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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.

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Chapter Thirteen

The first gathering of refugees they came across was luckily too tired and desperate after a couple days' impromptu survival training to notice the double-black features of two of the forty sailors just arrived from the forest trails. So scared and in shock were they that Yuuri wasn't sure they would have minded if a whole regiment of mazoku arrived--anything so long as they were not of Big Cimarron. They were still in the process of making shelters, patches of earth visible where the snow had been gathered for the making of just a handful of small, cramped structures. Children with hands burned red from the cold and bits of flesh singed from the fires helped the adults with the vital tasks while other aged men and women took sharp rocks to sticks to fashion tools. There was a line of clothes hanging to dry but no bodies missing in attire. A pit of naked corpses on the outlying parts of the clearing explained that oddity very quickly. Yuuri stood frozen for a moment as he looked down in the tangled pink mess of more burns and frostbite. Necessity was cruel.

The sailors were quick to get to work, hatchets and rope that had been carried from the ship dispersed to the able who went off into the woods now equipped for the hunt. New, warmer bodies replaced those of the wounded in the efforts to pack in snow blocks for shelter, gloved hands not nearly as affected by the task. Wearily the survivors stood back and huddled together at the campfires, many lent overcoats and jackets to regain some warmth in their numb bodies. Yuuri took handfuls of snow and pressed them firmly together, making brick after snowy brick while the sunlight held out above. Murata took to task beside him, Yozak long gone with the hunting party.

In the daylight there had been no time for speech outside orders. They worked in the quiet, most vacant stares showing minds gone off miles from the camp. It was not until nightfall when the campfires were brightest with the day's kill roasting over the open flames that it seemed okay to have a voice. People spoke amongst themselves on the day's good work, on tomorrow's endeavors, on Big Cimarron's evil and--most ironically--Shin Makoku's part in their futures. Yuuri's ears perked at the mention of his kingdom, attention drawn immediately to the group of men running sharp stones over the backs of the hide they'd skinned from the roasted beast.

"They'd have left us alone if the king hadn't made a bargain with those demon folk. Wasn't even a need for that! We were winning s'far as I can see it. Bigger boats don't make for a more fierce navy. Shin Makoku would have left our waters alone and Big Cimarron would have continued to ignore us." He was a larger man, stocky with red hair and a beard like most of the Trebic men Yuuri had met. In hindsight, the only beardless faces Yuuri had seen were the children and most of the women though shockingly not all.

The group of men nodded to the first's words, muttering approval. "I don't care if Big Cimarron are a load of human supremacists. They never bothered us before and I liked it better that way."

"Just look at the mess we're faced with now. We're in this because of Shin Makoku so where are they now? It'll take near a week for them to get here! By then those bastards will be all settled in nicely with fresh reinforcements. And whose going to suffer all the more for it? Them? No, we are!"

Yuuri bit his bottom lip and started to approach but felt Murata's hand take his arm, looked over his shoulder to see him shake his head to stay his action. The men around their hides had noticed, though, and the youngest and broadest of them jerked his chin in their direction.

"Looks like we've got a couple mazoku here already. You lads, you going to fly home and tell your king to join us?"

Murata's hand tightened on Yuuri's arm but the message, though understood, went ignored. Yuuri smiled just slightly to the group, "I am the Demon King. Please call me Yuuri."

The men laughed, knees slapped and jaws dropped low for the roar. Yuuri was sure he could see every tooth in their mouths as they pointed to him with amusement. "You hear that? This baby-faced pack of twigs says he's the great demon king!"

The chuckle spread slowly but stopped at the sailors. The ship's captain sighed as he came around behind the mazoku. "He's what he says he is, I'm sure of it. Like the Leviathan itself, these two rose up from the depths of the ocean in the middle of the battle and I swear to you there was no ship which bore them there but the ocean herself. What you have here is the great Demon King and his Great Sage with the whole of their armada now racing to Trebic to aid them. What say you to that?"

The men quieted and stared. Yuuri continued to smile, nervousness tinged with misery. He was disappointed in himself. For months Trebic had amounted to only one things to him: Prince Alfgeir Havard. Even when meetings with Bersi and agreeing to supply ships, it had been ships for Alfgeir, not for the hundreds of thousands of people who lived with their choices. These were the lives that could have just as easily been lost in the naval battles between Shin Makoku and Trebic many months before, the lives Wolfram left to protect. In his own willfulness Yuuri had forgotten about the common people who needed their kings to make wise and selfless decisions. He wanted to apologize but knew he needed to look stronger than that. He represented the hope for help that the refugees were desperate for.

He stepped closer, arms open in a gesture of peace. "I'm very sorry you feel our alliance is responsible for the evils you've had to witness. It's hard to be a good example when their are bullies as strong as Big Cimarron around to try and enforce their ideals. But no matter how many ships they bring, how many men, or swords or canons, Shin Makoku will not abandon you. Because we're friends. And I never abandon my friends. Never." He felt warmed by his own determination and relaxed under their stares. "We'll show King Lanzhil that he can't change our hearts just by trying to beat us down. Trebic and Shin Makoku are united by friendship and nothing is stronger. I promise you that I will do everything I can to help you, starting with getting your kingdom back."

An older man with a greying beard scoffed. "The entire royal family was murdered. Who exactly is going to rule over us? You?"

Yuuri shook his head. The last thing he wanted was an empire. "No, you should have someone who knows your country and people. I'm sure there's someone still alive. How do you know they were all killed?"

"Couple folks who worked near the castle saw it well enough. The king, his sons, all of them." The man looked grave as he stroked his beard. "There's another camp not too far from here. New arrival yesterday: Sir Bersi Veleif himself. Said he saw it all. I didn't stay to listen to the grisly details. They're all dead; that's all I care to know."

"Bersi?" Yuuri blinked in surprise and looked around at the ghostly faces lit by firelight. "Was it just him? How close is the next camp? I need to speak to him."

A younger man with his beard still short and patchy eyed Yuuri with uncertainty. "You want to know what happened to him, aye? The Lord Prince. That's what you're really here for, isn't it."

That was partially true, enough so that it made the young king burn with further disgust at his own actions. Yuuri frowned, firsts clenched at his sides. "I have an investment in his well being. I do for all of you as the Demon King of Shin Makoku but just like every other person I do have personal worries unconnected to my position. He's family. I need to know he's okay."

"Then I'm sorry to disappoint you. The Lord Prince Wolfram fell beside Prince Alfgeir on the night of the siege." The younger man looked at his elder. "I did stay for the grisly details. Sir Veleif said he was stabbed three times in the struggle to escape the castle and finally bled out in the garden when they were ambushed at the back gates. It was there that Prince Alfgeir made his final stand against a whole regiment of archers and swordsmen and very nearly killed the general before he too succumbed to his wounds. They both died bravely."

Yuuri's mouth felt parched and heart beat out of sync. "Y-you're sure that's what he said? Maybe Wolfram passed out from exertion or-"

"He was stabbed in the back, in the shoulder, and in the stomach. He said he was bleeding so much that Prince Alfgeir had to carry him the rest of the way. They were mortal wounds sustained in the line of duty. Say what you like about the alliance," he told the older men, "but Lord Prince Wolfram served us all well. I don't doubt Shin Makoku will do the same for us now."

The fire crackled in the quiet as old men nodded. Yuuri felt his resolve slipping and forced a smile. It wasn't true. Whatever Bersi thought he had seen, it wasn't the case. All Yuuri could know for sure was that Wolfram needed him move than ever. He was hurt somewhere. Maybe even dying but certainly not dead and not beyond the point of which no help would save him. Yuuri was going to find him and he was going to bring him home alive. "Whatever the truth may be, we need to all stay hopeful," he advised, fighting mental images still clawing at his composure. Wolfram fighting, struggling, bleeding, dying... "Tomorrow we'll meet with the other camp. We'll need as many people working together as we can to take back Trebic."

The men gave a cheer of agreement, the faces around the campfires already reflecting some of the hope for the future Yuuri wanted so desperately to impart on the suffering civilians.

Murata watched in silence, eyes masked by the firelight.

---

Wolfram gagged on the constant flow of liquor, choking on the painful gemstone being shoved down his throat. Fingers kept his jaws pried open while others held down his tongue, the alcohol continually flowing to lubricate the gemstone that he would not swallow. Hands kept his legs and arms held down firmly to the ground, head held steady so he could not shake them loose. It had to have been taking over five men just to get him still. The muscles of his throat were all he had left to his defense against their force feeding and he could feel the vomit rising in his throat as they tried to push the gemstone past even that.

His naked body was covered in scratches and bruises from hours of fighting, first for his dignity and suddenly for his sanity. Dark purple-black spots from the toes of boots covered his back and ribs, hand prints in lavender over his arms and shoulders. His knees and thighs were scrapped from being dragged along the cobblestone. At that point the green gemstone had been close, ominously glowing and frightening in its proximity even halfway across the room. That pain and weakness had been nothing compared to the constant stabbing agony as he tried to keep it out of his body. It was a losing battle, even his conscious mind was very aware of that, but the thought of swallowing houseki was a far worse torture than he could lend himself to without even a futile fight.

Liquor burned his nose as it splashed and poured past his lips. He gagged, choked, breathed in more of the burning liquid and somehow, somewhere, lost the fight as the gemstone slipped down into the pit of his stomach, emanating a steady stream of misery from which he could not escape. His brow was covered in sweat, his body drizzled in liquor. The hands let go, his body laying unbound for the first time in over a day, but he could not move much more than his face as he turned to vomit across his pillow, bile and booze but no relief from the vile gemstone.

"Well, that took the fight out of him."

Wolfram hated that he could not rise up and show them just how much fight he had left in him.

A bucket of freezing water emptied over him in one giant wave, the shock of it almost enough to pull his mind away from the continuous torment which sent his senses screaming. Rough hands raked rough towels over him, scrapping away the water more than drying it off, yanking his placid form into its desired shapes and positions till he was seated by their strength, arms up to be dressed. It was a hideous sight: light pink silk cut far too short with lace of paisley and vines. He only wore pink for Yuuri. He tried to protest but found his tongue too numb to bark insults and his body still cringing from the houseki, obeying nothing but the pain as even tears found their ways into his eyes. Through the pain he could ignore the groping of the soldier's hands as they dressed him in suitably unsuitable underwear, remain almost unaware of the laughing and petting as the focus of all sensation was derailed to the gemstone lodged within his own body. With blurry eyes he could see more than feel the gold ring placed on his left hand. Nothing made sense anymore; there was only agony.

He was carried, too weak to even raise his head as was watched bricks and tapestries go by upside down. He knew this corridor. He knew most of his home well but this walkway more than others. It lead to his and Alfgeir's shared room. Inside the double doors were their clean quarters, nightstand and dresser still covered in their things from Wolfram's hairbrush to Alfgeir's glass of water. There the general stood, cruel smirk parting his plain face. In a terrible way he reminded Wolfram of his brother Conrart in appearance, double-brown and unremarkable but more aged and sinister with his smiles. The ranking man stood aside as his men laid the mazoku on the familiar bed left cold in the absence of its owners.

"Well done. He looks positively anguished. And quite.... presentable."

Wolfram grit his teeth, trying to sit up or slide his legs closer together but finding his muscles more apt to tremble and seize with the effort.

"Anything else, Sir?"

"That will be all. Make sure to keep an eye on the horizon. I want to know the instant we get so much as a hint of Shin Makoku's forces."

"Aye, General."

The heavy doors pulled shut. Wolfram did not need to hear the sadistic chuckle or see the sly grin to know what came next. It didn't make him hate him any more than he already did. This was the man who had murdered his husband and demolished half the capital city. There were few crimes he could commit that would outweigh that.

"I have often wondered just what it is about houseki that makes it so effective against your kind. I had brought it to use against you but it had not occurred to me that it would be used quite like this." He sat on the side of the bed, hand running up the inside of Wolfram's thigh. "I don't mind that you're not a virgin on our wedding night--farce that it is--but I am somewhat disappointed that you're so still. I was hoping to have to rein you in and fight you the whole way."

Wolfram turned his head, looking down at his left hand where the gold band had been slipped. Even without the pain muddying his thoughts, he was sure it wouldn't have made sense why of all people a Big Cimarron general would conceive himself a mazoku's partner. He felt the hand slide up through the edges of his panty's, roughly running low to probe him harshly, finger scraping intentionally and jabbing hard to coax a response. Wolfram could at least deny him that. Centered on the houseki, nothing else mattered, nothing else felt. He could perceive the general's presence as a nuisance to be tolerated for his five minutes of cheap pleasure.

Escaping the general and the houseki, Wolfram let his mind fall back, eyes blacking out into memory.

It was his wedding night. The ship rocked on ocean waters, the jeers from the crew were good natured but crass, the bed was big but still somehow too small. Kissing Algeir was like kissing the backside of a hedgehog--or so he imagined. The coarse hairs of his beard and mustache scratched his upper lip and tickled his nose. It was unpleasant and foreign.

Alfgeir's hands were large against his body, fingers too thick and somewhat clumsy with the buttons of his shirt. His chuckle was felt against his skin, the weight of his body trapping him against the bed, the heat coming off him making him sweat even as his uniform was slowly removed. He was terrified and trying not to show it. All the times he'd imagined such an act it had been with Yuuri, someone comparable to him in size and experience, his equal or complimentary half in everything. Alfgeir was not Yuuri, could not be imagined to be him with any amount of determination. He was also his true husband, as Yuuri had never been and perhaps never would be. If the marriage had been the sentencing, this final act was the execution.

"You're trembling."

"I-I'm not." He cursed his stammering, forcing his fingers to tighten around the cloth of Alfgeir's jacket and push it down his shoulders. "Let's just hurry up and get this over with."

Alfgeir sat up, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it aside, pulling upon his own shirt to reveal his bear of a chest, unsurprisingly covered in more red hairs. Wolfram looked away, scarlet coloring his cheeks.

The larger man chuckled gently and caressed his bruised cheek with more care than Wolfram thought him capable of. "We don't have to, you know. We could just lie and tell them it's been consummated. No one would know but us."

Wolfram sat up on his elbows in surprise, shirt half open and falling off one shoulder. "What happens if we do that?"

"Nothing." Alfeir smiled. "We return to Trebic as a married couple but you are free to chose your lovers out of preference rather than obligation. We were both chosen by those we must obey to enter into this agreement. How we conduct ourselves outside the pretense of marriage is up to us."

Wolfram eyed him for some hidden agenda but could not read anything in to his light hearted smile. Alfgeir gently pulled the fallen shoulder of Wolfram's shirt back up against his neck, right nipple concealed again behind the ruffled white. He leaned a kiss against his forehead as his weight slowly lifted up from him. He was stayed by Wolfram's hand against his wrist, eyes averted in embarrassment.

"Do you not find me attractive?"

Alfgeir roared with laughter, jovial and gay. "My pet, I do not offer you an escape based on a lack of desire. I could prove to you quite easily that that is not the case."

Wolfram blushed, eyes downcast. "Then you have a lover in Trebic you do not wish to end things with."

"No, there's no one. Some boys in my youth and many women in my current years but no one I would prefer over you." He leaned back over him, weight again pressing down on Wolfram like an oppressive force. "I know you were engaged before this, though. You still love him, yes? You would want to be with him, not me."

Slowly, almost painfully, Wolfram brought his arms up around Alfgeir's neck, holding himself close even as his heart screamed to run, to take the out. "I... can't ask you to live the rest of your life celibate any more than I can tolerate being cheated on. I won't accept it. In which case... I will serve you as your husband if you will respect me as such."

Alfgeir kissed him, scratchy beard not quite as intolerable but still unpleasant. "I have nothing but the utmost respect for any man who holds to his convictions."

"You're just happy I'm going to allow you to touch me with that thing. Shut up and get it over with."

The ginger man chuckled, hand re-exposing and thumb running over the pink nub of his right nipple. Wolfram's breath hitched, body sensitive from a lack of experience, every touch and response a surprise. "Forgive me if I take a bit more time than that. I want you to have enjoyed this even if the circumstances were less than ideal."

"I-idiot..." Wolfram trembled for a different reason, his body growing warm as Alfgeir's large hands embraced him, feeling out places on his body he'd never thought could electrify him the way they did under his ministrations.

It should have been Yuuri. It should have been bumbling and awkward, almost accidental and then built on by passion. Yuuri would never have touched with skill and knowledge or shamelessly licked and kissed from his nipples to his belly button with thick fingers caught on a pant's buckle. Wolfram was enjoying it and it made him want to be sick. It was so different from everything that would have been Yuuri and yet his pulse was racing and body responding in all the ways a body should. It was only his heart that quivered in trepidation and urged him to turn back while he was still in some ways innocent. His useless pride which demanded fidelity was all that kept his mind at ease as Alfgeir pulled his pants from him and undid the black lacing of his underwear.

Wolfram's mind jolted to the present with a wordless gasp, head banging hard against the headboard and thighs spread wide around the general's hips. Fingernails dug dully into his skin as they rocked, the disgusting sound of each thrust made more sickening with each slap the man's swinging balls made against his ass. He wanted to vomit but could feel nothing but the burning core of houseki in his gut. The pink scrap of lace was pushed up to his collar bones, his weight steadied on his shoulders as he watched as though from outside himself as the general plowed into him with none of the care or consideration as had been shown him on his first wedding night.

The general's obscene faces were ugly and vile as were the animalistic grunts he uttered like some beast in heat. He spoke to himself in a mantra of self congratulations: "Yeah... oh, yeah... yeah.. that's it." Wolfram wondered if he needed to pat himself on the back at his age just for keeping it up.

His head smashed into the headboard again, filling his vision with stars.

"Are you ready?"

The ship's rocking motion made it hard for Wolfram to tell it if was just his own head spinning or the world. His eyes were still out of focus from his first orgasm, droplets of his sin sitting along the whiskered lips of his husband. He could feel his fingers inside him, a dull ache emanating from their intrusion but nothing unbearable and at times even pleasurable when curled digits stroked against something new. He nodded his head in consent, relieved that it would soon be over even as his body rose back into action under slow and steady strokes.

Alfgeir shifted, removing his fingers slowly as he took the bottle of lubricant from it's perch on the bedside table and poured it liberally over his pulsing erection. It wasn't length that made Wolfram wince in dread but girth. He was fairly certain it was not going to fit, regardless of preparation, and Alfgeir's warm chuckle only served to make him more wary.

"Don't worry. We'll take it slow."

"Slow is just drawing it out. Just... get it in and get it over with."

"It's a little different from pulling out a thorn. Just relax." Alfgeir leaned over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he rounded out Wolfram's spine, angling his hips to more suitably take him face to face.

Wolfram felt the warmth and pressure of his initial push and cried out in a breathy gasp at the strength of his own body's resistance. He could feel Alfgeir's hands on his hips angling him just slightly more up or down as he tested new angles, steady with his forward push until the tight ring of Wolfram's muscle could no longer withstand him. He felt the head nearly leap inside of him as pressure held even with resistance broken. It felt huge and hot, painful like a bee's sting and just as persistent. With the next careful plunge the pain fluttered out in a spark of excitement, his mouth opening in a moan. He rose his arms over his face, concealing his shameful, wanton expression as his husband's cock caught him in that pleasurable spot. With a chuckle, Alfgeir rocked those few inches in and out, testing Wolfram's responses which were foreign and impossible for him to contain. "A-Alfie!" he called again, not the first time that night and it seemed not the last. He never quite knew how the sentence was suppose to end. Alfie stop? Alfie more? It didn't matter.

He breathed in heavy pantings. Gripping the pillow behind his head, Wolfram dared to peek out at Alfgeir's own face caught between pleasure and restraint. He wanted to tell him it was okay, to forget about pleasing him for once and to finish the act with his own well deserved release. It was hard to put into words, harder still to conceptualize when all the while his heart was screaming 'cheater!'. He grabbed Alfgeir's shoulders and moved with him, taking him in more when he seemed ready to stop. Alfgeir tested and Wolfram accepted until all of him was wrapped inside of his warmth, the scratch of his pubic hair not unlike that of his beard.

"Wolfram..."

Hearing his name uttered in such a voice ran a chill down his spine even as he pulled himself against his thrust, meeting him halfway with a moan. Alfgeir's hands remained firm but gentle as they anchored against him, the slow pounding of flesh on flesh building in speed and intensity. He hit the mark less often but still other sensations kept Wolfram's senses on fire, tension storing in his loins with every jolt of pleasure he received. He liked the way Alfgeir let him cum first, the way he didn't drag on long after him even if he did bury his load deep inside him. He liked the way he fell to the bed beside him but gave him a few minutes to breathe and cool down before pulling him in close to the furnace that was his body. He liked the way he said nothing--just breathed.

"You're crying."

Wolfram bit his bottom lip, fearful of an unwanted sob. "Ignore it. It has nothing to do with you."

Alfgeir kissed his head, arms tight around him as the air cooled their sweat slick bodies. "Thank you, dear husband," he said, voice low and gruff. "I will do my best to be worthy of you."

Wolfram clung tight to him, a man who was more than he could have hoped for and yet nothing he had dreamed of. It was not the last time he cried but there were other memories that ended in nothing short of satisfaction--untainted by childish fantasy of a love not returned. Alfgeir was predictable and dependable, never disappearing for another world or leaving him alone with all the responsibilities he'd abandoned. It would have been so much easier to have had a heart that knew how to fall in love with more than one man or at least how to move on past a love that would never be. But then, that kiss...

The general came after a few more thrusts, leaving his mess of perversion inside him. Wolfram adjusted his fuzzy stare to glare into him, focusing though the pain as best he could to be sure the human knew exactly what he would say if the houseki had not ripped his strength from him so completely. He would kill the man for every good thing he had stolen from the world. If there was any true justice to be had, he too would be as blessed as Wolfram to have a second life through which to be tortured through.
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A Marriage of State