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A Marriage of State	By : Niko Category: +G to L > Kyou Kara Maou Views: 2727 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any rights to its story, characters or plot. I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 12
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Chapter Twelve
Murata missed his galoshes. Wading through several feet of snow, wet halfway up his legs, his usual traveling shoes were proving to be rather insufficient for the journey inland. It had been his luck to not find a single pair of boots on the ship which fit, happy at least to have found a heavy coat which was only three sizes greater than his girth. With only the thick material of the Trebic uniform and his own sneakers, Murata was numb from the cold damp from the knees down. Galoshes would have been wonderful. He tried to walk in the already tred patches in their path but the mud below caked on to his soles. Sighing he took his glasses off and rubbed the fog away on his shirt, finding much about his current affairs to be more bothersome than not.
Yozak walked beside him, hanging back where he could watch their king who, with dozens of sailors at his command, was safe enough for him. "Well, I have to admit that this isn't how I pictured things going. Especially not the part where you and his majesty half drown at sea."
Murata nodded, placing his glasses back on his face. "It was unexpected on all our parts. I wish I knew what Shinou was up to."
"I thought he lost his--Oh, forget I asked. I've got more important things to do than track the maryoku levels of the original king." Yozak flexed his shoulders and adjusted his grip on the heavy sack he carried. "Just tell me what it means for us out here."
"I don't know yet," The sage admitted. In general, he did not like being left in the dark. Shinou had always enjoyed his little pranks and secrets but this did not feel like one of those times. The situation was too dire for it to be random but far too sudden for it to be planned. Whichever it was, he was far too distant to inquire. Rather than worry over the things he did not know, Murata preferred to focus on the things he did. "We're going to have to very careful around Shibuya for now."
Yozak nodded, sighing softly. "Kid really thinks he's still alive, huh?"
"He thinks Lord Prince Bielefeld Havard is responsible for our being here. That he heard him and that is what made us change direction."
"Not Shinou?"
Murata shook his head. "Only the three of us have that ability and it requires all three. For something or someone to interfere would take a great deal."
The spy held up a low laying branch for Murata to walk under. The forests were dense and their path wide but the snow had made many limbs heavy and obtrusive. Murata ducked and continued on, stepping over logs and boulders, not caring too much to take in the countryside as much as he wished for dry feet.
"The kid's strong. He can take it once he accepts it."
Of that Murata had no doubt. He'd seen his friend in the aftermath of Conrad's supposed death and he had risen through that to great success. Over the months Yuuri had already grown accustomed to Wolfram's absence. Unfortunately, he had also gained an acceptance of his own feelings. That part Murata did not have a right to share with the spy, however, and that was the part that made him most concerned. "Until he does accept it, we will have to keep him from doing anything foolish. I'm worried he will try and use his powers. I think we can just about guarantee that, in fact. Fueled by grief or anger, we must both make sure he does not get carried away."
"Yeah, I hear you. I'll be on guard. My Captain won't exactly accept anything less from me." Yozak shifted the weight of his sack again. "This is going to mean war, you know. Trebic's people are a bit on the aggressive side when it comes to maritime rights but this had nothing to do with who's trespassing on whose waters. This was just outright hate. Big Cimarron just couldn't accept a human-mazoku alliance."
Murata's glasses were already clouded again but he made no move to wipe them. Even without sight, he knew exactly where they were all headed.
---
He could not open his eyes, he could not move, he could not speak. The list of things Wolfram could not do felt limitless in their limitations, all functions of life having faded in the night with three sharp stabs through his flesh. He wasn't even sure he could hear his own heart beating as he lay in the cold of frozen blood and snow. He felt sure he wasn't breathing. He was also quite sure, however, that he was not yet dead. He could feel against his body every trickle of ice turned water as it rolled along his skin or spread out over his already wet clothes to further soak him. He could tell his toes from his ankles in the way they throbbed with different sorts of discomfort and his fingers from his elbows in the stiffness of his joints. He could hear the wind playing in the garden, tickling through the branches of the evergreens and flirting through his hair. Sometimes he could hear the marching steps of guardsmen on their rounds or the distant hum of speech from an open window. He feared the caw of the crows. He was aware of the world through only touch and sound but by Shinou's grace he was not yet dead. With the sun's light warming him less than the ice chilled, and with no other options, Wolfram remained among the elements with only faith in the original king to fend off despair.
The crunch of compacting snow told of soldiers nearby. Wolfram listened closely, the only thing he could do. It was more than one man but how many more was hard to discern with the odd patterned footfalls. The steps grew closer but did not approach him.
"Should just build a pyre out here and be done with it. There's no way I can carry that guy," said a voice, pitched higher with youth.
"I don't think anyone cares how we dispose of him so long as it's dealt with." An older man, gruff and stuffy, coming down with a cold.
Foot steps circled, just one pair. "What a beast," the young one commented with a whistle. "Just look at all these arrows. There's almost enough tinder here to just light him up where he fell."
"Throw a few logs around just to be on the safe side."
"What about the other one?"
Wolfram felt a rush of excitement, both terrible and desperate. He willed his heart to beat and his lungs to expand but felt nothing but stillness. Life refused to show.
The snow crunched as the men approached. He felt their shadows on his skin, the sunlight pushed away for their stare.
"A mazoku like him doesn't deserve any kind of rites. Just throw him to the dogs or have the cook chop him up for the horses."
The younger man chuckled. "Should we at least spare the pretty face? I'm sure the general will want to send something back to the demon king."
Fight. Run. Wolfram's instincts were screaming at him but his body would not listen. It stayed still as death, carefree and vulnerable on the snowy earth. A man's rough hands moved his bangs from his face, almost gentle but sinister in a way Wolfram could not flinch from.
"Disgusting, isn't it? The symbols of a human royal house on one of these creatures. I can't believe these idiots actually bowed to this thing. Trebic got what it deserved. How can they even call themselves human with this in their ruling family."
A cruel chuckle. "Get that shit off him. He doesn't deserve to wear it."
Wolfram felt the rough hands undress him, their warm touch hot like fire against his skin as they pulled and ripped apart the vesture he'd been given.He burned with rage and indignity but could not change his pallor. Despite his mental cries his body was limp and pliable, allowing them to remove his clothes and his dignity even in the guise of death.
The young man paused as he yanked his jacket from his shoulders. "What the hell is this?" There was fear and awe in his voice. Wolfram felt his hands run across the unbroken skin of his chest and shoulder, the buttons ripping apart to expose his stomach to the cold.
"What kind of sorcery...Let's burn him quick. Don't say a word to anyone."
"Aye...."
One man grabbed his foot, no longer caring about whose boots he wore as he dragged him along the ground. He was going to burn to death if he did not wake up. His skin would melt, his hair fizz out like millions of fuse lines to his scalp, bones char and his insides boil. Saved from an easy death which had ended in sleep just to die again in excruciating pain. Had he the resources, Wolfram would have sobbed. Not a long, drawn out moan but a whimper, a gasp of futility at the hands of a cruel fate. He did not want to die. He didn't want to be dead. He was not done yet. Surely Shinou had agreed if he was aware as he was now. But perhaps it was his own stubbornness which kept him locked inside a body that could still experience pain and fear.
They heaved him against the splintered backs of arrows, the notches digging in to his side; Alfgeir's body. Wolfram wondered if perhaps he too was stuck in an immortal death until memory remind him of the head which had rolled across the garden path. His Alfie. Even if there had been no love, he had been fond of the man. Another lesson Yuuri had taught him: there are different kinds of love. Patriotism, filial and fraternal love were things he had known already. Love of a friend and love of the goodness in everyone were the wimpy concepts of their Earth king. Alfie had been a good man and would have made a good king. He would not have regretted sharing his lifetime save for the absence he took from his own life on hold in Shin Makoku.
Thinking of his homeland made his chest ache. He'd never see his mother or brothers again. Never read Greta another one of the terrible storybooks Yuuri picked out. Never exist in Yuuri's presence again with all the delight and pain that came with it.
That was more intolerable than a death from the gnawing jaws of flames.
He felt the wood pitch over him in a short, makeshift pyre. He heard the flint strike steel several times. He heard the crackle of the first bite, wood dry enough to spark. He felt the rubber of his boots grow warmer, smelled the timber and the stench of burning flesh, felt the warmth that was spreading up and in, boots now painful and his leg hairs curling in the heat.
Elements of fire, obey this proud mazoku...
His eyes opened and saw sky and crossed timbers. His mouth opened in a deep gasp of smoke and crisp winter air. His heart thundered for every skipped beat and drummed in his head till his mind was deaf. He kicked out with his melting boot and struck the boards away, soldier's screaming. He pulled himself out into the muddied slush, crawling on his elbows as his knees slowly caught up beneath him. He knelt several feet away from a blaze that soon picked up, the putrid smell of burning king rising up into the air on the belly of smoke.
A shaking sword pointed at him, young soldier holding it out from several feet away, confusion and horror written in his face.
Wolfram smiled. "If death didn't stop me, what makes you think you can?" he taunted, wanting nothing more than the strength to stand and fight.
From the back gates came the loud but slow, steady clap of gloved hands as the general approached with a wave of retainers. His delicate but harsh face was one Wolfram was sure he would not forget, its cold sneer as he'd killed Alfgeir engraved into his memory.
"Well, I see you mazoku are certainly full of surprises."
Wolfram glared, testing his legs but finding they could not yet hold him. The general's retainers circled him, swords drawn at all angles leaving only the burning corpse and the general in his sights.
"Take him inside," the general ordered, his sneer just as cold as the night before. "He may prove useful."
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A Marriage of State