Love and War

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

In which Yuuri and Shori have a serious discussion, and the royal family is in danger…

Love and War
by Mikage

Chapter Thirteen

Yuuri was silent as he sat across from his older brother in one of the local fast food restaurants, not even looking up at him, though he knew it was only a matter of time before Shori tried to gain his attention. They’d arrived here only a few short moments ago, and after retrieving their food they’d searched for a secluded booth in one of the corners, not wanting to be bothered by the restaurant’s other patrons.

Yuuri himself had arrived back on Earth three days ago, much to the surprise of his family, whom he’d seen only days before while returning them to their home. Of course his parents had wanted to know what would prompt him to return so soon, especially after witnessing the look on his face as he’d burst into the house, but Yuuri couldn’t find the courage to tell them what exactly he was running from. He didn’t want to talk about it, hardly wanted to think about what he’d done.

And yet it was the only thing he’d been able to think about as the last three days had gone by.

He went to bed every night only to dream of the kiss he’d stolen, and every time he awoke in the mornings he saw the hurt look that had appeared on Wolfram’s face when he’d left in his mind. It plagued him constantly, his face burning with a mixture of shame and embarrassment as he remembered the moment he’d allowed himself to give into his curiosity. He hadn’t put up much of a fight with himself when it had happened, and had given in without thinking better of the idea.

He’d kissed Wolfram.

Worse… he’d enjoyed it.

He’d spent the past few days thinking the whole thing over, trying to come up with something that would explain the event, only to become frustrated when he realized that there was nothing that could completely explain what he’d done, or why he’d left. Curiosity had caused it, and fear had led him to make his escape. Fear of Wolfram’s reaction, fear of going further, fear of losing control, fear of the inexplicable pleasure he’d found in the simple act and, of course, fear of what that meant. He’d left before he could do anything else undeniably stupid, before he could screw things up further.

Now he had no clue as to what he was supposed to do next. He still hadn’t sorted everything out, nor had he really come to accept anything. There was no denying what he’d done - although, at the start, he’d tried his hardest to pretend as if nothing had happened between them - just as there was no denying the fact that it hadn’t bothered him in the least while it had been taking place. It was only after the kiss that his thoughts had changed, only when he’d given himself time to think, to realize that this was Wolframhe’d just shared a semi-passionate lip-lock with that he was swept with the need to get away.

It made him a coward - he knew that. But he couldn’t help it. There was no way he would have been able to sit down with Wolfram - or anyone else for that matter - and discuss it, not like they’d been speaking so seriously before. Nor could he have simply put it behind him and continued on with life, not with Wolfram there beside him, reminding him what he’d done with his presence alone. He’d needed this escape, this time to think it over, to come to terms with it, before he could go back and apologize.

But apologize for what? Certainly for leaving, for although he needed this time to himself, he knew Wolfram was undoubtedly hurt and angry that he’d run - not that he could blame the other boy. But to apologize for kissing him? Wolfram surely deserved it - Yuuri had used him to ease his own curiosities, after all, and although they were married he still didn’t think it was right that he made him some sort of a tool to help in his task of self-discovery. He knew how Wolfram felt, what Wolfram wanted, and he’d knowingly used that to his advantage, aware all along that the blond wouldn’t dream of pushing him away.

He was disgusted with himself, more so over the fact that he’d just used his friend than he was over the fact that he’d kissed him. He’d sooner choose to kiss Wolfram, hug him, hold him, clutch tightly to his hand - anything the other boy wanted from him - than hurt him. After the kiss they’d shared in front of their guests at the wedding, he didn’t think it mattered much anymore if their lips happened to brush together, so long as it was done for the right reasons. Comfort, he thought, was a just purpose, not inquisitiveness, not his desire to learn and discover the truth. It wouldn’t be fair to Wolfram if things turned out differently than he wanted.

But then, thinking that, setting those sorts of standards, did that mean he wanted to kiss the other boy again?

He didn’t know, nor did he think it would be so simple to find the answer (though it wasn’t as if any of the answers he was searching for were so easily discovered). He knew that he wanted his friendship with Wolfram to remain in tact, knew that he treasured the closeness between them, the sense of belonging he felt as they spoke to one another about all the random and mundane things in their lives. He appreciated Wolfram’s compassion, his willingness to follow him despite the hesitance recently being displayed by the others. He wanted to protect the blond haired boy as he knew Wolfram would always protect him.

He liked things the way they were now. He didn’t want things to become more hazardous and confusing than they already were.

He hardly even noticed his brother sitting across from him as the memories swept over him again, though he was all too aware of Shori’s presence; he simply didn’t see him, too focused on things he thought were far more important. Shori had been good about leaving him to himself since he’d first arrived, but from the serious looks he’d been receiving early that morning, Yuuri had known that his older brother wasn’t going to leave him alone for very long. He hadn’t been surprised at all when the taller man had expressed his desire to go out, and had followed after him as the earthen demon king had lead him down the street and further into town.

Now Shori was staring at him intently, as if trying to figure out what was bothering him on his own. Black eyes stared at the younger man through the lenses of his glasses, though Yuuri couldn’t find the courage to look back at him, scared of what his own eyes may reveal should he stare into the wise gaze of his perceptive, over-protective brother, who knew him better than Yuuri could admit to knowing the other man. There was curiosity in his gaze, but that interest could not compare to the worry that was emanating from Shori in waves, a near physically force that almost had Yuuri confessing everything to him if only to ease it’s oppressing weight.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” the older Shibuya wondered after they’d both nearly finished their food, his quiet voice betraying his concern, though he kept his facial expression as passive as he possibly could.

Yuuri was tempted not to answer him for a moment, to simply look away and continue drowning himself in his sullen mood, and although he managed to keep from looking at his brother, he couldn’t prevent himself from supplying him with an answer, vague as it was. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Shori released a light sigh, leaning back into the booth they sat within as he crossed his arms over his chest. “About the wedding,” he quickly elaborated, staring at the shorter man closely as he waited for his reply.

The younger double black remained quiet for a few seconds, thinking back over the last few conversations he’d had with his brother, and he easily remembered the argument they’d found themselves drawn into at the dinner table just a couple of weeks ago. He shook his head, feeling the familiar flame of anger burning within him as he recalled all that Shori had said that night, the doubts he had, and the thoughts he possessed of his mazoku friends.

“No, you weren’t right,” he couldn’t help but snap, thinking that the actual reasons for the wedding - whether they were as Gwendal and Gunter had stated or as Shori suspected - were actually the furthest things from his mind at the moment. “Me being here has nothing to do with Shimeron or the fighting that’s going on right now.”

“Then why are you here?” Shori wondered, not changing his position as he continued to lounge in the cushioned chair. “What had you looking so scared when you appeared here so suddenly? And don’t tell me it was nothing.”

Yuuri merely shook his head again, an image of his blond haired friend coming to mind at Shori’s inquiry. How was he supposed to tell his brother what had happened? He could hardly explain it himself, not the ‘how’s or the ‘why’s, or what he was going to do to fix everything - or even if there was anything he could do to fix everything. Would Shori even understand if he told him? Would he show some compassion, or would he go on being as suspecting and distrusting as he’d been since he’d told he and his family of the wedding and the reasons behind it.

He wanted to tell him. Though he didn’t want to think about it any more than he already had in an effort to not become so confused again, and though he didn’t really feel like voicing the newest of his many problems, he found that he desired Shori’s opinion on the matter. His older brother was infinitely more intelligent than he, and though the man had teased him throughout his life - as all older brother’s would tease their younger siblings - he knew that Shori wouldn’t deny him his advice and guidance should he ask for it. Shori may not have a straight answer for him, but surely the man wouldn’t push him away.

“It’s Wolfram,” the younger king finally answered him, finding that he had to spit the words out, and when he did he wouldn’t have been surprised if Shori had been unable to hear him, his voice had been so soft. Just saying it made him feel self-conscious, like everyone in the building had turned to stare at him, like they knew what was causing him such turmoil: in truth, the other patrons hardly seemed to care about the two brothers secluding themselves in the corner.

“Ah,” Shori made a noise that suggested he’d thought that would be the problem if it weren’t Shimeron. There weren’t many other things that usually bothered Yuuri, after all, so he supposed it was a bit predictable. “Your wife.”

Yuuri’s head shot up at that, eyes narrowing at the slight amusement he caught in his brother’s voice. “He’s not my wife!!” he snapped, not appreciating Shori’s little joke at all. “He’s my…” he caught himself, realizing what he was about to say and not feeling comfortable with it quite yet, at least not comfortable enough to say it aloud in a public place on Earth. “He’s my friend.”

“That’s all?” the older man wondered with one eyebrow raised in question. “I could have sworn we were just at your wedding a week ago,” he stated casually. “I suppose he’s more than a friend to you now.”

Yuuri frowned, giving his brother a level stare. “You know why we got married,” he said.

Shori uncrossed his arms long enough to wave one of his hands dismissively, as if the reasoning behind it no longer mattered, and just the fact that they were now wed meant that things had changed drastically in their relationship - and inwardly some small part of Yuuri admitted that he was correct. “For the kingdom,” the older king supplied, then shot Yuuri a meaningful look. “Or at least that’s what everyone wants you to believe,” he added, and the slighter man was about to cut him off in order to defend his friends again, when Shori said, “including yourself.”

This had Yuuri stopping to think for a moment, not understanding why Shori would say something like that. He narrowed his eyes in confusion, glaring at the man across from him as he caused his thoughts to spin even more. “What?”

“A simpler solution to your problem would have been to appoint him as your heir, if everyone’s really so concerned about you suddenly dying on them and Greta being unable to take your place,” Shori explained, going back to his suspicions of his younger brother’s compatriots. “But your von Voltaire friend had other ideas. He wanted Wolfram to be more than a simple heir. I wonder why that is.” He didn’t sound curious at all; he’d said it more as a way to get Yuuri to start thinking about it on his own.

The younger Shibuya didn’t even spare it a thought. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. And I don’t appreciate the fact that you continuously question their honor,” he told him, some of his anger showing through in his voice. “I don’t know what makes you think they’re plotting something behind my back, but your suspicions aren’t worth anything.”

Or at least that’s what he was desperately trying to convince himself of. He had to admit that he was beginning to have his own doubts, though he’d be damned if he gave into them, wanting to trust in the friends who’d never before given him any reason to doubt them. But the fact that Gwendal and Murata had so recently begun to stray away from him was beginning to cause him to have some suspicions of his own, though he still had no clue what Wolfram had to do with anything. For what other reason would they want Wolfram in a position of power if not to benefit the kingdom?

“What about you then?” Shori wondered, distracting him from his thoughts yet again.

Yuuri’s look of curiosity was back, not understanding his brother’s questioning. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Why did you marry Wolfram?”

The younger double black winced, knowing how awful his answer must sound in the ears of others, how much it would hurt Wolfram to hear them tumble out of his mouth. “For the kingdom.” He cringed further after he said it, realizing for the first time since Gwendal, Gunter, and Murata had come to him with the idea that, regardless of the fact that he didn’t want to turn Wolfram into some sort of tool, he had done so without even knowing it. Marrying him for a reason besides love had made sure of that.

“I don’t think of you as a tool!” he remembered telling the other boy, and though he’d meant it he only now realized that it didn’t matter what he thought of him. He’d abused his feelings for him and turned the blond into a pawn anyway.

“Are you sure that’s all there is to it?” Shori wondered then, noticing the guilt on his face, the disgusted look in his eyes, the way his younger brother’s face had drawn down with his sudden comprehension. “You might want to consider the idea that some part of you wanted to marry him,” he offered, watching as Yuuri looked back up at him, black eyes widened in surprise at his comment, bafflement replacing shame and distaste. “I’ve never known you to do something you absolutely don’t want to do. You’d sooner find another solution than give in so easily,” he added.

Yuuri remained silent for a long moment, allowing himself some time to think his older sibling’s statement over. He’d been doing a lot of thinking recently, trying to come up with his own answers and solutions rather than waiting for them to make themselves known as he had in his youth - when he’d lived by the moment and worried about the consequences of his actions later. Only now was he beginning to discover the errors he’d made, how his better judgment had been blinded by his desire to protect and serve the people. Thinking back on it all, there were a lot of things he wished he could have changed.

But to think that he could have actually wanted the wedding for some other purpose than to ensure the kingdom’s future… while it was true that he wanted to stay with Wolfram, for the other boy to be by his side as he had been so faithfully over the last four years, he couldn’t say that that had affected his decision at all. He didn’t see how that could have incited him to accept the marriage so easily. He wanted to do what was best for his country, make certain that his people would be well taken care of in his absence. He wanted to make Wolfram happy as well, it was true, but that hadn’t been his first priority when accepting his advisors’ proposal.

Only when he’d seen how upset his decisions and actions had made his fiancé had he desired to do something to change the way Wolfram was feeling. Only when he’d witnessed his hidden vulnerability had he been hit with the urge to protect him, to keep him close and try everything in his power to bring a smile to his face. Only when he’d realized how much Wolfram truly loved him did he begin to feel the desire to keep that love for himself, to bask in its warmth and accept it as a source of comfort. There wasn’t anything he wanted more than Wolfram’s love; it provided him with a sense of security he’d found in little else.

“Are you attracted to him?” was Shori’s next question, asked so suddenly that Yuuri nearly choked on his own saliva, surprised by the words currently being directed towards him.

Black eyes glanced down at the table top, barely noticing the half-eaten food that sat before him, the fries and burger long gone cold. “No,” he said quietly, his voice returning to the softness that had impaired it when this conversation had first begun.

Yes, he cared for Wolfram. Yes, he wanted to keep him safe. Yes, he wanted to remain by him for as long as he possibly could, wanted the fondness and compassion Wolfram was so willing to offer him, but he couldn’t see how that would lead him to feel any sort of an attraction besides an emotional one. Though he’d never knowingly felt such a thing, Yuuri knew that affection was completely different from physical attraction.

“Look me in the eye and answer the question honestly,” the older man demanded, patiently waiting for his younger brother to follow his orders. When he did, he voiced the inquiry again. “Are you attracted to him?”

Yuuri felt his face heat up with a light blush, and he found it very hard to look the older king in the eye at that moment, and it was only stubbornness that kept him from looking away, wanting to prove to his brother that he could be just as much of a man as he was. The answer was right at the tip of his tongue, a repeated ‘no,’ but he found himself unable to say anything for more than a few seconds, his mind racing in so many directions at once it was hard to keep track of everything. He didn’t even realize what came out of his mouth until he heard it with his own ears.

“I don’t know.”

‘I don’t know,’ he realized, because he’d never given it so much thought before. He’d been so busy denying the engagement, trying to come up with reasons to break it off, ways to end it without losing Wolfram’s friendship, that he hadn’t stopped to find out if he was attracted to the blond haired mazoku. But then he’d never been attracted to anyone before, not to the point where he’d seriously contemplated dating them. Admitting that someone was cute or pretty was completely different than being attracted to them, of that he was certain.

‘But Wolfram’s a boy,’ he reminded himself, the prejudices that were found on earth having heavily influenced his thought process. ‘I shouldn’t even think about him like that. It’s not possible that I would be…’ and the thought trailed off before it could even finish, sounding weak in his own mind. It was entirely possible, he knew. If he hadn’t ever felt attraction towards someone before, then he really couldn’t discount anyone, be they male or female. It was just as possible for him to like boys as it was for him to like girls. The only thing that could stop him was denial. Otherwise, it could go either way.

What traits did he consider to be attractive in a person? With the position he was in as king, he knew that anyone he formed any sort of relationship with had to be willing to make sacrifices, and though he strived for unending peace, worst case scenarios had to be taken into account and prepared for properly so that each individual was ready to handle his or her responsibilities. He wanted someone who was compassionate, someone whom he could trust above all others, but at the same time someone who could take care of themselves. He didn’t want someone who was completely dependant on him for support, considering all the dangers that came with his duty.

As for physical appearances, he’d never really given it much thought before. In his youth he’d always imagined himself marrying a pretty Japanese girl with the typical dark hair and eyes, and that whatever children they ended up having would be the same way. He’d never once stopped to compare, to think if he found certain colorings more attractive than others. He’d never even took the time to look at girls and find out what he considered ‘pretty.’ Everyone had different notions on what it meant to be ‘pretty,’ and he’d never once taken even a minute to discover his own thoughts on the matter.

Looking around the restaurant now, Yuuri spared a glance at each of the female patrons. Most of them were school girls, their uniforms separating them from young college women and the working class. They had their hair pulled up or let down in various styles, none of which he thought were exceptionally impressive. Most of them seemed to be trying to imitate current trends, as was usual with adolescents of any time period he supposed, their uniforms altered where it would allow in order to make them appear hip and cool.

Yuuri had never really cared much for fashion trends and popular culture. When he wasn’t in his uniform, he preferred his baseball jersey or jeans and a t-shirt over anything else. He didn’t understand what was so cool about the girls wearing baggy socks or others bleaching their hair or dying it various colors. He supposed he’d look rather plain standing next to a good majority of them, with his thick black hair reaching his shoulders and his clothing that was neither a size too small nor a size too large. The only time he ever wore anything excessively elaborate was in instances when duty called for such an appearance, and the only time he ever did anything special to his hair was when he was in disguise.

Glancing around at all the artificial coloring and the plethora of meaningless accessories - the multiple earrings, other facial piercings, and the extreme amounts of bangles the girls had jingling along their arms - Yuuri found that he saw such things as rather petty, and he realized that he preferred a more natural sort of beauty, not one created through caked-on makeup and a trendy wardrobe. The most attractive person he saw in the restaurant was a girl who was probably around the age of fifteen or sixteen, her dark hair split into two braids and glasses aiding her in the task of vision as she sat in the opposite corner by herself, reading a book as she munched on some fries.

He took her image in, stared at her for a while, and then thought of his friend back in Shin Makoku, and there really wasn’t much of a competition at all, at least in appearance (he didn’t know the girl, so he couldn’t very well compare their personalities). Wolfram was gorgeous - Yuuri would admit to that without any prodding or provocation at all, and while the girl in the corner was indeed very pretty, there was nothing about her that made her stand out. She was your typical Asian girl, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a complexion darker than that of a westerner. Wolfram, when Yuuri thought of him in Earthen terms, was distinctively European.

The dark haired boy had met his fair share of westerners in his life - there had been a few exchange students in his classes, and he’d been asked for directions from tourists more than once in his nineteen years, but even comparing them to his temperamental fiancé - ‘Husband,’ he reminded himself with another wince, ‘husband.’ - was a bit difficult. Wolfram certainly stood out in a crowd, no matter where he was, his looks needing to be concealed almost as much as Yuuri’s did when they traveled in human lands - both due to his uncanny resemblance to the former demon queen, and to the ethereal sort of beauty found only among the mazoku.

His skin was pale, nearly white, and soft to the touch, with hardly a scar in sight; and, in fact, Yuuri couldn’t readily remember ever seeing any, compared to Conrad, who had scars all along his torso from the numerous battles he’d been in, before, during, and after the previous war. Wolfram’s hair was golden blond, not nearly as curly as Lady Celi’s tight ringlets, but enough to give a decidedly boyish quality to his appearance. His green eyes were large and expressive, framed by the kind of long lashes that girls used so much mascara to achieve, and the delicate features of his face were perfectly proportioned, each fine bone serving to make him seem years younger than he really was.

He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful person Yuuri had ever met, both in this world as well as in Shin Makoku. Even Lady Celi paled in comparison, for although they looked almost identical, there was something about Wolfram that allowed him to outshine his own mother. Yuuri had seen the effects more than once before; Mazoku women swooned in his presence, human women glared in jealousy, and men of both races looked on with longing. He’d been witness to the numerous pairs of eyes that followed his friend around, taking in his every move, glancing over his slender frame as if to sear the image into their minds.

“Are you attracted to him?” he heard Shori asking him again, though he had no idea if he’d repeated the question or if he was merely hearing the older man’s voice in his mind as he imagined the young man who was no doubt waiting for him back at the castle.

Always waiting…

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said in response, the second time he heard those words slip through his mouth. “Part of me says I shouldn’t be,” he elaborated this time, turning his attention back to the man who continued to sit patiently across from him. “He’s a boy - it keeps reminding me - he’s my friend. It would be dangerous to get involved with him.”

Although, now that he was putting some serious thought into it, he realized - with a mixture of dread and, indeed, curiosity - that there was something inside that appealed to the idea of ‘getting involved’ with Wolfram. It was an unfamiliar feeling, almost like an ache, that he’d felt only a few times before. It was what lead him to allow the new physical contact that had recently taken place between the two of them, what made having Wolfram rest against him and put his arms around him seem so soothing. And it was that ache, that itch inside, that had inevitably lead him to seal their lips together in a sudden, unexpected kiss. It was the same feeling he had when he desired to see the blond prince smile.

“Dangerous how?” his older brother went on with the questioning, seeming not to realize the uncertain path his thoughts had recently begun to take, either that or he wanted to continue leading them in this new direction, perhaps as a way to help the younger king sort his problems out.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said again, shaking his head in a manner that made him seem a little unsettled. “It’s just…” he paused, momentarily thinking of how he wanted to word his next phrase. “It’s just this feeling I have. Things’ll change too much, become too complicated. Something’ll happen and…” he paused, seeming to not know what that ‘something’ was, nor what it would cause. “I just know that I can’t, but then there’s another part of me that…”

“That what?” Shori prodded, arching one of his dark eyebrows.

Yuuri blushed, his cheeks heating to a deep crimson. “That… well… I mean…” he stuttered for a few seconds, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. “I mean… you’ve seen him. He’s beautiful, and he’s there… all the time! But I haven’t… I’ve never looked at him like that before.”

“But are you attracted to him?”

“Of course he’s attractive. I just said he’s beautiful!”

“That wasn’t my question,” the king of Earth pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest once more. “It’s completely different to think he’s attractive than it is to be attracted to him.”

The younger brother frowned lightly, furrowing his brows as he tried to think of his best friend in more than platonic terms. “He’s a boy,” were the words that came out then, an unconscious reaction to the thought of forming a deeper relationship with Wolfram than the one they already shared. To be honest, Wolfram’s sex hardly bothered him anymore. It was more the concept of committing himself to him, to caring that much that scared him now.

“So?” Shori wondered, seeming slightly confused.

“It’s… it wouldn’t be right,” Yuuri continued with the same lame excuses he’d worn out years ago. “I don’t know if I’m… I mean, I know I’m not…”

The older male sighed heavily, causing his brother to look back up at him, cocking his head to the side at the Earthen king’s actions. “You’re making things too complicated,” Shori told him with a shake of his head, finding it hard to believe that Yuuri was still hung up on the issue of his spouse’s gender.

“What do you mean?” the younger double black asked, a look of slight surprise creeping across his face.

“I mean you’re thinking about this too much,” Shori explained. “It doesn’t matter if he’s a boy or a girl. What matters is if you’re attracted to him or not, not what everyone else will think if you are. Who cares what they think?” he questioned rhetorically, making a motion with his head to indicate the rest of the people around them. “They don’t know you, they don’t know him. What they think doesn’t matter.”

“But it does,” Yuuri said quietly, guiltily, looking back down at the table top.

“Does it? Do you honestly care what they think of you?”

It would have been so easy to say ‘yes,’ to make the root of his problems seem like nothing more than petty homophobia, when he knew the real answer was something much different. He’d been raised by his parents to treat everyone as equals, to hold no prejudices no matter what race, gender, ethnic background, or sexual orientation. His mother had taught he and Shori tolerance and compassion the same way others taught their children about God. But it had always been easier to blame his insecurities on homophobia, on a different sort of fear than the one that truthfully kept him from accepting any form of attraction he felt for anyone.

“… No…” he finally answered, his voice still quiet, and he wouldn’t have been surprised at all if it had gone unheard.

“Then what’s holding you back?” Shori asked then, proving to the younger man that he had, indeed, heard him. When Yuuri didn’t answer, Shori leaned forward over the table, lowering his voice to a near whisper as well, though he was sure those around them could care less about the conversation going on between the two brothers. “Is it fear?” he wondered, watching as Yuuri flinched lightly. “Are you afraid of committing yourself to someone?”

“I have a whole kingdom to worry about,” the king of Shin Makoku said, though he knew now that he was merely making more excuses. “I can’t make one person more important than all the rest. It wouldn’t be right.”

“And focusing all your attention solely on the kingdom will turn you into an obsessive freak. You’re denying yourself something because you’re worried about your attention straying away from your people?” Shori shook his head in what appeared to be disapproval. “I think your confusion is doing more damage in that respect than any relationship you may have with Wolfram ever would.”

Yuuri’s head snapped up at that, a stricken look marring his visage as he took in his brother’s words. He knew the kingdom was in a bad way at the moment, nearly cornered by Shimeron and it’s allies, but he hadn’t thought his personal dilemma was having an affect on that issue. Though, when he took the time to think about it… his running away certainly wouldn’t have the most positive outcome as far as their political situation was concerned.

“I don’t want him to get hurt,” he said then.

Shori snorted, then replied with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “You’re doing a fine job of seeing that that doesn’t happen.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“And what makes you so sure that you will?”

Yuuri frowned, easily remembering the night he’d been informed of Fane’s decimation, how he’d snapped at both Murata and Wolfram, could recall the bruises that had been left on the blond’s pale shoulders. He hadn’t meant to do it, hadn’t even thought of it at the time that he’d been speaking to his friend, but that didn’t change the fact that it had happened. “There’s something wrong with me,” he replied, allowing his uncertainty to show through in his voice and on his face again. “There’s always been something wrong with me, and I’ve only recently begun to realize that… that it’s a problem. My anger,” he said, “it gets out of hand. What if I-”

“I think your little wife is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I highly doubt he’d just sit back and allow you to mistreat him. He definitely isn’t the kind of person who’d put up with something like that,” Shori said in return, somewhat surprised when the younger man didn’t automatically snap at him for referring to Wolfram as his ‘wife’ again. It was a sure sign that Yuuri was thinking, and thinking hard, which the older Shibuya thought was a good thing. “As for this anger issue, if you’d take some time to cool off maybe you wouldn’t have such a problem. If you keep focusing on the source of your anger, then there isn’t much you can do to get rid of it.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple.”

Shori released another sigh, almost annoyed by his younger brother’s unwillingness to let everything go. Did the boy always have to come up with some sort of an excuse or argument? “Stop analyzing everything. I understand that you’re afraid, but you shouldn’t let that stop you,” he said, then suggested, “I can give you all sorts of reassurances, but I doubt they’d help much. Why don’t you give this thing with Wolfram a chance before coming to any sort of decision on whether it’s the right thing to do or not?”

“Because then I’d be using him to satisfy my own curiosities,” Yuuri provided him with what he thought was a better argument than the ones he’d previously been giving.

“You’ve got to find out someway. You can’t just sit around denying that you feel anything your whole life when you never even tried.” He paused, giving his younger brother a serious look, before continuing without regard to what his reaction would be. “What’s worse, using him in order to ease your curiosity and figure out what you do or don’t want, or remaining confused for the rest of your life and losing any relationship you may have been able to have with him?”

Yuuri was about to answer, “using him,” but stopped himself and clamped his mouth shut before he could say anything, knowing that question was one he was meant to think about. He’d already gone over it in his head, how he wanted nothing less than to turn his friend into a tool, but he had to admit that a part of him thought it would be worse to never even give Wolfram a chance, to continue on with life as it was now, constantly avoiding the whole situation. He may not want to use Wolfram, but then he may never know how he felt about the boy, he may never understand that ache that had lead him to kiss him in the first place.

He wanted to know. He wanted to find out, wanted to see if all the answers lied with his blond haired friend. There was only so much that he could accomplish by thinking things over. Everything else would have to be discovered through actions. He couldn’t find out if he liked kissing Wolfram if he never allowed himself to kiss him, would never know what a relationship between them would be like, feel like, if he never allowed more than the occasional hug.

Either way he’d feel guilty. Guilty for using Wolfram, or guilty for pushing him away. Neither sounded very appealing to him.

But if this helped, if this had the potential to end positively…

He had to try, no matter how it made him feel.

* * *

Murata Ken sighed deeply to himself as he stood within the empty chamber that had once housed the Original King’s soul, blankly staring through the lenses of his glasses at the wall before him, his dark eyes slowly glancing up at the crest on the wall where Shinou’s soul had once been contained. He’d come here a few hours ago, needing some time away from the hustle and bustle of castle life so that he was able to peacefully collect his thoughts. Ulrike was not currently present, knowing him well enough to easily be able to tell when he’d rather be alone and when he needed an ear to voice his frustrations to.

The dim room was shrouded in silence, save for the light trickling of water, a noise he’d grown so used to hearing it hardly phased him anymore. He was in his spot before the platform, the very spot he’d taken up many times before when conversing with his old friend, finding that sticking to his old routine, no matter how futile it was now, provided some small bit of comfort. It was as if things were back to how they used to be, before the world began to spiral out of control and things began to change far too quickly for his liking.

The Palace of the Original King had always been a sanctuary to him. He was the only man allowed to come and go without constantly needing the permission of the shrine maidens, and it was here that he had resided until Shinou’s true demise three years ago. He felt more at home here than anywhere else in the kingdom, more so even than he did at Blood Pledge Castle, for it was here that he felt his connection with Shinou was at it’s strongest. He’d spent so much time between these walls that it felt strange now to be living under a completely different roof.

He’d chosen to move into Blood Pledge soon after he and Shibuya had made their surprise return, hoping that in doing so the memories of his many past lives would begin to ease. It had worked for a while, and he’d been able to go about this new life as normally as he could, seeing to the duties Shibuya gave him and trying to put those four-thousand years behind him. He was Murata Ken now, still the Great Sage, but not the same person he’d been when the boxes had been created and the darkness sealed inside. He was a growing man; far different than the somber advisor he’d been to the fickle first king.

He’d grown, he’d matured, and he’d aged. He’d made friends and stared down enemies, had made more good memories in this life than he could remember making in any of his lives before. He felt free, despite having such a powerful soul trapped within a powerless human body. With Shibuya as king there had hardly been anything to worry about. He’d been able to maintain the carefree nature he’d been unable to keep so many times before, the mental strain of so many memories easing with each good turn his current life took. He’d found happiness for the first time in over a millennia, knew now what it felt like to truly be at peace with himself and his role in the world.

Shibuya had been the key to that.

It was truly ironic, then, how the cause of this world’s happiness could also be the cause of its pain. He hated to admit to his anger, because, in truth, he could see the demon king’s reasoning, could understand his hesitance and concern, but he could also see how much damage Shibuya’s unwillingness was doing, to their people, to their land, and to everything they’d built over the last four years. It was disconcerting to the bespectacled man that he and the king were having such misunderstandings, and he honestly had no clue as to how to deal with this personal issue. Shibuya was the first real friend he’d had in a long time, so it was difficult to remember how to go about solving these sorts of problems.

He’d come here seeking answers, though he knew little would be learned simply by staring at a stone wall with the only background noise being the trickling of water, but he’d run out of other alternatives. Blood Pledge was too loud a place for him to think; there was hardly a silent moment with maids constantly coming and going, guards patrolling the halls, and the plethora of nobles still taking residence under the roof arguing nearly all the time. He’d made a similar escape to the one Shibuya had, going to the place he felt most comfortable in order to calm down and sort everything out in relative peace.

Things were becoming too unpredictable for his liking. Usually he prided himself on his ability to at least sense what was about to happen in the near future. Because of his human body, his maryoku lay dormant, but even in rest it still served some small purpose, his intuition greatly increased, allowing him to predict through a heightened sense what others would not be able to see until it smacked them right in the face. It was a feeling he had in his subconscious, a tingle in the back of his mind. In his first life as Great Sage, he’d been closely attuned with the living world and it’s workings, so he supposed some of that had carried over through each of his new lives.

Recently, however, things had become harder to sense. Perhaps it was because his powers were dwindling, his human body failing around him far faster than it would have had he been born mazoku, or even half. Perhaps, also, it was a result of Shinou’s passing. He no longer had that voice warning him with it’s little riddles, clueing him in on how the Original King planned to direct the paths of those under his control. He was left to make guesses on his own, and it was strangely unnerving. He, like Shibuya, didn’t enjoy being left in the dark, but it seemed as if that’s where he’d been quite a bit recently.

Certain things had been fairly simple to foretell, such as Shimeron’s continued rebellion, Belal’s quest for power and domination, and the humans’ discontent and distrust. He’d been quite certain that there would eventually be another war, so things such as that were simple to anticipate. Peace could only last for so long, after all, and though the hatred between mazoku and humans had lessened over the years, it had not been eradicated completely. Added to that a few power-hungry men and it was only obvious that warfare would one day ensue.

What he had not been able to predict was the royal wedding. It had come as a slight surprise to him when Lords von Voltaire and von Christ had suggested it to him before bringing their idea to the attention of the king, and although the Sage had agreed with their reasoning, it had struck him as odd how they would choose now of all times to worry about such things, when they could have just as easily brought it up in the three years that had gone by since Shinou’s end. Nor had Murata been able to predict that the Aristocrats would vote unanimously. He’d been almost certain that Bielefeld, Mannheim, Yale and Grantz would pose some form of opposition.

Now he thought he understood. It had taken him a while to figure out, but he’d come to realize the true meaning behind their ruling, the reality behind Gwendal and Gunter’s plan. None of them had told him, perhaps fearing that he would voice some sort of an objection and inform Shibuya of their little plot, but he had no such intentions. Secretly he agreed with their desire to go to war. He did not wish for it as heatedly as they did, but he knew that it was truthfully the only way for them to save their kingdom at this point, especially with the threat of their most recent enemy looming over them - which he had also failed to foresee.

He didn’t exactly approve of Lord von Voltaire’s methods, but it wasn’t his place to intervene. He’d noticed the turmoil between the three brothers when he’d first arrived in this world, and had watched it shift and change as the years wore on. Von Bielefeld had denied Lord Weller as his sibling, only to now accept his presence and even seek a form of comfort from it, while von Voltaire was now the one straying away, focusing more on his duty than he ever had before now that things were cooling down between the younger two. They were most definitely a unique trio, one he enjoyed watching immensely, but their familial issues were now forming a new set of problems, ones he feared would have effects more adverse than the ones caused by the split between von Bielefeld and Weller.

Add to that Shibuya’s current fear and confusion, and a whole new mess was slowly being formed right before his eyes. He had confidence in the king and his subjects, but he didn’t know how long the kingdom could last before they finally realized what they were doing to themselves and to the country they ruled and protected.

The sound of the door creaking open broke Murata from his thoughts, and he spared one last long look at the crest on he wall before turning to see who had disturbed his moment of silence. His dark eyes widened a fraction when he saw not Ulrike or one of the other temple maidens, but Prince von Bielefeld’s childhood friend, the beautiful Lady Elizabeth.

Murata had, unfortunately, not been able to meet with the lady the first time she’d visited the castle, feigning interest in the king in order to get close to Shibuya’s fiancé, although the Sage had heard of the events that had proceeded her arrival and found great fun in brining up such stories in Shibuya’s presence. Since then, he’d met her a few times, but never before had they spoken to one another privately, Elizabeth choosing to spend most of her time with Prince Wolfram, Princess Greta, and Lady Cecilie. To have her coming to him now was a bit of a pleasant surprise, and he immediately forgot his desire for solitude.

Who was he to refuse a pretty lady, after all?

“Your Highness,” she greeted him with a shallow curtsey, a few strands of her long, dirty blond hair falling over one of her shoulders, amethyst eyes curiously looking about the room.

“Lady Elizabeth,” he nodded in return, forcing his pleased smirk off of his face, turning back to face the wall once she’d arrived by his side.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and couldn’t stop the corner of his lips from twitching ever so slightly. She really was a beautiful woman, as he’d heard Shibuya exclaim the first time the king had told him about the girl. She did, however, hide a violent side beneath her innocent looks, her skills with a sword greatly surpassing those of most men, an equal match to the boy she’d spent her youth with. Her delicate looks were truly deceiving, as she was a young woman fully capable of taking care of herself; and though she’d once convinced herself that she was in love with the young von Bielefeld, she was not the kind of woman who needed a man to keep her happy.

The women in this world were truly refreshing, a sight for sore eyes really, as so many of the girls on Earth spent their time pining after men who wouldn’t treat them right instead of growing into self-sufficient, independent young ladies.

“Not many people come in here anymore, or so I’ve heard,” Elizabeth said off-handedly, staring at the wall ahead of them as well, her hands clasped demurely before her, concealing her true strength behind girly tendencies much the same way the previous queen did. “Usually this room is only graced by people when the yearly ceremonies arise.”

“There isn’t much reason to come here,” Murata said in reply, turning again to openly look at her, somewhat curious over her arrival, despite his initial pleasure.

“So, then, may I ask what’s brought you here?” she wondered politely.

“It gives me some time to think in peace,” he answered her honestly, seeing no threat in her presence at all. She was more a welcomed distraction than anything else.

Still, she looked unsure of herself at his words. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“You are,” he said bluntly, and grinned at the guilty look that crossed her face, her purple eyes widening. “But it’s fine,” he quickly reassured her. “I shouldn’t be spending so much time in here. It’s unhealthy to remain so attached to someone who is no longer there.”

“Do you miss him?” Elizabeth asked him then, just as bluntly as he had been only seconds ago.

The Great Sage raised an eyebrow at her show of courage. Not many people would question him so openly. “Some would see that as a very inappropriate question.” And if he were the sort of man Lord von Voltaire prided himself for being, it would have been, but Murata hardly cared if he was given equal respect as the king or not. He’d choose friends who were willing to honestly talk to him over those willing to serve him because of his title any day.

The lady looked ashamed of herself right then, lowering her eyes to the ground. “Pardon me for intruding, Your Highness. I’m merely curious; you were closer to Shinou than anyone, weren’t you?”

“I suppose I was,” he replied easily, a small smile on his face as he watched her various reactions. He enjoyed the fact that although she seemed humbled, he did not intimidate her at all. It was somewhat refreshing. Most noblewomen, with the exclusion of a select few (those being Lady Celi, the Princess, Lady von Karbelnikoff, Ulrike and the shrine maidens, and the Lady Aristocrats), were a bit self-conscious in the presence of someone of such a high rank. “That was a long time ago, however.”

“I see,” Elizabeth observed, allowing a short moment of silence before she continued. “The feeling in here has changed in the last three years. It’s like it’s empty now. People used to be able to feel his presence, even if they couldn’t hear his voice,” she said.

She was completely right. Before there had always been a sort of tension in the air; it felt as if someone was always watching, even when one was in the room alone. The air had been thick and heavy, and it had been easy to sense the power coursing through the walls, even for those who possessed little power themselves. Shinou’s presence had easily been noticed, just as his absence was felt now.

“What do you think happened to his soul?” the blond woman asked him, sounding truly curious. “Could he have been reincarnated?”

“It’s a possibility, though I highly doubt we’d know it was him if we saw him,” the Sage said in return, truthful in his words. “He most likely wouldn’t remember anything,” he added, as there was no need for the Original King to be cursed with his fate. “There’s no telling what happened to him.” He smiled regardless of the depressing thoughts swirling about his head at those statements, and turned his full attention to the pretty lady who stood to his side. “And there’s no use worrying about it. What’s done is done; we can only move on,” he told her with an optimistic grin. “Now, may I ask what’s brought you here? Is there something I can do for you?”

She frowned at his inquiries, though he was sure her sudden grim mood had nothing to do with him. If he could have been given two guesses, he would have made the right deduction on the first try. “I’ve come to speak with you about His Majesty and Brother Wolfram.”

“Ah,” Murata frowned as well, thinking of his friend and the blond haired prince. “The newlyweds.” He shook his head, motioning for her to follow him as he began to make his exit of the room. “I’m afraid there isn’t anything I can do about that situation.”

That was an issue Shibuya would have to work out for himself.

“But you and His Majesty are friends,” Elizabeth pointed out. “Surely you can talk some sense into him.”

“Obviously you’ve never tried to do so before,” he said as he led her into the dim halls of the building, shutting the heavy doors behind him. “There is no talking sense into Shibuya. He does and thinks what he wants. If he wants to keep making things worse with Prince von Bielefeld, then that’s his prerogative. There’s nothing I can do to fix their relationship.”

“You’re angry with His Majesty,” the young woman observed with a hint of surprise in her voice.

“I’m angry about a lot of things,” he admitted.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever seen you in such a mood.”

He gave her a wry smile. “When you’ve lived as many lives and seen as many things as I have, you’re bound to end up frustrated after a while. It was only a matter of time before everything started taking its toll.”

“Is it His Majesty’s hesitance that displeases you?” she wondered.

The Sage sighed again, thinking over her question before answering, remaining by her side as they walked sedately towards the exit, passing by the random shrine maiden along the way. “I’m not sure,” he eventually replied. “It’s as if he’s become blind to every problem that arises before us, and his inability to deal with it all is affecting the prince as well. Neither of them have done anything to solve our current crisis, and with everything that’s happening now…” He almost sighed a second time in the span of a few seconds, but stopped himself before he could. “Shibuya couldn’t have picked a worse time to run off,” he said instead.

“His absence is upsetting Brother Wolfram,” Elizabeth pointed out, though the Sage was well aware of the Prince’s current condition. He supposed the lady was simply worried about her friend, having been prevented from speaking with him in recent days, as the blond had refused to see any visitors who didn’t come in the form of a green haired medic.

“Well, there isn’t much besides Shibuya that can make him happy, is there?” Murata offered her a smile, but it didn’t have the desired affect.

Lady Elizabeth’s face fell, her eyes once again glancing down at the floor as they continued to walk, the stones passing slowly beneath her healed feet, the sounds made by their shoes echoing off the walls. “It isn’t fair,” she said at last, truly worried about her friend and sympathetic to his plight.

“Life’s not fair,” the Sage told her, hating to see such a pretty woman looking so downcast. “Believe me, I know. Shibuya and Prince von Bielefeld will have to work through this on their own. No one can do that for them. Let’s hope they’re capable of sorting through their personal problems and protecting the kingdom at the same time.”

So far there was little to be confident about.

“Do you think they have a chance to be happy together?” she asked, her love for the blond haired boy still evident in her voice, and in the concerned sparkle that lit her violet eyes. Her feelings for the Prince were purer than they had been years ago when she’d battled the king for his fiancé, her delusions of true love now replaced with the sisterly sort that had brought them to be so close when they’d been young children.

Murata shrugged, having no real answer for her. It was just another of the many things he’d recently been unable to predict. “Who knows?” he said. “This marriage was either a mistake or a blessing in disguise.” They’d arrived outside now; the cool winds of late summer and early autumn blowing against them, the stars twinkling brightly up in a clear black sky. “Now,” he said, turning to face her with another wide smile, “why don’t I escort you back to the palace. It’s a bit late for such a pretty lady to be walking outside by herself.”

Elizabeth smiled in return, the light blush that stained her fair cheeks hardly noticeable in the darkness of night. “I’d like that, Your Highness,” she replied, seeming pleased by his attention.

“Please,” he began, black eyes sparkling behind wire rimmed glasses, and for the moment he was able to forget all the troubles that plagued them, focusing instead of the young woman who’s company he was beginning to enjoy. “Call me Ken.”

* * *

Nights in Blood Pledge Castle were always dark. The hallways fell silent as the maids returned to their quarters, taking the opportunity to rest before beginning their chores again the next morning. Guards stood at their posts silently, eyes shifting up and down the corridors, looking for any signs of trouble. The royal family rested peacefully in one wing of the grand palace, the other nobles slumbering just as serenely, their daily troubles forgotten as sleep claimed them.

The halls were dim, a few torches lighting the way for those who chose to stay up passed the midnight hour, but it wasn’t very much to see by, nor was the glowing of the moon or the light of the stars as they peeked out from behind a stray cloud or two. There were no explosions coming from Lady von Karbelnikoff’s laboratory, no arguments heard between the Aristocrats, no whispering from those who cleaned the rooms and cooked the meals for His Majesty, his family, and their many guests. All was quiet and still, with only the occasional gust of wind from outside creating any sort of noise.

On this particular night, many of the castle residents had chosen to retire early, and only a few remained awake. Lord Gwendal von Voltaire was one of those few, pouring over documents, charts, and maps, his attention still focused of the issue of their seemingly invisible enemy, working himself into an angry fluster, a painful ache beginning to form at his temples. There was work piled up high on the king’s desk, and a stack of mail that had been delivered by a dispatch earlier that had yet to be read. Gwendal slowly looked through it all, though none seemed to be of great importance.

There were very few others as dedicated to their job as the Chief of State was, the castle’s other occupants choosing sleep over continuous work, feeling safe within the palace walls.

Blood Pledge Castle was said to be an impenetrable fortress. The wall surrounding the capital city kept any unwanted guests from entering into their streets, and if anyone did happen to find their way in without permission there was another wall around the palace that prevented them from coming any closer to the seat of their monarchy. The gates were opened during the day to allow visitors to come and go, and security was the tightest it’d been in many year, but at night the gates closed, and the number of guards patrolling the halls decreased as those that had spent all day keeping a close watch on things were released from their duties to rest their weary bodies.

Blood Pledge was indeed a safe, secure structure, but its defenses had been penetrated before…

And would be again.

Prince Wolfram hardly noticed that anything was amiss, lost in his dreams as he rested within the king’s large bed, the Princess laying comfortably beside him, looking very much like the small child she used to be as she curled up under the blankets, close enough to her father to make her feel safe, but far enough away from him so that she did not feel smothered. Many times she’d come in here over the years to share a bed with the blond when Yuuri was away, just as she’d slept between her two fathers when the black haired man was home. It was not an uncommon sight to see her and the Prince curled up next to one another, their matching pink nightgowns making their relation fairly obvious.

Both were heavy sleepers, so neither of them noticed as the door was slowly pushed open, just enough so that a group of dark figures could silently slip into the room.

There were two of them, nothing more than dark shadows in the blackness of the room, creeping towards the bed as quietly as possible. Prince Wolfram lay in his normal spot on the right side of the mattress, with King Yuuri’s space taken up by the slighter body of the dark haired princess. Neither of them suspected a thing, their eyes shut against the darkness, bodies still in the embrace of their respective dreams. The two trespassers shared a smirk, quickening their approach as the confidence at not being caught increased with every second that went by in their favor.

Turning to his companion, one of the men whispered his orders. “Get the girl. Make sure she doesn’t make any noise,” he demanded, watching as the other man nodded in understanding.

The Princess was roughly yanked off of the bed, her eyes snapping open at the sudden movement, widening as her back met with a thick, hard chest, a large hand coming up to cover her mouth before she was able to utter a single word, much less make an attempt to shout for help. Her dark eyes stared through the darkness at her captive’s leader, filled with fear at the leering smirk that was sent in her direction before the large man turned his attention to the still slumbering prince. Momentarily she tried to struggle, screaming against the palm that covered her mouth as she was dragged away from the bed and into the corner of the room, but it wasn’t nearly loud enough to draw the attention that would save her and her father.

The first man chuckled at the Princess’ attempts to break free, moving to awaken the body still resting upon the bed.

Wolfram was jerked suddenly into consciousness, the sound of ripping fabric reaching his ears as he was violently pulled off of the bed, stumbling on shaky legs as his head began to spin, confused as to why he’d been awakened so suddenly. He shook the bout of lightheadedness away, his senses returning to him slowly, and he could then feel someone’s hand fisted into the collar of his nightdress, keeping him in a standing position. Tired green eyes looked up to discover the cause for the unexpected disturbance, only to widen at the unfamiliar face that greeted him. He opened his mouth to shout, only to find it quickly covered.

“Good morning, Prince Wolfram,” the taller, much larger man smirked in apparent amusement, dark blue eyes sparkling dangerously.

The blond haired mazoku spared only a few seconds to take in the attackers’ appearances. The one who had a tight hold on him was quite big, probably equal to Gwendal in strength and stature, with lengthy brown hair gathered back at the nape of his neck with a string of fraying twine. His face, ruggedly handsome in the moonlight, was covered with stubble, a light scar traveling across the bridge of his straight nose. The other man was years older, dark hair beginning to gray in a few areas, his nose too big and his gray eyes too small, shorter than the first man, but just as deadly looking. Both of them were wearing the gray armor of castle guards, but neither of them were mazoku, that fact made apparent by the protective esoteric stones each of them had hanging around their necks.

Wolfram glared at the man before him, trying to remain calm, but his heart began to race when he heard Greta whimpering in the corner. He glanced in her direction for a moment, easily noticing the frightened tears that streamed down her face. Inwardly he cursed, immediately starting to try to pull away from the obviously stronger man who held him in place, wondering how these men had entered his room. His eyes widened further when realization dawned on him, and he shot a panicked look towards the door.

He’d forgotten to lock it after letting Greta in earlier that evening, and with these men dressed as two of their guards, they wouldn’t have been questioned walking the halls this late at night.

“Now, now,” the brown haired man crooned, his smirk still in place as he gave the blond prince a rough shake in warning. “Let’s have none of that,” he said, narrowing his eyes sharply then, leaning in closer so that he could whisper threateningly at the other boy. “I’m going to remove my hand, but if you so much as try to call for help, I’ll have her killed.” He jerked his head in the Princess’ direction, causing her to release another whimper of fear.

Wolfram was sorely tempted to keep fighting, to kick and lash out until the man released him, then kill the man who dared threaten his daughter, but he knew there was little he could do to get away, not with Greta’s life at stake. Instead he acquiesced, nodding against the palm still covering the lower half of his face, stilling his body as the man slowly began to pull away. He gritted his teeth when he was released, glowering at the large male before him, looking for his sword out of the corner of his eye and wondering how long it would take him to retrieve and unsheathe it, and if he’d be able to do so before they were able to harm Greta.

His attacker seemed to be able to sense his thoughts, his smirk quickly returning at the thought that he and his compatriot had the upper hand in the situation. “If you’re a good prince, I might find enough compassion and spare her,” he said with a dark chuckle. “However, if you give me any trouble,” he began again, his smirk morphing into an evil grin, “… I’ll cut her pretty head off.”

Again Greta screamed against the hand covering her mouth, but it had the same effect as the last time.

“Who are you?” Wolfram seethed, his hands balling into tight fists by his sides, ones he had to struggle to keep from launching into the human’s smug face. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to leave your king a message,” the taller man informed him, one of his hands still buried within pale pink fabric, wrinkling the front of the prince’s night gown, one of the full sleeves already beginning to separate at the shoulder seam.

“Who sent you?” the blond asked then, quickly becoming angry, adrenalin beginning to course through his system, and it was a struggle to keep himself still, to prevent himself from lashing out and breaking free. “What message?”

His answer was delivered in the form of a violent slap, one that echoed loudly through the room and caused his head to snap to one side. He felt a drop of blood seep out of the cut that formed in the corner of his mouth, trickling down his chin and dripping onto his capture’s wrist, his left cheek stinging at the force of the impact. He would have fallen over due to the sheer brutality exhibited if it weren’t for the hand still clutching at his nightclothes, his vision darkening around the edges somewhat before clearing up again. He winced and took in a deep breath, feeling his heart beat faster with every passing moment.

Slowly he turned back to face the man, lifting a hand to lightly finger the blood still making a thin wet trail down his face, wanting to strike back, but knowing that that would most definitely not be the best way to handle the current situation. “You came all the way here just for that?” he wondered softly, although he was aware of the meaning behind that action, the idea that was suggested by slapping a man who was already bound by marriage.

“To His Majesty Yuuri of Shin Makoku,”

The man before him frowned deeply at his tone, eyes darkening further as he finally loosened his grip on the pink material he’d been clutching so tightly. He growled deeply, glaring at the shorter male, before lifting his previously occupied hand and lashing out a second time, this slap even harsher than the last one had been, causing the prince to cry out in surprise and collapse to the floor. The violent action did not leave the man satisfied, his foot jutting out to meet with the prince’s stomach, catching the boy off-guard as he cradled his abused cheek and knocking the air from his lungs.

“Word has spread in the human lands about your marriage to the Demon King, Prince von Bielefeld,” the brown haired human nearly snarled, leaning down to force the boy up again, keeping a firm hold on his upper left arm. “Seeing you now, I think it’s obvious why he chose you as his mate,” he continued, his free hand beginning to wander, lifting the pink gown enough so that he could slip it up his right thigh. “The rumors of your beauty hardly do you justice.”

“Let go of me,” Wolfram’s voice remained lowered in a whisper, fearing that they’d carry out their threats on Greta should he speak any louder. He shivered as the offending appendage trailed up further, disgusted beyond belief that this human would have the audacity to touch him in such a way. He began to struggle against his hold again, but it did little more good than it had the last time, and only resulted in the man tightening his grip on his arm, the fingers of his other hand digging into his upper thigh hard enough to leave a group of five bruises.

“Not until I’ve finished my mission, though by that point I doubt you’ll even be able to move,” the attacker warned, his wicked grin returning. “And I would stop struggling if I were you,” the pressure on his thigh increased at the man’s threat. “You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to the princess, now, would you?”

Wolfram stopped immediately, sparing another quick glance in his daughter’s direction, his thoughts going a mile a minute as he attempted to come up with some way to free her. “What is your mission?” he questioned, hoping the stall the man’s true intent long enough to think of an escape.

“It’s actually quite simple,” the taller male leered, removing his hand from the Prince’s leg in order to lightly finger his slowly bruising cheek, smiling at the mark he’d made on flawless porcelain skin. “And it will be quite enjoyable for me, though I can’t imagine you’ll find anything entertaining about it. You’re so devoted to your king, after all. No other man could possibly take his place, hmm?”

“Another gift I give to you, through the most trusting hands I’ve sent.”

Dread curled within the pit of Wolfram stomach, his heart rate increasing dramatically and bile beginning to rise in his throat at the image that came to mind at this man’s words, the violation that would soon take place if he could not find some means to escape. He’d had his suspicions when he’d first been dragged out of the bed, but now it seemed all too clear what this man planned to do, what his mission entailed. Instantly, the prince’s struggle began anew, trying to release his arm from the human’s grip, his movements mirroring Greta’s attempts to set herself free.

“Let go of me!” he hissed a little louder this time, his breathing becoming labored as panic started to spread through him, his blood rushing through his veins, the adrenalin erasing the pain that would have been felt by the hand that held him just a little too tightly.

“I’ve already told you, ‘no,’” the man replied, using his free hand to dig through one of the pockets of the gray uniform he’d most likely stolen, producing a string of rope with a few esoteric stones woven in.

Wolfram took the opportunity he found when his attacker released his arm and reached for his hands, satisfied with the grunt he received after delivering a kick in his direction. Quickly he turned, stumbling slightly in his efforts to retrieve his sword, his heart sinking when he realized it rested too far away. The man was on him again in a matter of seconds, grabbing his arm and propelling him backwards, nearly throwing him onto the bed. The prince fought the entire time, landing another few kicks and a couple of punches, but the human was hardly phased by them, violently yanking his arms in front of him and tying them together at his wrists.

“You’re not getting away, so don’t even try it,” the brunet seethed, somewhat out of breath after the short tussle that had just ensued. “And I would suggest refraining from trying to use your maryoku. It won’t get you very far, and these stones will leave you reeling.”

“What do you want from me?” the blond asked, though he already had a pretty good idea. There weren’t many reasons for a duo of humans to disguise themselves as soldiers and sneak into the royal bedchambers in the dead of night, and each of them contained some small bit of violence.

“There’s nothing I want from you,” the human replied with another one of his lecherous grins, leaning down so that his face was only mere inches away from that of the prince’s, causing Wolfram to turn his face to the side as his foul breath washed over him. “You’re the one I want, the one I was sent here for. The princess being here as well happens to be mere coincidence, although her presence has so far been rather useful.”

“Who sent you?” Wolfram tried again, his voice coming out a little louder than he intended, and he received another slap for his efforts, though this one was not nearly as harsh as the last two had been.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business. Who my master is should not be your concern right now,” the larger man said, his warm breath ghosting over Wolfram’s pale skin. “What would King Yuuri give up for you?” he wondered then, smiling at the startled look that crossed the mazoku’s face. “Would he go mad to come back and find that his daughter and pretty prince have been taken away from him?”

“Perhaps it will reveal to you the entirety of my intent”

The blond lay completely still on his back, frozen by the questions currently being posed by the human man, green eyes un-focusing as two large hands traveled down and pulled his legs apart, a large, muscular body settling between them. The panic he felt at that moment was nearly overwhelming, his bound hands beginning to tremble as he weakly lifted them to push as the broad chest that hovered above him, the stronger man’s dark chuckle reverberating in his ears. In the corner, Greta was still trying desperately to get away, her tears falling faster now at the position her father was being forced into.

“What would King Yuuri do if he returned and found you bloody, broken and used, his lovely prince ruined by the very humans he claims to want peace with?” the human whispered into his ear, his words causing another shiver to race down the blond’s spine. “Would he still want peace then, I wonder, or would he release the demon inside of him and wage war on our people?”

Again a hand drifted down the lift the bottom hem of Wolfram’s nightgown, sliding it up his calves, over his knees, revealing the smooth, pale skin of his thighs, the chilly night air causing goose bumps to rise upon the warm flesh. Wolfram pushed at the man’s chest, but it had no effect, merely incited him to draw ever closer. Ashamed and restricted of movement, the mazoku prince tightly closed his eyes, unable to look at Greta again as the humans thin, dry lips trailed lightly over the skin of his cheek. He didn’t want his daughter to see this, and somehow it seemed less real with his eyes clenched shut, when he could deny that this was happening and pretend it was all a bad dream.

Where were his brothers now that he needed them? Where were the other castle guards? Did they not suspect something? Had these two men really been crafty enough to avoid detection for this long?

He tried to suppress a whimper as his jaw was roughly taken into a large, calloused hand, his face forced back towards the human man. Chapped lips lightly pressed against his in a poor imitation of a lover’s chaste kiss, the desire in the other man so thick and potent he could physically feel it. It disgusted him, even more so since he was allowing this revolting act to continue. His fear for Greta’s life prevented him from doing much more than pushing at his attacker, a movement that was hardly effective.

Somewhere inside he still had the hope that someone would come and stop this violation from happening, despite that possibility looking fairly bleak at the moment. He didn’t care who it was as long as they could save Greta and stop this man from carrying out his intent to rape. Part of him prayed for Yuuri to come, though he’d feel even more ashamed for allowing the king to see him like this, willingly giving in to some other man - despite the fact that it was to save his daughter’s life, the very idea sickened him. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to Greta; at the same time, he’d never forgive himself for conceding to this assault.

The other part of him was now thankful that Yuuri had run away. No matter how much it had hurt him when Yuuri had abandoned him so easily, he would rather he be on Earth now than here in this room. There was no telling what these men would have done to the dark haired boy had they snuck in to find the king here as well. Wolfram knew he wouldn’t have been able to protect the other boy in that instance when he was as powerless as he presently was. There would have been little he could do to save the king from a fate equal in darkness to his own.

He kept his lips clamped tightly shut as the human above him continued to caress them with his own, refusing to give in so easily, telling himself he would continue to fight no matter how small his efforts ended up being. The human man merely chuckled - another one of his dark, deep bursts of laughter - one hand returning to his jaw, calloused fingered pressing hard into the skin, forcing his mouth open against his will. Wolfram let out a soft gasp at the pain and tried to quickly turn his face away, but the man who pinned him held firm, keeping him in place with hardly any effort at all. For all of Wolfram’s powers and training, this human was still far stronger.

“To bring down all that you have built, and to all that you have swore”

A warm, wet tongue slipped inside, brushing against his own and tickling against the roof of his mouth. Wolfram gagged, revolted, his bound hands again pressing against the thick, broad chest, the muscles against them hard to the touch, and when the man refused to move he began kicking with his legs, though that did little more than the pressure exerted by his hands. He tried to turn away once more, but the grip on his face made that difficult to accomplish. The human moaned in obvious pleasure, the sounds vibrating in his mouth and causing Wolfram to feel sick, bile rising in the back of his throat again.

He’d never been kissed like this before, never felt so violated. The two kisses he’d shared with Yuuri had felt nothing like this, and even if they had been deeper than a soft brushing of lips against lips, he doubted it would have been in any way similar. Yuuri wasn’t this forceful, this unfeeling. Yuuri wouldn’t make him do things he was uncomfortable with, wouldn’t pin him to the bed so he couldn’t move and force something so unspeakable onto him.

The thought of the dark haired boy filled him with sudden invigoration, his struggle beginning anew and with greater energy. He bit at the other man’s tongue, filled with relief when he hastily pulled away, hissing and cursing as he lifted a hand to cover his own mouth. Wolfram allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, hoping the filthy human was bleeding, before he was pushing the man away and forcing himself into a seated position, panting heavily as he moved to put some distance between them. He would not go into this easily; he would not be made into some cheap whore. He’d die before giving himself to someone other than Yuuri.

He didn’t get very far, not that he’d expected to, but the hope had been enough to energize him, and he jerked away when the taller man reached for him. The dark haired human growled angrily, launching his much larger body towards the prince and dragging him back down onto the wide mattress, wrestling with the blond for a moment. Wolfram was able to scratch at his face before his hands were forced down again, tempted to raise his voice and shout for help, but the sight of Greta out of the corner of his eye prevented him from speaking again. He still hadn’t come up with much of an escape plan; he just knew that he couldn’t allow this to continue, even if it killed him.

“Don’t think you can get away so easily, little prince!” the human man snarled into his face, teeth gritted together harshly, the white stained slightly by a touch of red. “I was going to be gentle with you, but after a stunt like that you’ll be lucky if I leave you alive!”

Wolfram spat into his face, feeling oddly accomplished as he did so, despite the fact that he had yet to get away. “Kill me or Greta and Yuuri will have your head,” the blond prince warned, confident that Yuuri would do something to avenge he and their daughter, even if it was simply allowing these men to rot in prison for the rest of their lives.

The older looking man stared at him for a long moment, seeming to consider his words, before another one of his smirks spread across his face. A hand returned to Wolfram’s gown, creeping up beneath it, gliding over the soft skin it found there and playing with the ties that kept his undergarments in place. Wolfram’s face paled considerably, and he swallowed convulsively, his hands beginning to shake again, and he could do nothing as the man lowered himself against him, lips trailing over the skin of his neck.

“Mmm,” he made a noise of approval, acrid breath sweeping across his flesh. “You taste so good,” he said, his smirk widening at the trembling from the thin body beneath him. “So warm,” he added, his hand moving back down to gently stroke the skin of one of the Prince’s smooth thighs. “Has your king ever touched you like this?” he wondered, moving back up to whisper into Wolfram’s ear, his tongue flicking out to momentarily lick at the delicate shell. “Would I really be put to death for taking what belongs to him?”

“You’ll already be executed for the crimes you’ve committed.,” the blond told him. “Whether you continue or not, your fate was sealed the moment you entered this room.”

“Ah, but King Yuuri is much too gentle to have anyone killed, isn’t he?” the human man chuckled at the look on Wolfram’s face then, knowing he was right. “There,” he said, malicious grin widening in confidence, “you know it’s true, don’t you? I can do whatever I want to you and still be allowed to live. Rape, murder - I doesn’t matter. The fact remains that you’ll be sullied and broken, no use to your beloved king, and I’ll still be kept alive. I’ll gladly spend the rest of my days in prison if it means fulfilling the mission that’s been given to me.”

“Long live the Demon King and his Demon Whore.”

Wolfram would have asked him about his mission, would have demanded to know the name of the person who’d given him such a task if he’d thought he would receive that answers he wanted. Instead he was left to discover them on his own, his mind swirling as he tried to understand. What would any of the human kings want from him? Did they really think he was so important to Yuuri that his death would bring about the reaction they so desired? They obviously wanted war, consumed by their sick need for power and the bloodlust that plagued them, but did they truly think using him would incite Yuuri to retaliate and complete their quest for violence?

‘Yuuri…’ the pale mazoku thought of his husband, barely noticing the hands that continued to trail over his body, touching him in places no one had dared to caress before, adding on to the dread that was slowly eating away at his insides. He wanted to throw up, wanted to kill these men who threatened he and his daughter, would have burned them so that nothing remained if it weren’t for the stones that protected them. All of his attempts to get away had been useless so far, leaving him with little hope of saving himself or the frightened girl still being restrained in the corner.

What would Yuuri think of him right now? Would he be angry with him for allowing their daughter to be put into a position where she could very easily be killed? Would he pity him for having his pride and honor stripped away at the hands of this perverted human soldier? Would he feel guilty for leaving, for not being here when his family needed him? Would he even realize how insulting this whole event was meant to be, his home invaded - and effortlessly it seemed, regardless of all the safety measures they’d taken in recent weeks - his child restrained and threatened, and his husband coerced into submission by a man who wouldn’t have even been equal to him in strength if only he were able to cast a spell.

Wolfram felt humiliated as two large hands continued to stroke his flesh, roaming over him as if they wished to touch him everywhere at once, his gown ripped and skin bruised, legs forced apart with hardly any effort at all. He’d never hated himself as much as he did at that moment, and he knew that even if he did manage to get out of this alive, never again would he be able to hold his head high with pride and dignity, never again would he be able to look Yuuri in the eye with confidence and self-assurance. His pride was being taken away from him with each touch, each unwanted kiss, the human’s dry lips working down his neck, teeth sinking into the skin at the curve that lead to his shoulder.

He wanted to cry, wanted to flail and scream until he was released, wanted to shout for Yuuri, Gisela, or his mother, no matter how weak and helpless he appeared while doing so. He wanted someone to save them - anyone - Gunter, Conrart, Dakaskos, it didn’t matter who as long as they could protect Greta, as long as they could get her far away from here, somewhere where she’d be safe, where she wouldn’t have to be afraid. He wanted to hear Yuuri’s voice again; to see him smile just once, to hold him close and never let go, because he may never be given another chance. He didn’t care if Yuuri refused to love him now. It didn’t matter anymore.

No amount of love could save him now.

He could only imagine how much of a scandal this would cause, regardless of the outcome. Whether he lived or died, it didn’t change the fact that his private life would be dissected before the courts as these two men were put on trial for their crimes - if they were even caught. He could already envision the looks he’d receive from the nobles, the mixture of pity and disgust that would be directed his way, the hissed insults that would forever point out his weaknesses, his mistakes. Their citizens would be disappointed when it was discovered that the prince they’d believed in was proven to be nothing more than a powerless child, that the soldier they’d depended on to protect them couldn’t even protect himself or his family.

‘Yuuri…’

The sounds of a scuffle taking place in the corner of the room managed to break him out of his thoughts, his head snapping to the side and his green eyes widening as he watched Greta persist in her struggle. Her captive hissed when she viciously bit at his hand, tears still staining her face but brown eyes now narrowed in determination. Wolfram’s heart soared when she turned within the human’s tight hold, lifting her right leg to administer a harsh knee to the man’s groin, a trick her dark haired father had taught her years ago, never knowing that she would actually one day put it into use.

The gray haired man grunted loudly in pain, arms instinctively releasing their hold on her as he doubled over, hands moving downward as if to sooth the area that had been abused. Greta immediately darted away, stumbling slightly in the darkness of the room, running towards the exit as fast as she could. She’d reached the door before the man above the prince could finish his shouted order of “grab her!” flinging it open and dashing into the hallway, her loud shouts echoing throughout the dimly lit castle. They filled Wolfram with a sense of relief, infinitely proud that she hadn’t given into her own fear, and somewhat disgusted with himself for having to rely on her.

“Help!” she screamed so loudly there wasn’t a chance that her voice wouldn’t be heard. “Someone, help! Guards!!”

“Stop her, you fool!” the brown haired leader hissed at his companion, though there wasn’t much they could do to stop the inevitable now, their plans abruptly changing.

Again Wolfram was revitalized, swiping at the man hovering over him with his bound hands, fingers catching his face and nails breaking the skin. He scrambled away, swiftly crawling towards the end of the bed, his gown falling off one of his shoulders, jaw sore and various places on his body bruised as evidence to the attack. He turned, spotting his sword resting against the wall near the vanity, moving to slide off the bed and run for it, blood pumping through his veins. Inwardly he cheered in victory, his dark thoughts leaving him almost immediately just as his feet lowered to touch the cold stone ground.

A hand shot out and grabbed the back of his nightgown before he could take more than a step, pulling him backwards until he was once more sprawled across the mattress. He allowed himself to shout this time, fighting the large body with all that he had, cursing and flailing in a spirited effort to remove himself from this man’s clutches. He could already hear the guards storming down the hall, and knew it wouldn’t be long until these men were caught. He wasn’t about to go down without a fight, not now that Greta had gotten away, and would inflict as much damage as he could in the short few moments that passed before the guards entered the room.

One of the brunet’s large clenched fists connected with the side of his face, the opposite of the one his palm had hurt earlier, eliciting another pained shout as Wolfram’s head snapped to the side again and he tasted the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. He struck back but missed, the man’s enraged face filling his vision as two hands closed around his throat, squeezing hard and cutting off his air supply. Wolfram raised his own hands to scratch at the man’s arms and wrists, but the grip he exerted on his neck did not ease in the least.

“You stupid bitch!” the fuming human bellowed into his face, eyes lit with an angry fire, hands tightening even more around their prey. “I warned you, but you didn’t listen! Don’t make me repeat myself more than once! Don’t think I won’t kill you!”

Wolfram opened his mouth to reply, but he was unable to force out any words. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breath, couldn’t scream for help, could only continue flailing ineffectively, his movements slowing as his lungs refused to take in any oxygen. It was only a few moments more before his vision began to go dark, blurring around the edges and losing focus, his lungs burning from lack of air. He could hear noises in the background, but nothing really registered, his brain beginning to shut down, his heartbeat decreasing from the fast flutter it had been hammering away at since he’d first realized his predicament.

He heard someone’s rough voice roaring, and the hands holding his throat suddenly loosened, the body above him jerking away and crashing to the hard floor. Wolfram gasped for breath, inhaling deeply, his thin chest heaving. He stared up at the top of the canopy, allowing himself another moment of relief, a cacophony of various voices sounding around him. He could identify one as his mother’s, alarmed and distressed as she tried to calm a sobbing Greta, who was babbling incessantly about what had happened. Another he recognized as Dakaskos, shouting orders to some of the guards.

“Who are you?!” he heard Gwendal shout from nearby, and when he turned his gaze to the side Wolfram saw his older brother standing over the splayed body of his attacker, the tip of his sword pointed at the human’s neck. He was outraged, red-faced and looking as if he was barely holding himself back, his free hand clenched tightly around a piece of crumpled parchment.

The man on the floor remained calm, in no way frightened by the deadly blade held out in his direction. “I see you’ve received my master’s letter,” he said in reply, and Wolfram could almost hear the smug smirk in his words, even as his thoughts began to swirl within his mind, his breathing still not under control, his heart beginning to hammer within his chest again.

A letter? Like the one left in Fane? Had another one been sent for the king?

“I would suggest that you answer my question,” Gwendal fumed, drawing closer to the prone man. “What is your purpose here?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” the brown haired human wondered.

The tall, dark haired man looked towards Wolfram then, seeming to notice the state he was in for the first time as his eyes widened. Wolfram could hardly look away, even though he wanted to, ashamed of himself, especially under his oldest brother’s heavy gaze. His hands were still bound, and he imagined the position he was in was utterly pathetic, the human’s intent made obvious by his current condition, pale skin deeply bruised, blood still seeping out of the corner of his mouth, and gown ripped in assorted places. Wolfram knew he looked horrible, but he could hardly move enough to fix his appearance even a little, nearly frozen on the spot, his fear finally beginning to hit full force now that the adrenalin was beginning to lessen.

Gwendal’s dark face blanched at the sight, before he was narrowing sapphire eyes at the human man, his glare nearly enough to have others in the room running in fright. Quickly he sheathed his sword, then reached down to grab the man by the collar of his borrowed uniform, dragging him up to eye level in order to bite out a reply into his face. “You will pay for your transgressions,” he warned, fists shaking with rage that he was notably struggling with himself to contain.

“On the contrary, Lord von Voltaire,” the brunet continued to smirk. “I think you’ll find your king to be fairly lenient.”

“It won’t matter if I kill you before he returns.”

“Gwendal,” their mother’s voice called out to him from the doorway. “He must stand trial. A fair trial.”

“Look at your son before you tell me he deserves a fair trial!” her oldest barked, and Wolfram’s emerald eyes turned to seek out the former queen.

He saw her by the door, having yet to enter the room, dressed in one of her slinky silk nightgowns, the smooth fabric died a dark black and barely long enough to cover her thighs. She had a sheer robe of a matching color thrown hastily over it, her youthful face washed clean of the make-up that covered it during the day, her ringlets mussed with sleep and beginning to fall out of their tight curls. Her slender arms were wound protectively around her granddaughter, Greta peeking out from the maternal embrace and glancing about the room wildly, eyes swollen red from her tears and wide with terror.

His mother’s green gaze met his, and he watched as her eyes doubled in size, her mouth falling open in shock. Hurriedly she passed Greta to one of the guards, nearly running across the room as her expression paled considerably, her dainty hands reaching out to stroke his face once she’d made it to the side of the bed, gently brushing his blond bangs off his forehead and out of his eyes. Tears gathered within her depths, like she had been the one to go through such an ordeal instead of her youngest son.

“Wolfram, darling,” she whispered, neither of them paying much attention to Gwendal as he ordered that the criminals be placed into one of the empty cells in the dungeon. Her hands continued to flutter about his face, as if she had to touch him in order to prove to herself that he was really there. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t know how to answer her truthfully. He was feeling so many things at once, his emotions washing through him in a giant wave that left him reeling, shaking in the intensity of them. He was relieved to be alive, grateful that Greta had not been injured, and thankful that the men had been stopped before they could go any further with their plans. There was anger, shame, guilt, sadness, and fear all swirling in a thick cloud of thought and feeling, each just as strong and potent as the next.

When he didn’t reply, the blonde woman helped him up into a seated position, then reached out to try and remove he bindings that restricted the movement of his hands. She jumped back with a startled yelp at the electric shock set off from one of the stones embedded within the rope, the charged jolt racing through the young man’s body, and he was left gasping at the slight pain that was experienced and the sudden churning of his stomach. Bile rose in his throat again, and this time he feared he’d be unable to keep it from escaping.

“Mother,” he said to her softly, still panting heavily, even though his lungs had since been soothed by the intake of air. In the back of his mind he realized he was close to hyperventilating, but the comprehension did nothing to ease his harsh breathing. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he told her in a rush of words, striving to move his trembling body off the bed.

His mother was quick to help him, allowing him to lean on her as she lead him into the adjoined washroom, where he proceeded to collapse onto the floor in front of the chamber pot, emptying his stomach of the little food he’d eaten earlier that evening. He felt her hand sliding through his hair, pulling the golden strands out of his face as he continued to retch, dry heaving for a few moments when there was nothing left in his abdomen. His shaking had yet to cease, and once his sudden sickness died down, he allowed himself to relax into his mother’s hold, sitting on the floor and leaning into the circle of her arms.

“Shhh,” she whispered again, comforting him as best as she knew how. “You’ll be alright,” she told him, smoothing one of her hands against the side of his face again, trailing over the dark bruises that were quickly forming, before she slid it down his back, rubbing consolingly. “You’ll be alright,” she repeated, reassuring him as much as she was reassuring herself, cradling his head against her bosom.

The washroom was dark, the only light spilling in from within the bedroom, where candles had been lit soon after the others had barged in, though he hadn’t noticed until right then. It was enough to allow him to see into the room, though he doubted anyone would be able to look and see he and his mother clearly, their forms shrouded by shadow. He watched as the two human men were lead away, surrounded by guards on all sides and guided by the points of swords and spears. Anissina had appeared in the doorway, no doubt alerted by the ruckus that had been caused, her long red hair released from it’s tight pony-tail, her blue eyes looking to her childhood friend with worry as she held onto a still sobbing Greta.

None of them came to see him, perhaps knowing that he would need a few moments to himself before their endless questioning could begin. Wolfram had no intention of leaving the washroom any time soon, nor did his mother seem keen on shepherding him out. She held him tightly, almost as if she were afraid to let go, whispering a bunch of nonsense that he barely even heard, and rocking him in her arms as he if were a small child again. Back and forth, back and forth, the beat of her heart against his ear calming him, his own finally slowing to match.

It had been so long since his mother had held him, and right now he wanted nothing more than to remain there, safe and protected. At the moment, he didn’t care how weak he seemed, nor how pitiful he looked. The only thing that mattered to him was that Greta was safe; the only thing of great importance was that neither of them had been seriously hurt. They’d narrowly escaped a fate he thought worse than death, and though his pride had taken a harsh fall and his confidence in himself had plummeted, he was relieved and so very grateful that nothing worse had happened.

‘Yuuri…’ he thought of his husband again, and he wondered what he was supposed to tell him, how he was supposed to explain all this, and what his reaction would be once he inevitably found out.

Most of all he prayed that the dark haired man would return soon, for he knew that once he was able to see his smiling face, he’d feel safe again, his fear would instantly be washed away, because wimpy Yuuri would never allow anything like this to happen ever again. He was sure of that.

“Wolfram,” he could still hear his mother’s soft voice, cracking and catching in her throat as he felt a few drops of liquid fall into his hair, and it didn’t take long for him to surmise that they were her tears. “My little boy.”

He nestled closer to her, as close as he could possibly get with his hands still tightly bound together at the wrist, burying his face into the softness of the swell of her breast, his trembling easing only slightly, joined by the tremors that ran through her slender body as she struggled to hold in her sobs. It felt so good to be held close; to be the recipient of a gentle, tender touch after all that had been done to him that night. It felt like forever since his mother had last embraced him like this, since he’d let her hug him so tightly, since he’d sought any form of comfort from the cradle of her arms.

It wasn’t until she pressed a kiss to his forehead for the first time in what felt like an eternity that he finally allowed himself to break down, pouring out and releasing the hurt and sorrow in his heart as his own tears filled his eyes and slid down his face. She whispered to him still, her voice so soft he could barely hear her above the noise taking place within his room and in the outer hallway, but it was soothing nonetheless, and served it’s purpose of offering comfort.

“You’ll be alright,” she told him again, though neither of them truly believed her words.

TBC…

The next chapter is Entrer en la Guerre, which means ‘to enter into the war.