agreements were put into place with other nations. Shimeron had always been, and probably always would be, their rival in the world; Belal was always the one person who could be counted upon to start trouble in times of peace - even now, with proof of Yuuri’s kindness, generosity, and open-mindedness, Belal remained adept in convincing other human kings that the mazoku were evil.

Things had steadily begun to disintegrate, and all of that decline had mostly occurred within the last year. As things had changed, Yuuri had begun to go through a change as well. He’d grown older, somewhat wiser, but his optimism had taken a turn for the worse, and with every bad thing that took place, his fortitude decreased that much more. In the last month alone his trust had been tested, his resolve shaken, his relationships with many mangled and strained. It was no wonder he’d run with that much pressure resting upon him.

And Wolfram inevitably found himself mirroring the king’s moods, like the faithful shadow he’d always been.

Another knock sounded against the wooden door then, more firm this time, not Conrart’s soft, calm hammering. The prince’s hands balled into frustrated fists, his dinner now all but forgotten. His teeth clenched in displeasure, wondering what was so hard to understand about wanting to be left to himself.

“Go away, Conrart!!” he shouted rigidly, severely tempted to open the door, throw something at him and be done with it. Surely he’d take the hint then.

“It’s not Conrart,” a decidedly feminine voice said through the thick wood, filled with light amusement. A girlish giggle followed, one that made him cringe as he thought it was beginning to sound more like his mother’s every day. He didn’t know which he preferred, Anissina’s scheming cackles, Gisela’s veiled chuckles, or his mother’s mischievous twittering.

“Can I come in or are you going to keep me locked out, too?” Greta asked him, sounding as cheerful and chipper as always, her question causing him to feel the tiniest amount of guilt.

He thought it over for a moment, although it took everything he had not to jump out of his chair and let her in right away. He’d never been able to resist the girl, not when she looked at him with those big brown eyes filled with so much love and admiration. When they’d first met, when she’d attacked Yuuri and made a foolish attempt to kill him (if she’d put more thought into it she would have known it would have been better to get the wimp when he was alone, not when he was surrounded by his many guardians and advisors), he’d been a bit apathetic towards her. What should he care for a human girl, after all?

But when Yuuri had taken the time to get to know her, to try and understand why she’d attempted to kill him, Wolfram had found himself secretly trying to comprehend her reasoning as well, and had grown quite fond of the girl over that time. The child who’d started out shy and afraid had been proven to be extremely outgoing, friendly, and in need of love. Wolfram could sympathize with her in that respect, though he felt it was safe to say his life had started out better than hers and hadn’t been near as difficult.

When Yuuri had expressed his desire to adopt her, Wolfram had been secretly pleased, having been hoping that Yuuri’s kindness would lead to him keeping the girl at the castle with them. With her there he’d been able to distract himself whenever Yuuri was away, had found a source of comfort and amusement in taking care of her. It made him feel important, the way he felt only when standing by and protecting Yuuri. It made him feel as if he had some sort of purpose, one greater than merely sitting around in the castle, doing nothing until Gwendal felt like giving him a mission or his uncle used him as the Bielefeld link to the capital.

Greta was one of the very few people he felt safe giving a part of his heart to, and so far she was the only one who hadn’t done anything to make him regret it.

Unable to stop himself, he stood from his chair and slowly made his way to the door, not caring that Conrart could still be on the other side, waiting for the right opportunity to pull him out and drag him to the king’s study. Cautiously he cracked open the door, and when he saw nothing but Greta’s young, smiling face, he slid it open wider, allowing her to slip through and into the bedchamber, quickly shutting the door behind him. He turned to face her then, finding a smile adorning his own pale features at the sight of her.

What was it that always made him feel so much lighter and at ease when he was in her presence?

“What’s the matter?” he asked, some instinct that he knew was entirely paternal alerting him to the fact that something may be wrong, although it was not odd at all for the girl to seek him out. With everything else that was going on at the moment, he supposed he was becoming a little bit paranoid, though he felt he had every right to be when it came to his fourteen year old daughter.

Fourteen…

She was growing up too fast for his liking.

“Nothing,” she replied easily, taking a seat at the table, across from the chair he’d taken up residence in only a few moments ago. She watched him carefully as he retook his place, one of her elbows on the table, her hand cradling the side of her face. “I just wanted to talk to you for a while, that’s all. You’ve been so…” she paused for a moment, looking for all intents and purposes as if she were about to point out his recent sullen mood, but thought better of it at the last second and finished with a cheeky, “busy lately,” as she smiled knowingly.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized automatically, feeling guilty again for having shut her out. She didn’t deserve to be treated like that. “I never intended to make you feel left out.”

“I understand,” she said, her smile never leaving her face. “It’s just that…” Again she paused, as if contemplating if she should risk bringing it up or not, though the prince could tell by the look on her face that she was just itching to talk about all the personal things that he would rather lock away. “I heard you and Yuuri arguing the other night,” she eventually completed her thought.

Wolfram winced, wondering how that particular argument had sounded to her, with her room on the same hall as his and Yuuri’s. The walls of the palace were thick, but it wouldn’t have been difficult at all for her to overhear when he and the black haired man had been shouting in the hallway. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” he told her as he felt his cheeks begin to heat up. Physically she was almost as mature as he was, and yet he still couldn’t help but think of her as a young, naïve, innocent little girl.

“I know,” was her simple reply, her smile lifting even more in amusement. It was obvious that she found his embarrassment entertaining.

“I hope you’re not upset that he and I are…”

“No, not really.” Her rich brown curls shifted about her face and over her shoulders as she shook her head, speaking of such things with a cheerfulness that her other father wouldn’t have been able to keep up while having this sort of conversation. “I mean, I’m a little upset,” she amended, though looking at her at that moment, it was hard to tell, “but only because you are.”

“I’m not-” he was about to deny it, but she immediately cut him off.

“Don’t lie. It’s more than obvious, what with the way you’ve locked yourself in your room and all. You don’t exactly try to hide it.” She giggled at the look of chagrin that crossed his face, and while her good humor was usually uplifting, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat affronted. “We all know how much you care about Yuuri.”

Wolfram found himself blushing even more, wondering if she knew the depth of his feelings or not, or if she was merely drawing her own conclusions. “I can’t believe you’re talking to me about something like this,” he ended up saying, a little exasperated. Just four years ago he’d been reading her bedtime stories, and now here she was, starting a serious discussion with him about his relationship with her other father.

“Why?” Greta wondered, lifting a dark eyebrow. “Because I’m your daughter? Please!” she said with an annoyed sigh. “I’m not a little girl anymore,” the brown haired girl made sure to point out.

The blond prince flinched, not having meant to be so obvious in his thought concerning the younger girl. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to human aging, or the thought of her reaching her full potential in growth before he did. He could hardly believe that the little girl who used to sit on his knee and beg him to read her one of Anissina’s children’s novels was now practically a young woman, coming into her own and no longer needing her parents as much as she once had.

“I’m sorry,” she lamented, noting his sudden hurt expression, although her next statement reassured him that she wasn’t completely sure what had caused it to form. “I mean, about Yuuri and everything…”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he made sure to reassure her, not wanting her to feel bad or guilty about something that had absolutely nothing to do with her. “It’s not something you can change, and it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“I know that. It’s Yuuri’s who’s got the problem,” she said simply. “He’s just being stupid.”

“Greta…” he said in warning, giving her a critical gaze, though it didn’t last long before it evened out. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“No!!” he immediately denied, confusing himself. Hadn’t he just been thinking that very thing before she’d come to take his mind off of it? Why was he suddenly defending the absent boy? “Yuuri’s confused. He’s not… he’s not used to this,” he explained, though he refused to elaborate on what ‘this’ was. Part of him was sure she already knew. “It’s my fault for being selfish and trying to push him.”

Only then did he begin to feel his anger seep out of him, leaving him feeling like a fool. How could he be angry at Yuuri for being frightened and confused, when Yuuri had specifically informed him of his tangled feelings? He should have known that the black haired man would react that way to a simple, harmless kiss, and a part of him had. But he’d been hurt by Yuuri’s abandonment, and he’d instinctively sought out to blame the source of that pain rather than thinking things over and searching for the truth of the matter.

He could have easily stopped it from happening. It had been his selfishness, his desire for some form of affection from the other boy that had lead him to allow it.

“But you’re not pushing him,” Greta’s voice broke through his thoughts, reminding him that she was still there before he sunk too deeply into them. “You’ve done everything he’s wanted without expecting anything in return. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his.”

“Greta…”

“What?” she asked, incensed by his patronizing tone of voice.

“You shouldn’t talk about him like that. He’s your father.”

“So are you,” she wasted no time in pointing out, removing her hand from the side of her face to cross her arms below the soft curves that had developed on her chest. “I love Yuuri, I really do, and I know I’m lucky to have him in my life, but I love you, too. You’re just as much my father as he is, and I don’t like to see you so sad all the time.”

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured her, mentally kicking himself for upsetting her. She may be able to hide it behind her smiles and optimistic behavior, but he knew his and Yuuri’s continuous misunderstandings were saddening her, if only because she wanted nothing more than to see her parents happy. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

The return of her smile was immediate, and he momentarily had to wonder which of the many people residing within the palace she took after most. “Someone has to look out for you when Yuuri’s away,” she told him, and to support this idea she gave a pointed look in the direction of his abandoned dinner. “You should eat that.”

“It’s cold now.”

“It wouldn’t be if you’d eaten it when you were supposed to,” she admonished, dark brown eyes sparkling with renewed amusement. “Don’t worry so much about Yuuri and start taking care of yourself. Things will turn out okay,” she said with confidence. “He really does care for you.”

“He cares about everyone,” Wolfram made sure to point out, sounding - he was sure - a little bitter.

“That’s true,” Greta agreed with a slow nod. “But it’s different with you.”

He couldn’t stop himself from becoming curious, even if having such a conversation with her made him feel a tad uneasy. He remembered Yuuri’s mother telling him something similar not too long ago, and he unconsciously fiddled with the ring still adorning his finger. “How so?” he asked, arching one golden eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” his adopted daughter confessed with an easy shrug. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s in his eyes. There’s something there when he looks at you, even if he doesn’t realize it himself.”

Wolfram spared a moment before saying anything in return, looking at her seriously. “When did you grow up so much?” he wondered, and even though he’d been stressing over her maturity for a while now, only during moments like this did he truly realize how much she’d grown.

She smiled widely. “While you and Yuuri were busy dancing around one another all these years. A girl learns a lot when both of her parents are playing games with one another and everyone else is betting on their relationship.”

The prince was about to deny what she’d said about ‘playing games,’ and had half a mind to remind her that his and Yuuri’s relationship - or lack there of - was more serious than some child’s game, but the later half of her statement caught his attention before he could formulate the words, and he found himself stuttering in surprise. “B-betting?!” he exclaimed, feeling as his face turned pink again.

Her reply was another smile. “You didn’t notice?” she asked innocently, no doubt already aware of the answer.

“No!”

“It figures…”

“Why would anyone…” he sputtered, ready to strangle anyone and everyone who had the nerve to even think about betting on his relationship with Yuuri. “Who started this?!” he demanded, filled with ire.

“Doria, Sangria, and Lazania,” Greta said in reply, highly entertained by his reaction. “At first it was just the three of them, but after a while everyone started placing bets.” She giggled at his wrathful expression. “I think Yozak’s made the most money so far; it’s either him or Gisela.”

“I swear, I’m gonna…”

“Don’t be mad,” the brown haired girl soothed. “We’re only interested because we care.”

He stopped himself from falling into an enraged tirade, slowly looking back at her as her most recent words sank in. “Wait! ‘We?!’” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. When she nodded in return to his question, he found himself feeling more embarrassed than angry. “Have you been placing bets, too?!”

“Maybe…” she giggled, lifting a hand to shield the smile that continued to stretch across her pretty face.

“Greta!!”

“Don’t worry!” She was laughing now, her twittering giggles turning into hearty chuckles. “I haven’t lost much. I think I know my fathers well enough to know how things will eventually end up between them.”

Wolfram was about to lecture her on how betting was not proper behavior for a princess, especially when she was betting on something so… treasonous. How dare anyone speculate on his and Yuuri’s relationship? It was his and the king’s business, no one else’s, and he did not think it proper that the castle staff was using their situation as a way to deepen their pockets. Not to mention Yuuri and he were the king and - now, though he wasn’t when all this started - the prince. What right did they have to be sticking their noses in their private lives?

He stopped himself, however, when he felt the distinct tickling of curiosity. He didn’t want to show it - or even admit to it for that matter, since he had no desire to feed Greta’s bad habit - but he was more interested to hear what his daughter had to say than he probably should have been.

“And what is it that you predict?” he asked her slowly, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms as he spoke nonchalantly, hoping it appeared as if he couldn’t care less when, in truth, he was itching to find out. It was true that Great would know he and Yuuri better than the others; she was around them the most, after all. She was still young, but she was also amazingly perceptive. He could blame Anissina and Gisela for passing that specific trait on to her.

She smiled, a knowing smile that let him in on the fact that she was all too aware of his curiosity, and that it was probably taking every ounce of self-control she possessed not to tease him about it. (That trait was one he knew he could thank his mother for.) “That things will be settled by the middle of next year,” she replied sweetly, her brown eyes twinkling.

Wolfram thought this over for a moment, before his lips pulled themselves down into a frown. “That’s a very broad answer. Things being settled could mean just about anything.”

“Exactly,” she agreed with a nod. “Which means I won’t lose.”

His eyes widened at her reply. Her mischievousness had definitely been inherited from her mazoku grandmother.

The thought was more than a little frightening.

“Now,” she continued when he chose to remain silent, “since we’ve finished discussing your disaster of a love life, how about you tell me about some of the handsome young men I met at the reception?”

He arched an eyebrow at this question, giving her a look filled with suspicion. Yes, she was most assuredly his mother’s granddaughter. “There hasn’t been much of a love life to make a disaster of,” he made sure to point out, not sure he liked her making fun of him like that, “and I think it’s far from appropriate for you to be pining after young men at your age.” Not to mention the fact that he didn’t even want to entertain the idea of her being involved with someone romantically, no matter how old she was. It was true that she was growing up quickly, but she was still his daughter. He was sure Yuuri would agree with him on this.

“Oh, come on! Please?” she begged, batting her long lashes at him, like that could somehow win him over - an act that usually worked, though he’d be damned if he’d admit it. “What do you think of Gadwin Liete(2)?”

“The soldier from Mannheim?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t he have the greatest smile?”

Part of him wondered why she was even talking to him about things of this nature. It certainly did not sit with him too well, and he couldn’t help but think of how wrong this was. “Wait…” he paused, the other part of him catching up with the rest, and he froze instantaneously. “Gadwin?! He’s older than I am!”

“So?”

“By thirty years!”

“I’ll say it again: so?”

“He’s older than Conrart!!”

Greta rolled her eyes with another one of her adolescent sighs. “And you’re older than Yuuri,” she simply pointed out, like that made everything all better.

“So?” he found himself repeating her previous question.

“By sixty-seven years.”

“Sixty-six and a half,” he replied defensively, grumbling over the fact that she’d been able to turn his words back on him, “I don’t turn eighty-six until winter.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“Alright!” he exclaimed, more than a little exasperated. “So there’s a gap. That still doesn’t change the fact that Yuuri is just as physically and mentally mature as I am. He looks my age… well, older,” he amended, “and he acts my age, so for all intents and purposes, he is my age and I am his. You, on the other hand, are fourteen years old. Gadwin is over a hundred.”

“So you’re saying I’ll be old enough to be courted by him in a few years?”

“Absolutely not!” He squashed that thought right away, although something told him Greta wasn’t really listening, and was merely egging him on simply to see what his reaction would be. “And we are no longer having this conversation!! You won’t be eligible to be courted by anyone until you’re sixteen anyway, so you’ve got a good-”

“Two years to wait!” she interrupted him, her smile appearing quite chipper.

Again he froze. Well now… what exactly was he supposed to do about this?

“Why are you talking to me about this?” he chose to ask her instead of further commenting on any of her possible future courtships.

“Well, I can’t very well talk to Yuuri about it,” she said as if it were obvious. And, in truth, it was. While neither Yuuri and Wolfram liked to think of their daughter as a grown woman ready to experience the joys and heartaches of adulthood, Yuuri was least likely to be able to talk with Greta about marriage and relationships calmly. Wolfram… well, Wolfram could be calm, there were just certain things he’d prefer not to know, much less think about. “And I figured you’d be a better judge than he is,” she added with another smile. “But I can tell that just the idea is frightening you, so I’ll drop it for now.”

“Thank you,” he expressed his appreciation with a relieved sigh.

“But Gadwin is cute.”

“Greta!!”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. I won’t say anything more.”

Wolfram couldn’t help but smile at her anyway. Talking to her always proved to be at least mildly entertaining, and it had truly been a while since he’d been able to spend any amount of quality time with her. The fact that she felt comfortable discussing such personal matters with him was also somewhat uplifting - that she loved him so much that she’d desire and treasure his opinion on matters concerning her life and future was a sure sign that he’d done at least a decent job in raising her (though he’d only done so from the age of ten).

He sat with her for a while longer, completely ignoring the half-empty plate between them and just listening to the sound of her voice, allowing her to talk about whatever she chose, her topics varying from court gossip to Anissina’s latest invention, and from the little boy who’d been brought to the castle from Fane (whom she claimed was absolutely adorable) to the plans she’d made to see her friend Beatrice once things began to calm down as far as their enemies went. He found the action of just sitting and listening to her voice somewhat soothing, and he found himself smiling more in her presence now than he had all week.

It wasn’t until the two of them decided to call it a night and climbed in to bed a few hours later that he realized the problems he had with Yuuri had nearly been forgotten, and the anger that he’d been carrying around for days had nearly left him completely.

TBC…

A/N: Alrighty, there you have it. Yuuri wasn’t in this chapter at all, which was actually a very good thing for me since it’s becoming a bit frustrating to write him. But he’ll be back next chapter, hopefully with a bit more sense in his head, and certain things should start to pick up a bit more, in ways that I will not discuss at this time.

The next chapter will be called Risquer, which means ‘to risk’ or ‘to be in danger of.’ I’m using it more in the ‘danger’ sense.

Notes:

(1) More assuming from me. They seemed to make a big deal out of the sixteenth birthday in the anime, but a Mazoku at sixteen would appear the same as a three year old human, so I found the idea a little odd. I’m sure they meant the equivalent of a human sixteen year old, which would be eighty in mazoku years.

(2) Both names I got from Grandia. Sometimes when I’m trying to think up names and no one from history jumps out at me, I’ll flip through RPG instruction manuals and try to get ideas from the characters. I’m such a loser, I know.