Love and War

A special thank you to my beta, Guinechan, whom I love very, very much.

Oh, and originally I said that this chapter was going to be called Comprendre, but it’s entitled Confronter instead (which means ‘to confront’). The next chapter will be Comprendre. Sorry for the mix up.

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

In which there is much shouting and Yuuri returns to Shin Makoku…

Love and War
by Mikage

Chapter Fifteen

Lady Cecilie von Spitzweg watched as her youngest son fled the king’s study, her heart jumping to her throat at the look on his face. She called after him only seconds after Gunter’s attempt, her voice hoarse and cracking on the second syllable, her cry going unheeded. For a moment she contemplated letting him be. This wasn’t something he’d handle easily, she’d known that in the beginning, and he would require time to calm down before she could even hope to have some sort of a rational discussion with him.

But some maternal instinct prevented her from staying where she was, and though she knew for certain that Wolfram was far too emotional to speak civilly now, she couldn’t just leave him to himself. He’d been hiding his grief for too many years, and it had done more damage than most people realized. Though it’s what he would have preferred, she couldn’t let him go through this on his own, not this time, and so she left her place by the wall to run after him, paying not a single ounce of attention to the three males she left in the room.

Let them continue planning their war. She had more important things to do.

“Wolfram!” she tried again, looking on as he plowed down the hallway, not paying attention to where he was going, nor the people who were around him. A few of the maids were milling around, looking truly surprised to see the prince and former queen dashing down the corridors like two uncivilized commoners instead of the upstanding noble citizens they truly were. The guards who were patrolling were instantly on alert, perhaps assuming that their reactions had resulted by the presence of some form of danger.

The blond boy hardly listened to her. If anything he only increased his efforts to get away, pushing passed anyone who happened to stand in his path.

“Leave me alone!” he commanded when it didn’t appear as if she were going to give up, turning down another hall in the hopes of losing her.

Celi simply continued running after him, trying her hardest to think of something she could say to comfort him, when she knew that nothing could ease the heartache he was most surely going through at that moment.

Originally she hadn’t known about Gwendal’s intentions. She’d remained as oblivious as everyone else about his desire for Wolfram to sign a declaration of war, and her oldest child had continued to leave her out of the planning until everything that had happened two days ago. At that point, with her granddaughter frightened and her youngest son bruised, she hadn’t had much of an argument against him, and had agreed to the war because of that event alone. What she didn’t agree with was the way in which Gwendal had taken care of the issue. He shouldn’t have been so cruel and uncaring towards his younger brother, should have spoken with him about his concerns and not forced the decision onto the boy.

But when the time came, there’d been little she could do to stop him. Gwendal would always do what he thought was right. He claimed Wolfram would never sign the required document on his own and that force would be necessary to talk him into it, and although Cecilie had tried to convince him otherwise, her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. It hurt her to constantly see her sons slowly drifting away from one another, but she couldn’t think of a way to ease the constantly widening gaps between them. So she’d simply stood by, watching as Wolfram was cut down by one of the people he trusted above all others.

“Wolf!” she repeated her call, nearly pleading with him, but again her shouting when unanswered.

The blonde haired woman was almost relieved when he blindly collided with one of the guards, the impact enough to surprise him and cease his running for the moment, the Prince falling to the floor at the unexpected jolt. She raced to the scene, and arrived just in time to grab him before he could push himself up and take off again, wrapping her arms around him tightly, more as a way to keep him in place than to comfort him. Something told her that this time it would take more than a warm embrace to soothe him. He didn’t want consolation this time, not the way he had two nights ago; he wanted an escape.

After a moment of weak struggling, the boy finally relaxed enough in her hold for her to loosen her arms without worrying about him breaking free, his face immediately going to bury itself against her shoulder. He went limp, the weight of his entire body leaning into her, and though he was no longer the tiny little boy he’d been so many years ago, she was happy to discover that it wasn’t any more difficult to support him. He was heavier, taller than he’d been in childhood, but she wouldn’t let something as trivial as that prevent her from holding him to her as close as she possibly could.

“He’s going to hate me!” he exclaimed, pale-faced and stricken, and it didn’t take more than a millisecond for her to know who he was referring to. “I promised him I’d never… I promised him! He trusted me!”

Cecilie envisioned their young, kindhearted king in her mind, the boy who’d earned feelings of fondness from her akin to the ones she felt for each of her sons, and to that boy she entrusted the happiness and wellbeing of her youngest. “I’m sure His Majesty will understand,” she said, trying to sound confident, but it came out sounding somewhat hollow. Perhaps the king would one day understand their reasoning, why everyone he trusted had gone behind his back to start a war he didn’t want, but she doubted it would be any time soon.

Wolfram seemed to sense these sorts of thoughts in her, his strength immediately returning to him as he pushed her away. “No…” he said, shaking his head in denial, blond bangs falling into soulful eyes. “No, he won’t! You know he won’t!”

“I’m sorry, Wolfram,” she decided on a different track, thinking that it would probably be best to leave His Majesty out of this, at least for the moment, at least until he’d managed to calm down. “I know this is hard for you, I-”

“You don’t know anything!” he cut her off, the shaking of his head becoming more emphatic. “Yuuri’s going to hate me and it’s all your fault!”

It hurt her to hear that, not because of any amount of truth that may have been contained in his words, but because he was trying to push her away, using that statement as a way to get under her skin, trying to manipulate her into doing as he wished and leaving him to himself. She said nothing to counter it, figuring it was better that he blame someone else when he already blamed himself for so much. She’d gladly allow him to put the fault on her if it helped to ease any of the pressure he was currently under.

“His Majesty is not going to hate you,” she told him calmly, confident in that at least. Regardless of how angry the king would be, she knew the dark haired boy didn’t have the heart to truly hate anyone, least of all his friends - no matter what they did. “He’ll understand.”

“No, he won’t!” the Prince continued his rant. “He told me not to, and I promised him I wouldn’t! He doesn’t want a war! He’ll never understand! He’s going to come back and when he finds out what I’ve done he’ll be angry, and he’ll never talk to me again and -”

She stopped his rambling before he could continue. “No,” she immediately refuted the idea, though she knew he wouldn’t agree with her, no matter how honest or truthful she was being. “You know he’s not like that. After a while, I’m sure he’ll realize that this is the only way.”

“Stop lying! You know that’s not true!” he told her, seeming not to care about the crowd that had begun to develop around them or what kind of a scene he was making. “He’ll never trust me again!”

The older woman assumed that this little episode had been building for a while now, that he simply needed to get it all out of his system. It was a cycle of sorts; he let the tension build inside of him for days, weeks, sometimes months, and then he exploded. There wasn’t much use in trying to stop it once it had already begun, and she could only calmly ride it out until it had reached its conclusion, and try to offer comfort and support wherever she could - though such things sometimes did nothing but make it worse, more explosive than it would have been had she left him to throw things and work it out on his own.

“We just need to sit down with him and try to explain our reasoning!” Celi continued to suggest, although she knew he would never agree.

“Explain?!” Wolfram spat, as if the mere thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Explain what?! How his best friend turned his back on him after four years of being nothing but loyal?! How his husband just signed a document to send his people into battle?! He’s never going to forgive me for this!”

“Perhaps once we tell him about the humans who -”

“No!” he bellowed, almost as loudly as what Gwendal was capable of, his face turning red at the mere mention of the incident he forced himself not to remember, much less talk about. “We’re not going to tell him! He doesn’t need to know!”

He did, Celi knew he did, just as she knew that once he was made aware of it, the king would do everything in his power to see that those men were brought to justice. He wouldn’t have them killed, but he would prevent them or anyone else from hurting his husband and daughter again. She tried to take a step towards her son, to tell him that he didn’t have to be afraid to tell His Majesty about that night, but he backed away from her, and looked as if he were about to bolt again.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” she said, the same sort of sentiments she’d expressed after the attack. It had worked in comforting him them, but it didn’t seem as if she could rely on it again.

“Nothing will ever be alright now!” he shouted back at her, not caring about how much of a child he sounded like at the moment, oblivious to anything but anger and pain. “We’re going to war, Mother! War!” he nearly screamed, as if she had no comprehension of the word, when truthfully she knew what it meant all too well. “This isn’t some asinine squabble at one of your stupid dinner parties! We’re in a war where people will die, and we’ll end up back where we were twenty-four years ago because you let Gwendal force me to make the same mistake you did!”

“I know I made a mistake,” she agreed, for although she cared immensely for her older brother - looked up to him, even - she knew it had been wrong of her to rely on him so much during her reign as queen. “I’ve accepted that and moved on with my life. Nothing good will come from dwelling on the past.” Not once did she back away or step down from the challenge her son was presenting her with, meeting his tirade with a patience only a mother could retain.

“We’re not dwelling on it, we’re in it!” the Prince countered. “Only this time I’m in your place! I let my older brother abuse his authority and make me sign that declaration, because I’m just as weak as you were!” he yelled hatefully, though it was hard to decipher whether those strong feelings were directed towards her or at himself. “And now there isn’t anything I can do to fix things!”

She faltered for just a second, though not over anything he said regarding her. She’d grown accustomed to receiving insults over the course of her life, and although she’d never had either of her sons hissing such things at her, she was nearly immune to their bite. What hurt her was how he thought so little of himself. She would accept being called weak, just as she would accept people whispering behind her back and calling her a horrible mother, but never would she look at her sons and see them as anything but strong, capable men.

Out of all of her sons, Wolfram was the one most like her. Gwendal was exactly as his father had been, the strong, silent type, brooding on his own more often than he was in the company of others, focusing so much on his duty that it made him seem cold and dispassionate, when deep down he was truly a caring individual. Conrart was so much like his father it hurt just to look at him, to remember the man whom she’d given her whole heart to, the man she was still convinced was her true love - so many years of searching and finding no one who made her feel quite as he did had made her sure of that fact.

Wolfram had many of his father’s qualities, his temper especially, but there was something she saw when she gazed into his eyes that reminded her of herself. At first she’d told herself that it was merely the fact that they looked so much alike - he was the only one of her children who could visually be picked out as belonging to her; Conrart and Gwendal had both received their fathers’ looks - but it was something deeper than that, she realized, something inside. She saw it every time he looked at His Majesty - that passion, that desire to be with someone who completed him. They were both searching for the same thing, the sort of love that would last a lifetime, one they could hold close and never have to worry about it slipping away from them.

She prayed with every ounce of her being that he would have better luck in that quest than she had. Her first husband had been killed in a battle, her second had left and then died many years later, his human blood taking him away from her far too soon. Her third husband, though still alive, had not stayed with her for very long - though she hadn’t expected him to. Neither of them had truly been in love with one another. There had been passion, friendship, and the sort of love one would feel for their brother or sister, but it had not been enough to make the relationship last. They had married for their son’s sake, so that when he was born he would be considered legitimate, but there had been few other reasons for them to remain together.

“Wolf…” she tried one more time, somewhat startled when he viciously smacked her hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” he demanded, eyebrows lowering as his emerald eyes continued to narrow. “I don’t want to hear your apologies, or any of your lies! Just go away! Go on your ‘search for free love’ and ignore your responsibilities like you always do! That’s all you care about anyway! That’s all you’ve ever cared about!”

“That’s not true,” the former queen denied, though she couldn’t blame him for feeling that way. She’d been gone more than she should have over the years that he’d been growing up, and that time away had become more frequent after she’d stepped down and their young boy-king had taken the throne.

“Isn’t it?” Wolfram wondered, hands clenching by his sides tightly. “After Father left, the only thing you cared about was having someone else to fill your bed!” he accused.

He was right, to an extent. She wouldn’t say it had been the most important thing to her at the time, but that didn’t change the fact that Celi had had more than a few lovers once the bonds of marriage had been broken. She’d slept with them (and rarely had it been the same man twice), but they’d rarely meant anything to her. There had been a few that she’d dated, but none of them had ever become serious. They would have liked it to - a couple had expressed the desire to be with her, one had even considered proposing - but she’d been so tied down with her duties and the memories of Dan Hiri that she hadn’t been able to return their feelings.

The only reason she would have contemplated marrying any of them would have been to give Wolfram a father, to allow him to have what neither of his brothers truly ever did. But those men had been more focused on her than on her children; many of them had ignored Wolfram all together, others hadn’t wanted to be responsible for some other man’s child. In the end she’d decided that she could do a better job raising him by herself than depending on someone who rarely showed him the slightest bit of compassion. Gwendal and Conrart had both turned out all right, after all; she was proud of the two of them. Wolfram, she was sure, wouldn’t be any different.

Although, he had been a different sort of child than his two brothers. Gwendal had always been serious, even in infancy and toddler-hood; he’d been born with a scowl on his face and a grumpy demeanor which she had found undeniably adorable and his father had taken great pride in. Conrart had been calm and easy-going, rarely crying, and out of all three of her children he had had the easiest time growing up, despite the fact that his father had both left and died before he’d reached adulthood. They’d both been relatively independent, for although Conrart had clung to her as a small boy, he’d quickly grown out of it and learned to rely on himself.

Wolfram had never stopped clinging, though the things he held on to had changed over the years - it had started with her and Conrart, had then moved to Gwendal’s approval, and now rested on their raven haired king. He’d been born screaming, and had cried at every opportunity after that, scaring away a majority of the men who’d attempted to court her. When he wasn’t shouting his little lungs out, he’d found other means to gain as much attention as he could, whining, complaining, and making a mess out of everything. He’d been a good child, but when he was ignored for too long, he had ways of making sure that everyone was aware of his presence.

“You’d always run off with one of your simpering suitors!” he continued to shout presently, jarring her out of her memories, making it clear that he was still fully capable of gaining any sort of attention he may want, and holding it until he no longer desired it. “You’d leave me behind like… like I didn’t matter to you at all!”

Oh, how wrong he was! If only he knew how much she loved and cherished him!

“Have you ever stopped to think of me whenever you’re with one of your lovers?” the blond boy asked her. “Have you ever wondered if I missed you at all, if I needed you? Did you ever feel guilty for leaving me behind like Father did?”

Yes, she’d felt guilty, but she hadn’t known how to make up for it; even now she had no clue. That guilt had only increased as the years went on, and had become nearly unbearable those near four years ago. Many times she’d wondered why her life had played out the way it had, what sort of destiny Shinou had in store for her. Why had she had such horrible luck with each of her husbands? Why had he allowed her to marry Wolfgang when she’d never even divorced Dan Hiri? Why had she been given three sons, each by a different man? Gwendal and Conrart she had planned to have, but Wolfram had been an unexpected surprise.

Now she understood. She had been one of Shinou’s many pawns, the vessel he’d used to make certain that three of the four keys were born. It had been convenient to him to have them in one place, to make keeping track of them much easier. Of course, she hadn’t known this until the boxes had been gathered, when she’d realized the fate that would befall her oldest two. She’d looked to her youngest then, and had discovered the truth on her own. They were pawns to the Original King just as much as she had been. The only reason they had been born was so that the boxes could be opened.

She’d tried to rectify that since then, to make them feel as if they were worth more than the tools Shinou had turned them into. Over the last few years she’d come to travel less often; she spent more time in the palace, looking after her children as she should have when they’d been younger, seeing that her granddaughter be given the love and attention she’d often failed to show her sons. It didn’t change anything, she knew, but she’d foolishly hoped that it would make things at least a little better, that their family could begin to heal and come together, to grow closer than they ever had before.

Now it seemed as if it were too late for that. The damage had already been done.

“During the war, I didn’t have anything!” she heard Wolfram cry, his words like sharp talons that ripped at her heart. Deep down she’d known how he felt, but she’d never been given such definite proof. “Do you know how alone I felt?! Can you even imagine what it felt like to sit here every day, knowing my brothers were out there risking their lives and you weren’t doing anything to stop it?! Did you even notice, or were you too consumed by your blissful fantasy to spare even one second to think that maybe I needed someone to talk to?! Did you think that me staying here in the castle meant I wasn’t affected by anything?!”

He had been affected, to a startling degree. Celi knew that if there was one thing in his life that had most shaped him into the person he was now, it had been the war. So many days she’d seen him staring out the window, watching each unit of troops depart, staring intently as they came back with infinitely less people than they had left with. When he hadn’t been studying or doing the work Julia assigned him, he’d been out in the garden, tending to the blue blossoms that had been named after his half-human brother, trying his hardest to keep something alive at a time when everything else seemed to be dying.

He’d been brushed aside and ignored, too young to fight - his training had barely even started back then, his education taking precedent over majutsu or swordplay - too young for his opinion to matter at all. His father had been stationed on the seas and Cecilie herself had hardly had more than a few moments away from her duties; Conrart had taken it upon himself to clear his people of any fault or blame, and Gwendal had hardly anytime to relegate to his younger brother. In the end, there had only been Julia, whom Lady Celi had implored to look after him, knowing that if there was anyone who could get the boy to talk about the things that were bothering him and ease his worries, it would be her.

But Julia had died much too soon, and then what had Wolfram been left with?

Nothing.

“After Julia died, I didn’t have anybody!” the blond boy made sure to remind her of that, as if he could read her very thoughts, “because you were too blind to see passed the next handsome man, Conrart was too bitter to care about anything, and Gwendal was too focused on the kingdom - just like he always is! And then you all went on acting like nothing had happened, refusing to talk about it, and I didn’t have anyone to depend on! For twenty years I didn’t have anyone to rely on but myself!

“Now I’ve finally found someone who just might give a damn about how I feel, and I’ve gone and betrayed him!” he persisted, not bothering to hold anything back now that he’d begun. There really wasn’t much of a reason to hide anything anymore, Celi supposed. “I’ve been coerced into a political marriage to a man who will never love me back, attacked in my own room and nearly raped by some disgusting, sadistic human asshole who would have killed my daughter if I did anything to fight back, all in the same month, and none of you give a shit about how I feel!”

“That’s not true,” Celi denied again, green eyes filled with tears, her slender hands fluttering up by her mouth. It was true that she wasn’t the world’s best mother. Looking back now, there were many things she could easily say she shouldn’t have done, and just as many things she wished she could go back and change, things she would have done differently had she known at the time what the outcome would be. But never had she questioned her love for her children, and she’d worked hard to make it so they never questioned it either. “You know I love you.”

“I don’t know, I hope you love me!” he corrected her.

She was immediately floored, her mouth falling open in shock and disbelief. “How could you even think that I wouldn’t?” she asked him, though that question really didn’t require an answer. She’d tried so hard to make him feel cared for, but obviously her attempts had failed.

He didn’t bother providing her with an answer, simply backed up again in an attempt to get away from her, to leave her standing there by herself and go off on his own. He was prevented from doing so when he collided with someone a second time, turning to look over his shoulder as Celi’s gaze moved up, and they were both a bit surprised to see Conrart standing there, brown eyes widened in curiosity, a bewildered look on his face. Neither of them doubted that the brunet had heard a good deal of their argument, Wolfram’s shouting and Cecilie’s quiet pleas.

Wolfram tried to turn again and Celi was prepared to go after him, but Conrart’s hands had risen to grip onto his upper arms, keeping the smaller male in place. “What’s going on?” the brown haired soldier wondered, staring first at his overemotional younger brother, and then to his anxious mother.

“Gwendal confronted him about the situation with the humans,” she replied, speaking in Wolfram’s place, seeing as the boy was too shocked by Conrart’s presence to do much more than stand there and gape at him. Seeing him there had probably caused him to realize everything he’d previously been saying, everything he’d confessed to feeling, all the doubts he’d admitted to. Now that he was aware of how out of control he’d been, he was probably mortified. “We’re going to war.”

Celi watched a flash of something cross her second son’s face then, his gaze instantly moving back to the blond male. “Did you…?” he began, but couldn’t finish, although it was obvious what he was trying to ask.

The younger, shorter boy shook his head slowly, and spoke in a voice much quieter than he’d been using only seconds before. “I didn’t want to.”

Conrart paled considerably as he realized what had most likely occurred to make Wolfram go through with the act of signing a declaration. “He made you…?” Again the question went unfinished, but his meaning was apparent.

“Did you know that he was planning this?” their mother asked him, thinking he was far too calm with hearing the news to not have had any suspicions.

“I’d thought His Majesty would return before he was given the opportunity,” he said as a reply.

Wolfram’s green eyes widened, and he looked up at his second brother brokenly. “You knew?” he breathlessly questioned him. “You knew what he was doing and you didn’t bother to tell me?”

“You had enough to worry about all ready.”

“But you could have stopped him!”

Conrart frowned down at him sadly, hazel eyes filled with anguish, silently pleading with the boy, begging him to understand. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“So you let him use me instead?!” Wolfram was slowly returning to his near hysterical state, his attempts to pull away from his brother beginning anew. “I knew there had to be another reason for him to want this marriage! That’s why the Aristocrats agreed, isn’t it?! They knew he’d make me sign a declaration! They knew what he was planning! And you went along with it!”

“No, Wolfram,” the middle brother tried to calm him, though all his efforts were being made in vain. “I didn’t approve of it. If I had known that was his reasoning from the beginning, I wouldn’t have agreed to suggest that you marry His Majesty. I only realized it after the wedding had taken place!”

“Liar!” the blond spat. “You’re the same as they are!”

“Wolfram,” Celi crooned, going to pull her youngest son from his brother’s grasp, relieved when he didn’t fight against her, falling into her embrace without protest. She didn’t say anything else after that, merely held him and let him lean into her. He didn’t cry as he had two nights ago - part of her wondered if he even had any tears left - simply stood still, his body rigid, shoulders tense.

Conrart looked down at him sadly, looking very much like he wished to apologize, though they both knew that would do very little to make things better. The declaration had already been signed and no doubt Gwendal had begun issuing orders and preparing their army for deployment as soon as she and Wolfram had fled the room. Conrart had missed his opportunity to make things right, and was now left to pick up what pieces he could.

“I’ll go speak with Gwendal,” the brunet said after a long moment of silence, sparing his younger brother one last heartfelt glance before he was heading down the hallway towards the king’s study.

Celi watched him go, her hold on Wolfram remaining firm. Only when he was gone did she allow a single tear to fall, the drop sliding down her face to drip into her son’s blond curls. Dread consumed her, though she forced a small smile when Wolfram looked up at her in confusion, his gaze entreating, as if he were silently asking for forgiveness for all the harsh things he’d said. Inside she felt nothing but sadness, realizing that even now, even after things had seemed to be getting better, her family was still falling apart around her.

* * *

Conrart didn’t waste any time making his way to His Majesty’s office, stalking down the halls without even bothering to spare a smile towards anyone he happened to pass along the way. He knew his destination, he knew his intent, and he wasn’t about to let anything stop him from giving his brother a piece of mind.

Perhaps it was the sense of failure he’d been feeling since the night of the human’s very personal attack against his little brother that spurred him on, or perhaps it had been the look he’d seen in Wolfram’s eyes before he’d left him with their mother, the glint of betrayal and the look on his face as he realized those he depended on most had pretty much abandoned him, allowing him to be used and his relationship with His Majesty sacrificed along the way. Whatever it was, it fueled his anger, his steps heavy as he walked the long corridor, not knowing what exactly he was going to say to his older brother, only that he had to confront him about this.

He should have said something sooner, though he knew this war couldn’t have been avoided; he just hadn’t wanted the responsibility to be placed before Wolfram in such a way, not without His Majesty’s approval. Had they gone through the correct channels and had the declaration signed without it causing such hostility, without the outcome damaging any chance of his younger brother’s happiness, he wouldn’t have had a problem. Shimeron had come too far in for them to ignore it any longer, and the transgressions against the crown certainly warranted this sort of action.

Although, thinking on it presently, he didn’t think going into battle would solve anything regarding that issue. He and Gwendal had been taking turns questioning the two humans who had conducted the crimes, and had learned very little about them, or the note that had accompanied them. The author was still a mystery, and they had yet to even discover the men’s names. They had no idea who had sent them, who their master was, or even what the full extent of their mission had been - or at least what it would have been had they not been prevented from fulfilling it.

The brown haired man’s frown deepened at these thoughts, just as he arrived at his destination. The door was closed, and although he would have on anything other occasion, he didn’t bother knocking, simply twisted the knob and pushed it open. He shut it behind him, more violently that usual, and glanced about the room with narrowed hazel eyes, grateful when he saw no one else in the room besides his elder brother. He wouldn’t have wanted any one else to bear witness to whatever argument was about to ensue, although he doubted he would have been able to control himself had that been the case, and would have been reduced to shouting anyway.

Gwendal sat behind the king’s desk, already looking over maps and rifling through a few stray documents, unconcerned about the sudden interruption, almost as if he’d been expecting it. He looked up after a moment, giving the brown haired captain a level stare, face blank and posture showing that he was no longer as distressed as he had been quite often recently. Now that he had the means to take care of their problems in a lawful manner, Conrart suspected his worries would begin to ease significantly. He no longer had to stress over ways to get a declaration signed.

In opposition, Conrart’s worries were increasing dramatically.

“What he hell were you thinking?!” he finally asked, not bothering to be polite or respectful, his voice rising the instant he began speaking. “How could you do that to him?!” he wondered, easily remembering the look on Wolfram’s face - the same look the blond had had when he’d first discovered Conrart’s human parentage.

“Someone had to do something,” Lord von Voltaire said rather simply, once more beginning to go over the maps spread out before him, neither impressed nor troubled by the half-human’s presence.

“But to force him to sigh a Declaration of War, when Yuuri has already made it explicitly clear that he does not want a war?!” In his anger he’d neglected to speak of the king by his title, this matter much too personal for him to refer to the boy he thought of as a son and younger brother as ‘His Majesty.’ This had nothing at all to do with politics. This had to do with the desires and feelings of the two boys he felt infinitely responsible for.

“So we’re just supposed to sit back and do nothing?” Gwendal wondered, eying him critically, as if he couldn’t believe he’d suggest such a thing. “Let the humans take over and enslave us all? After what happened a few nights ago I thought you would agree to this. Weren’t you just as eager to wring their necks?”

“You should have waited for Yuuri to come back,” the younger man proclaimed, ignoring the other man’s comment about his reaction. It was entirely truthful, but it didn’t make him feel good about himself.

“And how long will that be? Another week or two? A month?” The Chief of State shook his head at that, jaw harshly set and teeth clenched together. “We don’t have time to wait, Conrart? Six of our villages have been attacked, four of them destroyed beyond repair. I won’t have us lose anymore. This stops now!”

“Regardless of your feelings on the situation, Yuuri is the king!” he pointed out, though he highly doubted Gwendal’s tactics would have been any different even if Yuuri had been here. “You should have waited to discuss this issue with him! He has a right to know what you’re planning, and it’s his approval you should have sought!”

“What, so we could have two fools preaching to us about peace?” Gwendal scoffed, releasing a bitter chuckle. “Please We never would have gained his approval and you know it.”

“That doesn’t mean you had any right to force this responsibility onto Wolfram!”

“He accepted this responsibility the day he married the king!” the older man exclaimed, continuing to disagree with the brunet on every point that he brought up. “He and that simple-minded twit have ignored this issue long enough! If they want to keep crying ‘peace, peace!’, then that’s fine, but I will not stand by and allow the country to continue to be attacked and taken over! If I have to force Wolfram to take action, then I will! I will not allow him sacrifice his kingdom because of his feelings for His Majesty!”

“How can you expect him to do something like this?!” Conrart shouted in disbelief, internally wondering where all of his older sibling’s compassion had gone. He found it hard to fathom that the man would intentionally hurt Wolfram without having some kind of regret. “He’s still a child!”

At that, Gwendal stood up form behind the desk, though he made no move to step closer to the angered captain. “That is entirely your fault! He wouldn’t still be a child if you would stop pampering and indulging him at every turn! His whole life, you’ve given him everything he’s wanted and done everything he’s said without question!”

“I took care of him when no one else would!” Conrart corrected him, enraged. He’d only done what he thought was best for his little brother, no matter how Wolfram treated him in return. “He didn’t have anyone! Mother was busy with the kingdom, his father hardly cared to come visit him, and you weren’t any better! Your hardly gave him the time of day!”

“I have more important things to do than pamper him.”

“He looked up to you!” the younger man asserted, and though their brother had begun to fallow Yuuri’s orders instead of Gwendal’s over the years, he knew that statement still held true. “He idolizes you!”

“Then obviously I haven’t set a good enough example.”

“All he ever wanted to do was please you.”

“And now he has.”

Conrart’s light brown eyes narrowed more, his gaze demonstrating his displeasure. “By signing your declaration? Is that what he has to do to make you proud of him, after all the other things he’s done over the years?”

“It was either he sign it or I send the troops out without one,” Gwendal explained. “Either way, I have no intention of letting our enemies advance any further than they already have. Would you rather I allow them to make it to the capital? Surely you know what would happen then.” He paused as if waiting for the other man to make some sort of a reply, but when there was none he opened his mouth to continue, describing the event as he saw it in his mind. “They’d kill our gentle king and drag his body through the streets. They’d take Greta and make her a slave to their kingdom, beat and abuse her for the rest of her life.”

Somewhere inside, Conrart knew he was right. Belal had tried numerous times to destroy the mazoku, and if he were given the opportunity to make it this far, the captain knew the results would be a catastrophe beyond imagination. The kingdom would be crippled, destroyed, and those who were left alive would be forced into slavery, serving the human kings for the rest of their long lives.

“And Wolfram - it’s fairly obvious how little they think of him. They wouldn’t even waste the time needed to kill him,” Gwendal went on, deep voice just as detached as it had been from the beginning. “They’d take him as a whore and sell him to nobles and other royals to pay off their war debts. Certainly that’s not the sort of life you’d want for you little brother.”

“You know I’d die before I ever let them lay so much as a finger on him!” Conrart told him, hand instinctively going to grip the hilt of his sword at the mere thought of it. Even if it cost him ever single one of his limbs, even if it resulted in him losing his life, he’d protect Yuuri, Wolfram, and Greta with everything that he had.

“They’ve already done more than lay a finger on him, and he’s got the bruises to prove it!” Lord von Voltaire stated, every word that fell from his lips ringing true. “He and Greta have already been threatened! If your niece had not found a way to escape, those men would have done far worse than bruise him! What would you have done then, Conrart?”

“I would have killed them,” the brunet replied honestly.

“They deserve death, but you know as well as I do that His Majesty will not have them executed.”

“He is the king. It is his decision.”

“Do you agree with it?” Gwendal asked, and it was obvious by his tone of voice that he did not.

“What I believe has no effect on the matter,” the shorter man replied, shaking his head slightly. “I follow Yuuri’s orders.”

“I don’t give a damn who’s orders you follow!” Gwendal snapped in irritation, disliking how he kept jumping around the questions. “Do you agree with it?” he asked again, wanting a straight and truthful answer, not more of Conrart’s bullshit.

The brown haired man fell silent, gaze never breaking away from that of his brother, the serious expression never leaving his face. “No,” he finally replied, though he refused to elaborate further.

Gwendal stared at him, letting the silence drag on, each of them speaking silent words that only the other could understand, used to these periods of noiselessness. They did not need speech in order to understand one another. Their intense gazes and determined stances made their thoughts and feelings quite clear.

“This war was inevitable,” the Chief of State eventually said, lowering himself into the king’s chair once again, the spot he’d taken up for years, long before his mother had stepped down. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

Conrart nodded solemnly, and though he hadn’t managed to change Gwendal’s mind, he’d said what he had come to say, his frustration over the man’s actions slowly easing out of him. He turned stiffly to leave, knowing he hadn’t accomplished much of anything, but knowing that anymore arguing would be futile in this instance. Nothing more could be said, nothing more could be done. They could only continue along the path set before them, and hope they came out all right on the other end.

He stopped before he could exit the room, his hand on the door knob, his younger brother’s face again flashing through his mind. “You do realize what you’ve done, don’t you?” he asked the older man quietly, eyes focused on the thick wooden door, knowing all too well how Wolfram was feeling, and knowing what it would do to his relationship with their older brother. “Just as Yuuri will never forgive Wolfram for signing the declaration, Wolfram will never forgive you for making him.”

“I am well aware of that,” Gwendal replied easily, with not a hint of uncertainty or regret in his voice. “If I have to be the bad guy to get things done around here, then so be it.”

Conrart sighed at his words, momentarily wondering at his seeming lack of guilt, but in the end he decided to let it go, at least for now, knowing Gwendal would refuse to elaborated any further. Instead the brown haired man left the room, leaving Gwendal to his work, to his planning, and mentally preparing himself for what was to come.

* * *

Elizabeth frowned when she found Wolfram out in the courtyard, his sword at hand and the anger that had so recently been left to fester inside of him now being directed towards one of the many youths who’d gathered around him - on his orders, she supposed. After spending nearly an hour searching for her childhood friend within the walls of the castle, it was a bit disappointing to find him in the one place she’d first thought of but had neglected to check in the hopes that he’d not allowed his mood to swing to such an extreme. It had been wishful thinking on her part, she knew, and there really wasn’t much she could do to help or change the situation.

She stood by for a moment and watched with interest as the blond haired prince took a wild swing at one of the armed men, the youthful soldier easily parrying the attack, though his face had morphed into an expression of deep concern, eyes narrowed in worry. The other men stood by nervously - most of them previous members from Wolfram’s personal guard who’d recently been promoted to the Royal Guard - each one awaiting their turn against the volatile prince. This was certainly not the first time they’d been subjected to such activities, but Elizabeth knew they’d never seen Wolfram quite as careless as he was now.

Few of his swings connected, and the ones that did manage to elicit the loud clang that resulted from metal hitting against metal were easily blocked and countered. His footwork was sloppier than she ever remembered seeing it, his graceful and precise steps hindered by whatever it was the drove him to ruthlessly attack his own men. He seemed to be focusing more on his anger than on improving his speed or skill, and though the guards seemed willing to allow him to use them as an outlet, it was obvious that they were concerned for him more than they were for their own safety - with the way Wolfram was senselessly going at it, she didn’t think he could do much damage to them as long as they paid attention and didn’t let their guard down.

Elizabeth had seen this specific routine many times before, so she wasn’t surprised in the least to find the Prince out here uselessly hacking away at this particular group of men. She’d known Wolfram for most of her life, had met him long ago when her Uncle Raven had taken her to the castle on one of his and Lord von Spitzweg’s visits. They’d played together quite peacefully for a while, then argued over toys; he’d wanted to play with toy swords, while she had preferred to dress up and pretend to be king and queen. They’d talked to one another about their families soon after, then argued over whose mother was prettier, and they’d been friends ever since.

She’d grown used to his temper long ago; in fact, her very own could quite easily rival his. When they hadn’t been prancing around together in the gardens or sharing snacks that the maids baked for them in the afternoons, they’d been absorbed with screaming matches - who could shout the loudest; if they argued over the same toy, who would it inevitably be given to; whose tears could elicit the most desired response from the adults? Wolfram had won those games most of the time, though she’d always told herself it was because his mother had been the queen and no one had wished to anger her.

She and Wolfram were so much alike it was fairly easy for them to understand one another. Neither of them liked to be avoided, both of them had certain ideals on what was considered an appropriate amount of attention - and they’d both sought attention in their youth, from anyone who was willing to give it - both of them were passionate and determined. In their childhood, when he’d been angry he’d throw things around, or take one of his toy swords and whack at a harmless tree until he ran out of energy; when she’d been angry she’d do pretty much the same, only instead of using a fake sword, she’d ripped the heads off of her dolls and thrown them at those who angered her.

Seeing him as he was now easily reminded her of those days, only the memories failed to bring a smile to her face this time. There really wasn’t anything to smile about.

Elizabeth knew what Wolfram was doing - or what he was trying to do, since it didn’t seem as if he were succeeding with the reckless way he was going at it. He did this every time he felt as if he had failed in some way, as if beating the crap out of those who served below him could somehow increase his skills and make him feel better about himself. The attack against he and Greta, as well as the signing of the Declaration of War a few days ago, had obviously aroused his anger enough for him to skip the screaming and the throwing, and go immediately to obsessive training.

At first she thought to stay out of it and wait until he exhausted himself before stepping in to talk to him, but it was difficult to simply stand by and watch when she was really one of the only people in the world who even half-way understood what he was going through right now. So instead of waiting, she walked forward into the courtyard during a break in the action, the guard Wolfram had previously been assailing giving up his spot to yet another nervous youth. Both the prince and the guard lifted their swords, and before anyone could even announce the start of the match, Wolfram was bounding towards him in a sloppy illustration of his usual abilities.

“Brother Wolfram!” she shouted to him, drawing ever closer.

The blond boy refused to answer her, his green eyes remaining on his opponent, either oblivious to the call or choosing to ignore her.

Elizabeth’s frown deepened; she didn’t like being ignored. “Brother Wolfram!” she tried again, though instead of waiting for a reply, she took a sword from one of the other young men, then gracefully stepped into the fray, easily blocking one of the prince’s attacks and using her body to shield the rather surprised guard.

“Go away,” Wolfram demanded of her then, glaring at her heavily, his breathing labored from exertion, pale face flushed red from all the exercise he’d been forcing onto himself. He stepped back when their blades separated, though he spared her not another word.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she stated, not easing her posture, knowing he could very easily jump into his attack again. “I should have known I’d find you here taking your anger out on these poor men. But I’d hoped you’d grown out of such childish behavior and searched the castle for you instead.”

She knew that had been the wrong thing to say, but the danger that was suddenly directed her way hardly phased her. She’d said it on purpose, knowing that provoking the mazoku prince was almost effortless. Question his authority, his honor, his intent, treat him like the child he’d tried so hard to grow out of, and Wolfram was bound to snap.

“I told you to go away!” he shouted, lunging at her, swiping his blade at her without really paying attention to what he was doing.

Elizabeth blocked it again, and allowed him to continue his pitiful thrusts and strikes, guarding herself from each and every one with very little effort on her part. He grunted and growled with each miss, reminding her of herself many years ago, when she’d dueled His Majesty for the right to his hand, when she’d been blinded by her anger and had senselessly attacked her friend.

Eventually, when she could see that the boy was finally beginning to grow too tired to put as much strength behind his blows to cause any damage - if they should actually hit, that is - she fluently disarmed him, watching as his sword sailed through the air for a moment, then clattered to the ground some distance away. He turned sharply as if to retrieve it, but decided against it, giving up with hardly a word and collapsing onto the ground as well. The soldiers around them had fallen into silence upon Elizabeth’s arrival, the group of them now looking on in surprise at the ease in which she’d managed to curtail his seemingly unstoppable tirade.

The dirty blonde haired woman handed her sword back to the young man she’d borrowed it from, then waved them off. “You can go now,” she said casually. “I’ll see to him.”

They looked at her questioningly for a second, then turned to do as she’d said.

Elizabeth wasn’t stupid enough to believe that they’d leave the area completely - they were responsible for the prince’s safety, after all, and with the attack that had been conducted against him she didn’t think he’d be without at least one or two guards for quite a while - but once they’d traveled far enough away so as not to hear them speaking, Elizabeth went back to her friend, crouching on the ground in front of him. Her dress brushed against the dirt ground, but she hardly cared, more concerned for the prince than she was about her lavish clothing.

“Did that help at all?” she wondered softly, watching him as he continued to get his breathing under control.

“Shut up,” he panted out, still glaring at her. “The only reason I stopped is because you interfered,” he eventually resumed his speech, his voice lacking the firmness it would have possessed had he been honest in his statements.

“That’s a lie,” she pointed out. They’d fought enough over the course of their lives to know that they were evenly matched when it came to power and skill. He’d never turned down a dual with her before, well aware that she could hold her own against him, nor had he ever let her win over the simple fact that she was a girl. Gender had never mattered much between the two of them, only friendship, and equality in aptitude and competence.

“What do you want?” he asked her then, his narrowed eyes easing and his breathing becoming more regular as he slowly calmed.

“To make sure you’re okay, though it’s obvious now that you’re not,” she easily replied, tilting her head to the side as she regarded him carefully, observing the boy as he adjusted his slender body so that he sat more comfortably on he ground. “You haven’t been taking very good care of yourself since His Majesty left,” she commented. “Have you even eaten anything today? I don’t recall seeing you in the dining room during breakfast or lunch.”

“I could have had the maids bring my meal to me,” he snapped back.

“But did you?”

He stared at her levelly, and by the way certain emotions worked across his face, she could tell he was contemplating lying to her. In the end, he made the wiser choice and decided not to, sighing as he said, “No, I haven’t eaten since last night.”

“And you expect to put up a decent fight when you’re so lacking in energy?” she asked, shaking her head. “Well, if you’re neglecting food… when’s the last time you slept?”

“I don’t remember,” he bit out, obviously annoyed by her perceptiveness. “Can’t you leave me alone? I don’t want to be bothered right now. In fact, haven’t you been here long enough? Why haven’t you gone home yet? There’s no need for you to be here.”

She wasn’t hurt by his tone at all, knew for a fact that he didn’t really want her to leave. If he had no intention of talking to her whatsoever he would have gotten up and left without saying a word. “It’s too dangerous to do any sort of traveling right now,” she merely pointed out, offering him a small smile. “So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for a while yet.”

He frowned, but added nothing else.

Elizabeth stared at him over a moment of silence, watching as he shifted his emerald gaze away from her amethyst, before she was standing to her feet to retrieve his sword from where it had landed, carefully handing the blade back to him. He took it without a word, standing to his feet as well and sliding it back into its sheath. The blonde haired girl merely smoothed out her dress, letting the silence stretch for a few seconds longer, noting the way he nervously shifted under her intense gaze, inwardly smirking when she realized she was making him uncomfortable.

“None of this is your fault, you know,” she finally told him, making sure to keep her voice as quiet and unthreatening as she could, not wanting to incite his anger again. “You didn’t have any other choice but to sign that declaration, and nothing you or anyone else could have done would have prevented it. Whether your brother forced you or not, it would have happened eventually.”

Her words inspired little reaction from him. He remained facing her, though his sight was trained on the ground beneath their feet, his hands balling into fists by his sides. His face was blank, and though a good portion of his golden bangs had fallen to conceal his green eyes from her, she could see his thoughts through what little remained in view - two windows to his soul. There was pain, anger, hatred - none of it directed at her, and not all of it directed at his brother or the two humans whose intrusion into his life had been the final event before the incriminating document had been drafted. There was sadness and betrayal as well, each emotion as powerful as the next, but then that wasn’t much of a surprise; when Wolfram felt something, he felt it strongly.

“Then why does it hurt so much?” he asked in a near whisper, lifting his gaze to look at her then, as if begging her to make it stop hurting, when they both knew there was only one person who could ever hope to accomplish that. “Why do I feel like I’ve done the wrong thing?”

“Sometimes it’s the right thing that’s hardest to do,” she told him, slowly shaking her head again. “Sometimes you have to do things you’d rather not. You can’t expect to have the right answers all the time, but you can’t beat yourself up every time you think you’ve made a mistake.”

“It was a mistake. I know that,” he said. “I let Gwendal manipulate me. He knew I’d do it, if he said all those things…”

“He didn’t mean them.”

He looked at her critically, as if he didn’t quite believe her. “And how do you know that? You have no idea what he’s thinking.”

“But I know he’s never been outright cruel to you,” Elizabeth answered him patiently. “I’m sure he regrets having to force you just as much as you regret signing it.”

He snorted, but didn’t try to counter her argument, looking away again so that she couldn’t see the small light of hope he had that what she was saying was true.

“And I know you, Brother Wolfram,” she continued, moving closer to place a delicate hand upon one of his shoulders. “No matter what Gwendal or anyone else said, you wouldn’t have signed anything if you really didn’t want to. You know it’s the only way.”

“I do,” he agreed quietly. “But…”

“I know you promised His Majesty you wouldn’t,” she said understandingly, “but you can’t expect to be able to keep every promise you make. Even His Majesty hasn’t been able to keep all of his. Give him time to adjust, to accept things, and he’ll come to understand your reasoning.”

Wolfram looked towards her again, eying her skeptically. “And since when have you been his greatest supporter?”

Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “Since he married my best friend.”

The blond prince frowned, but said nothing else on the matter.

The dirty blonde haired girl’s smile faltered slightly, but the slip was hardly noticeable. She hadn’t liked His Majesty very much at all when she’d first met him. He was naïve, far too trusting of people who shouldn’t be shown even the slimmest form of trust, not to mention he’d stolen her Wolfram away with hardly any effort at all. After their duel, she’d realized that there was more to the black haired young man than met the eye, a power and confidence lurking inside of him that would enable him to lead their people to an era of prosperity, a deep, cleansing love for all the world’s inhabitants that would ensure a future of happiness.

Most of all, he loved Wolfram, far more than she could ever hope to. His Majesty may not realize it, and Wolfram himself may not even be able to see it, but she and nearly everyone else knew it was there, somewhere inside of the young king, waiting to spew forth and make its presence known. She believed it would one day, though it may take time - years, perhaps, if His Majesty continued to give into his fears - but eventually all would be right in the world, and her dear friend would finally be given the chance to truly be happy. They were right for each other, she could see that now - though she’d doubted it once - and she’d do anything she could to make them realize it.

Wolfram was like a brother to her, and he deserved the very best.

“If you’re done scaring the soldiers,” she began again after a while, lowering her hand from his shoulder to slip it into one of his, “perhaps you’d like to come inside and have something to eat. Ken invited me to join him for afternoon tea and snacks. Would you like to come, too?”

“Ken?” he wondered curiously, looking as if he had no clue as to whom she was referring to.

“Yes. His Highness,” she answered his question, amused by the look of shock he adopted at the realization.

“Since when have you been interested in the Sage?” the prince asked her incredulously, as if he didn’t quite believe she was being serious - although part of her hoped he was jealous that her attention and affections had seemingly strayed, and that he was feeling as protective of her as she had been of him when she’d first learned of his engagement to His Majesty.

“Since a few days ago,” Elizabeth easily replied, her smile growing as she began to lead him into the palace. “He’s a really charming man, very intriguing, and a bit like His Majesty, don’t you think?”

Wolfram frowned at the comparison, obviously not in complete agreement. “Just as much of a wimp, and just as useless, but far more intelligent.”

The young noblewoman laughed softly. “And then after tea we’ll have to go talk with your mother. She’s been worried about you, you know, and Greta’s been wondering where you’ve run off to.”

She went on listing all the things they could do to occupy themselves with for the remainder of the day, never once allowing him to return to his previous sullen mood. She’d been able to distract him when they’d been younger, and she could still distract him now, even if it meant provoking him and luring him into a petty argument about things of little importance. For now she knew that’s all she could do, but it was enough.

To see him smile just once…

That’s all she wanted.

* * *

“Yuu-chan, I wish you could stay longer,” Yuuri listened to his mother lament as he stood before the small pool still set up within the back yard of his home on Earth, dark eyes staring into the clear water as if he could see through to the other side, when in reality the only thing that met his gaze was blue plastic smattered with smiling suns.

After spending a week at home lost in thought and endless confusion, he thought it was nearly time for him to make his return to Shin Makoku. Time passed the same in both worlds now, but he knew for a fact that a lot could happen in seven days, especially with how his kingdom was currently fairing, and after the dream he’d had a couple of nights ago, he was becoming worried about the state of affairs, worried about his friends and family. He’d put his personal issues above his responsibilities long enough, he’d decided, and it was time for him to take on his role as king with the determination and zeal he’d had years ago, when things had seemed so much easier - and infinitely less daunting.

If he were to be completely honest, he would admit to feeling somewhat uneasy. After the dream where he’d seen images of the future in those four mirrors - images he was still struggling to understand - and been confronted with his alternate persona, he’d been anxious to see Wolfram again, a sick feeling in his gut telling him that something was wrong. It was hard to describe, but something inside of him knew that something had happened while he’d been a way, and he knew it wasn’t anything good, not something he’d like or feel ecstatic about.

Just this morning he’d been hit with an overwhelming need to see the other boy, to make sure that he was alright, that he was still there where he’d left him. When that need hadn’t left over the course of the day, or dissipated in the least, he’d made the decision to go ahead and head back. He may not have sorted much of anything out, or come to any major conclusions about himself, but he knew nothing much was going to happen if he stayed here. It was time he went back and took care of the mess he’d left behind, both where his blond friend was concerned and with the kingdom.

“I’ve already stayed too long,” he replied to his mother’s voice, turning slightly to face her. His father and Shori were standing nearby as well, each waiting to watch his departure. “You know I’ve got a lot of things to take care of, Mom. I can’t stay here any longer than necessary.”

“I know,” she agreed, her frown then instantly morphing into a grin as she chirped, “Make sure you bring Wol-chan and Greta-chan when you come back!”

A smile worked its way across his face at her words, and he nodded in agreement, allowing her to pull him into a tight good-bye hug. His father was next, bestowing upon him a similar form of affection, though his arms were not wound around him as tight, and one of his hands patted his shoulder in silent support. “If you ever need anything, just hop back over here,” Shoma told him when he pulled away.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He looked towards Shori then, the older man making no move to hug him or even shake his hand, standing back with his arms crossed, dark eyes staring at Yuuri as if he could see inside of him, trying to discover with his gaze alone the truth of his younger brother’s intentions. Yuuri merely smiled at him, taking a step towards the pool.

“See ya, Shori,” he gave a small, quick wave.

The older man grunted, then said, “Remember what we talked about.”

Yuuri paused, one foot submerged in the clear, cool liquid, easily recalling the conversation they’d shared at the restaurant the other day, and all the thoughts and convictions it had inevitably aroused within him. It made him nervous to remember what he’d promised himself, his newfound desire and determination to give this thing with Wolfram a chance, but there was also a great sense of relief. Nothing had been worked out completely, at least not yet, but he was now moving in the right direction, following what he thought was the correct path in order to achieve the answers he’d desperately been searching for.

He nodded in reply, though he said nothing else, taking one more step so that he was standing with both feet in the pool of water. He turned to spare his Earthen family one last wave, before closing his eyes and tapping into the power inside of him, feeling it spread through him the way his blood pumped its way through his veins. There was warmth and a great sense of strength - like he could accomplish anything, like nothing in the world could possibly stand in his way - before he heard the water begin to shift, rippling around him and lapping at the sides of his jean-clad legs.

He felt the cool substance wash over him, pulling him downward and spiraling around as he sank deeper and deeper into its depths. A long time ago he wouldn’t have felt as comfortable with the transition between worlds as he did now; he’d never been given any warning when Shinou had been in control, and had only a moment to realize what was happening until he was again sucked into the portal. Now that he controlled his comings and goings, he’d grown used to the various sensations. Water coursed through and around him, saturating his clothes, its harsh suction making it nearly impossible to swim, but he no longer panicked or tried to fight it, and allowed the current to take him to the place where he was needed.

Seconds passed within its depths, and just when his lungs began to burn from holding his breath for so long, the whirlpool stopped, the water calmed, and he kicked his legs to bring his body back to the surface. He gasped for air for only a few moments, easily regulating his breathing once again as he wiped a few stray drops of noticeably warmer water out of his eyes. That was all it took for him to adjust to the change in time and place, and he immediately made moves to exit the large liquid body.

He’d arrived in the place he’d been using to teleport back to Earth - his private bath - finding it far simpler to surface here than in a fountain or through a puddle on the side of one of the kingdom’s dirt roads, not to mention it was closer to his room and dry clothing. He hopped out of the bath with relative ease, stepping through the mist and steam until he’d made it to the doorway, pausing only momentarily before turning the knob, knowing that once he did there would be no turning back. He’d have to face everything that he’d run away from, and this time there would be no escaping.

Opening the door, he stepped into the hall as casually as he could, forcing his nervousness away. He half expected to find Gunter and Conrad there waiting for him, the former sobbing and ready to crush him against his slender body in a bruising hug, and the later standing patiently by with his ever-present kind smile. Instead he was met with a silent hallway, the tapping and squeaking of his sneakers echoing too loudly for his liking. It was far too eerie. Where was the maids’ quiet gossiping? Where was the laughter of the soldiers and the giggling of the hordes of noblewomen?

Curiously he looked up and down the corridor, his dark eyes widening at the number of guards he immediately saw lined down each side of the hall. There were two stationed at each door, one on each side, swords and spears held within their grasp, posture straight and faces stern. Each one of them glanced his way when the door opened, though not a single one shouted out a happy greeting. A few nodded at the uneasy smile he gave them, and a few others politely bowed or saluted, but none shouted their usual warm and excited “hello”s.

Cautiously the dark haired king wandered down the hallway, eyes scanning the building as if searching for the reason this many guards were on duty at once. He didn’t remember allowing this level of security. He’d always made it a point to keep he and his friends safe, but at the same time he’d liked to have at least a small bit of privacy - which was hard to come by when so many people were constantly watching over him, hovering behind and next to him as if he’d fall dead on the spot if they left his side for even a moment. Even though he knew it was dangerous and more of a risk than his retainers truthfully felt like taking, rarely had he allowed guards to stand by his bedroom door - he’d felt safe enough with Wolfram there, after all.

Therefore, his level of surprise only increased when he found two of Gwendal’s men, soldiers he’d grown accustomed to seeing around the dark haired Chief of State, standing right where he didn’t want them, each showing no signs of leaving any time soon. He cocked an eyebrow at their positions, stopping in front of his door to glance at each of them, stray drops of water dripping from his soaked clothing onto the floor. He frowned when neither of the men said a word to him to explain what they were doing there, crossing his arms in disapproval.

“I don’t remember signing anything regarding an increase in security before I left,” he told them, appearing as stern as he could, though he knew he hardly looked frightening when he appeared similar to a drowned rat at the moment, clumps of damp hair hanging into his eyes and sticking to the sides of his neck.

“Lord von Voltaire’s orders, Your Majesty,” one of the men in green replied.

“And what exactly was he thinking when he put this number of guards on one hallway? It’s a little much, if you ask me.”

“He was concerned about the safety of the royal family, Your Majesty,” the second man in the pair answered him this time.

Glancing down the hall again, his curiosity further piqued, Yuuri noted the presence of another pair of highly trained soldiers standing to the sides of Greta’s closed doorway, two of Conrad’s men this time. Dakaskos was further down, stationed by Lady Celi’s room with a young man who’d been promoted from Wolfram’s troop of specially trained young boys, two more members of the Royal Guard by Gwendal’s door as well.

“And why is that?” he wondered skeptically when he turned back to gaze at the two men before him. He tried to keep his face emotionless, a trait he’d tried to pick of from Gwendal but had a hard time putting into use correctly, though inside the feeling of unease he’d been assailed with early that morning began to grow. He was sure Gwendal wouldn’t have done something like this unless there had been some sort of an apparent threat, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what that could possibly be when security had already been so heavy before his departure.

The men broke their gazes with him to spare a nervous look at one another, the man on the left nearly stuttering as he said, “Perhaps it would be best if you were to ask Lord von Voltaire and Prince von Bielefeld.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes at their evasiveness, but asked them nothing else. After pushing open his door and entering his room, he closed it behind him, almost expecting the guards to follow him in with how stiff and overprotective they were currently being. He let his gaze sweep across his bedroom before moving to retrieve any clothing, trying to pick out anything out of the ordinary, wondering what in the world was going on to have everyone acting as they were. Why the hell had his friends suddenly become so very cautious?

Nothing much had changed in the room since the last time he’d been in here, except the dressings on the bed had been replaced, and - peering closer - if he hadn’t known any better he would have said it was a different bed altogether. It looked similar to the one he remembered sleeping in last - or trying to sleep in - with its high canopy and curtains swept to the sides, but there were small differences in the craftsmanship. The wood was slightly darker, the feet holding the furniture a few inches higher off the ground. The curtains were no longer dyed green, and were now a deep blue, tied to each wooden pole with a golden cord and tassel. The bedspread and pillows were blue as well, though not as dark, the silk sheets beneath a pale icy shade.

It confused him to see such a change, and if he hadn’t been here for four years now and grown used to how things were done around the castle, he would have thought it had something to do with the changing seasons. Instead he wondered if Wolfram had had something to do with it, perhaps ordered it to be set up more to his liking. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time the blond had complained about the appearance of something as pointless as the bed, but he found it somewhat odd that he would have waited four years to say something.

Shaking the confusion from his head, Yuuri figured he wasn’t going to get any sort of an answer unless he went and spoke to his friends - wherever they were - and walked across the room without sparing the bed another thought. After taking a few moments to dry himself off, he opened the doors to the large wardrobe and began rummaging through his clothing, not really in the mood to slip on one of his uniforms, but finding very little else that differentiated from the black garments. In the end he pulled on a pair of his richly dyed pants, yanking one of the white shirts on after it and buttoning it up, but leaving the jacket hanging where it was.

Finished, he placed his wet clothes in a laundry basket in the corner once he’d shut the wardrobe doors, leaving the soaked materials for the maids to take care of the next time they entered his room. His need for dryness and warmth now taken care of, Yuuri returned to the heavily guarded corridor, shutting his bedroom door once again and sparing the pair of Gwendal’s men another skeptical glance before heading off to seek out the man in question. He left the hallway containing the rooms of the members of the royal family, turning left at the T-shaped intersection and making his way towards his office.

If there was one place he knew he’d always be able to find his Chief of State, it was in his study. The man was more predictable than he probably realized when it came to his whereabouts, and over the years Yuuri had learned exactly where to look for him should he ever need anything from the darker man. No doubt Gwendal was riffling through all the papers that constantly stacked themselves upon his desk, sorting them out into more manageable piles of which to have signed and which to ignore. Either that or he was dutifully writing up reports, his quill scratching across the paper in quick strokes and swirls.

It took hardly any time at all for the king to arrive at his destination, having memorized the layout of the palace in the years that he’d lived beneath its roof so that he knew all of its secret passages and hidden walkways, lesser traveled halls that he made sure to make use of when he’d rather not be bothered by others. It seemed as if only a little less than a moment had passed until he was standing in front of the ornately carved slab of wood leading into the room he spent most of his days in, secluded between its walls with nothing but his advisors and mounds of paperwork to keep him company. When he looked, he noticed a good number of guards stationed along this hall as well, their presence only serving to heighten his confusion and curiosity.

Yuuri twisted the knob and pushed open the door without bothering to knock - a show of bad manners, he knew, but then he’d grown used to the slack he was so often given just for being the king, and he’d come to take advantage of it often enough. He entered without a word in greeting, merely stepped into the room and shut yet another door behind him, dark eyes glancing around to take in each surprised face. Obviously they hadn’t been expecting his return - though without Shinou providing him with his means of transportation, there was not much time for Ulrike to give her past warnings.

Gwendal was, indeed, seated behind the desk, only instead of signing and organizing papers he was looking over a couple of maps, a few weights keeping the large sheets of paper on the wooden surface and preventing the corners from curling inward. Yozak and Conrad stood by his side, as if they’d both been scanning over the charts in the midst of a deep discussion. Stoffel, Gunter, and Mikhail were at the Chief of State’s other side, their expressions just as serious - though Gunter looked marginally relieved to see that the king was back. Murata was leaning against the wall to Yuuri’s left, arms crossed over his chest in a lazy manner, but dark eyes just as deep and sharp as always.

“Your Majesty,” Mikhail greeted him respectfully, breaking the dead silence his surprising entrance had brought upon the group of men.

“What’s going on in here?” Yuuri wondered, his unease only increasing when his gaze did not find Wolfram among the room’s occupants. “What’s with all the guards out in the hallways? I don’t think having so many of them in here is really practical,” he added, dark eyes locking with Gwendal’s blue ones. “The ones by my room said you ordered it. Why?”

“Your Majesty…” Gunter tried to intervene, perhaps hoping that he could ease whatever tension this confrontation was bound to cause, but his soothing calls went unheeded.

“Perhaps if you’d stay here and attend to your duties you wouldn’t be so clueless all of the time,” Gwendal replied easily, his gaze never weakening, his face set in a stern mask, eyes devoid of any warmth or compassion.

“Excuse me?” Yuuri quirked an eyebrow. Apparently his leaving had only worsened things between himself and the older man, though he hadn’t expected any better. Conrad looked ready to reprimand his older brother for speaking to the king in such a way, but Yuuri cut him off before he could, asking, “Did something happen while I was away?”

“Uuh, Your Majesty,” Stoffel began nervously, as if he were worried about what the dark haired young man’s reaction would be. “In your absence, things further escalated in the already tense situation with the humans.”

“What do you mean?” the Japanese man inquired, dread now curling in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling he already knew how his questions were going to be answered, but he didn’t want to believe it. There was no way things could have gotten that bad in just a week, right? “What happened?”

Gwendal wasted little time in informing him, and said rather emotionlessly, “We are now at war.”

At those five words, Yuuri felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, only to be burned and have its ashes scattered across the kingdom. His stomach fell towards his feet, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick, his hands shaking by his sides as he forced down the bile that slowly began to rise in his throat. His eyes widened as he tried to come to terms with what had just been said, but even after repeating the statement in his head a few times, it continued to make little sense.

War? It wasn’t possible. He hadn’t permitted that.

“What?” he asked quietly, hoping with all of his heart that Gwendal really hadn’t gone against him and sent the troops out without a declaration. He didn’t know what he’d do with the knowledge that one of his closest friends and advisors had betrayed him and knowingly refused his orders.

“We are at war,” the taller man said once again, his voice just as cold as it had been the first time. “We have already begun to deploy the troops. We plan on reclaiming our land and driving the humans out of our kingdom.”

Anger was quick to take over the shock and feelings of rejection, eyebrows pulling themselves downward as his gaze slowly narrowed, his trembling hands balling into tight fists. “I told you I didn’t want a war!” he shouted, face flushing with rage. “Call the troops back!” he immediately ordered. “I never signed anything allowing this!”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did! You can’t just -”

“Wolfram has already taken care of that.”

Yuuri stopped, staring at his Chief of State for a long moment, as if the words that had just been spoken hadn’t yet registered in his brain. Truthfully it only took him a few seconds to understand what the man had meant by that, he just didn’t want to believe that it was true.

‘No…’ he thought, forgetting all the long, agonizing hours he’d spent on Earth trying to sort out whatever feelings he had for the other boy, the memories of his conversation with Shori and the decisions he’d come to make leaving his mind to be replaced by a searing anger, his teeth clenching harshly and his heart thumping in his chest. ‘No…’

Wolfram wouldn’t do something like that, not after he’d made that promise. He couldn’t.

“See for yourself,” Gwendal casually told him, removing a sheet of paper from one of the pockets of his long green jacket, holding it out to the king with hardly any concern for how the younger man was feeling at the moment.

Yuuri took a few slow steps foreword, reaching out to grab hold of what was being offered to him, and although Conrad made a weak attempt at stopping him, the dark haired boy retrieved the piece of parchment from his Chief of State, unfolding the thick paper so that his eyes could scan over its words. He recognized the handwriting the document had been drafted in as Gwendal’s, and when he glanced down at the place where his signature would normally be required, he found Wolfram’s taking its place.

He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him when his dark eyes glanced over the swirling, carefully scrawled letters, like someone had punched him in his gut or reached into his chest to rip his heart out. Gwendal had written the declaration and Wolfram had signed it. Both of them had effectively turned their backs on him, and peering at Gwendal now the young man didn’t think it had been too difficult a task.

Rage consumed him, an anger he’d rarely ever felt on his own - as such emotions were usually forced down into his subconscious, left for his alternate personality to deal with. His hands shook in an effort to control himself, to not start shouting in Gwendal’s face and demand to know why they’d done this, why they’d thought it so necessary to go behind his back and start a senseless war. There were other ways, certainly. There was no need for this, no reason why they couldn’t find a solution more peaceful than the warfare they’d begun in his absence. There was no way Wolfram would have…

But he did, and that both hurt him and increased the level of his ire, that the one person he’d placed every ounce of his trust in had done something like this, despite his many oaths and promises, despite all the reassurances he’d given when everyone else had come to distrust him. He could blame the older dark haired man as much as he wanted, yell at him and demand that the troops be called back, but that would never change the fact that Wolfram had betrayed him; nothing would. With the simple act of the signing of his name, Wolfram had done the worst thing possible.

Crumpling the paper up in his hand, Yuuri tossed it back at the taller man, not caring how childish the action was or how he currently appeared in front of the other men gathered in the room. He turned on his heel, stalking back towards the door and ripping it open, paying no amount of attention to Conrad or Murata, who both called after him and requested that he wait. Yuuri refused to listen to either of them, thinking there wasn’t anything they could say to fix this, his fury almost overwhelming. Had he felt this strong in the past, he would most certainly have changed into the Maou. Presently he felt none of the lightheadedness that preceded the familiar metamorphosis, just the strong desire to shout and break something.

He stomped down the hallway, ignoring anyone who happened to follow him - and they did follow him, for he could hear them in the background, entreating him to sit down and allow them to explain, as if the answer to all of this could possibly be so simple, as if it even mattered. It didn’t matter; he didn’t care what their intentions had been or what Wolfram had been thinking when he’d signed the declaration. In his mind there was no justification; in his mind there was nothing but hurt, feelings of abandonment, all feeding into his all-consuming anger, building up so much he felt akin to a volcano waiting to explode.

He searched for Wolfram, not knowing quite what he intended to do when he found him, just knowing that he had to see him, to ask him why, although he doubted his answer would do either of them much good. He looked in their room again, in Greta’s room, searching the library and the dining room, and with each empty chamber the animosity only escalated until his hands were clenched so tightly he was close to drawing blood, his face red as he fumed, teeth gnashed together so hard it hurt and his breathing becoming slightly irregular.

Finally he turned the corner onto a hall he rarely walked, his ears picking out the tinkling of piano keys, and he followed the noise to a room halfway down the corridor, its door open to allow him to see inside. There he found his friend, sitting on the bench before the instrument in question with Greta by his side, Lady Celi and Lady Elizabeth standing close by as well, neither of them noticing his presence. He stopped for only a moment to look in on them, before he was stepping over the threshold and preparing himself for the confrontation that was surely to take place.

There was no way he was going to let this go, no way he’d just sit back and let this continue. Damn Wolfram for doing this to him, for making him feel this way, after he’d spent so much time trying his hardest to sort everything out for the blond, for the both of them.

It wasn’t his entrance that attracted their attention, but the sound of Conrad calling his name from out in the hallway. Each of the room’s occupants glanced up in near unison, smiles breaking out along four faces before the dark look on his own visage registered. Wolfram’s face fell and blanched, his hands falling from the ivory keys to hang limply by his sides. Lady Celi and Elizabeth averted their gazes, as if they were somehow at fault, too, and Greta seemed conflicted, as if she didn’t know if she should be happy that he had come home or worried about his current mood.

“Yuuri,” his daughter tried, and though it pained him to see her looking so hopeful, he couldn’t force a smile in her direction, or go to her and offer her a hug.

“Everyone out!” he immediately demanded, eyes locking on Wolfram’s guilty gaze, and he momentarily felt some sick, twisted sense of satisfaction that the blond seemed just as hurt as he was. “I need to talk to Wolfram,” he elaborated when none of the three women moved to make their exit. “Alone.”

“Shibuya…” he heard Murata say from behind him, but he spared the other young man nothing more than a heartless glare.

Slowly Greta, Elizabeth, and the former queen approached the doorway, Greta looking tempted to say something else, to try and sooth her dark haired father, but she kept her mouth closed and did what was requested of her with no complaints. Lady Celi’s gaze was focused on the ground, as if she were also the carrier of some form of blame. Elizabeth merely glared, her violet eyes narrowed at the king in warning, still so protective of her friend even after she’d given her permission for the two of them to wed.

Yuuri’s attention never strayed, and he remained glowering at the younger looking boy until the three women and the two men in the hallway left the two of them to themselves. He shut the door then, slamming it back into its frame just seconds after Elizabeth made her exit, giving no one else the chance to say anything. He paid no attention to his surroundings, hardly glanced around the room he’d entered, so focused was he on his best friend, who’d yet to move from his place in front of the piano. He saw nothing but blond hair and sorrowful green eyes, heard nothing but the pounding if his heart, and felt nothing but suffocating anger.

“I trusted you,” he seethed quietly, surprised with himself when he managed to keep from shouting. He watched as the fair prince flinched at his words.

Quickly Wolfram looked away, his shoulders already hunching in defeat, full lips pulled down into a deep frown. “I’m sorry,” he said just as softly, sounding truly remorseful.

“I don’t want an apology!” the king snapped at him, his fisted hands tightening even more. “You being sorry isn’t going to solve a God damned thing!” Neither would his shouting, but it felt so good to release everything, the building anger, the asphyxiating frustration. “I want an explanation!”

“What’s to explain?” his pale counterpart wondered, his royal black clothing making him appear even more fair, and the way he was hunched in on himself making him look so small. “It’s obvious you already know.”

The blond haired boy stood then, moving slowly, his booted feet bringing him closer to Yuuri, and the double black watched as he passed him by, heading towards the door. Yuuri stopped him from leaving before he could move too far, grabbing onto one of his arms and pulling him back around, forcing him to turn and stare into his eyes, hoping the other young man could see everything that he was feeling at the moment. Let Wolfram hurt as much as he was hurting. He could hardly find it in him to care anymore.

It was cruel, he knew, to feel that way, inconsiderate and so out of character, and yet he couldn’t help it. How else was he supposed to feel? How else was he supposed to react to what his friend had done to him, succeeding in crushing him fully and with hardly any effort at all. It was only fair that he return the favor, right?

Right?

Somewhere inside he knew there wasn’t an affirmative answer, but he ignored it as easily as he’d been ignoring everything and everyone else.

Wolfram tried to pull away from him, but Yuuri easily yanked him back. “You promised me!” the black haired half-human shouted into his face, paying no heed to the way the blond flinched away. “You promised me you’d never sign a Declaration of War! You know this isn’t what I want!”

“Let go of me,” Wolfram whispered, ceasing his struggles, but staring defiantly up at the king.

“Not until you tell me why!” Yuuri told him. “I trusted you, Wolfram! You were the only one I could ever trust completely, and now you do something like this?!”

“Let go.”

The blond tried to push at the taller man then, lifting a hand to press against one of his shoulders and drive him backwards. Yuuri, in turn, tightened his grip and shoved him into the door, the motion causing a loud ‘bang’ to resound through the room.

“Why did you do it?!” the king wondered aloud, his voice still coming out harsher than he was normally capable of. “Do you hate the humans so much that you’d break your promise to me and sign a Declaration behind my back?! You swore to me, Wolfram!”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Wolfram replied, raising his voice this time so that he was shouting as well, though his eyes remained as plaintive as they’d been since Yuuri had entered. “There isn’t anything else I could have done!”

“That’s what everyone always thinks, isn’t it?! Are you all so barbaric that you’ve forgotten how to talk to one another?! Violence solves nothing!” Inside there was a part of the demon king telling him to calm down, to stop yelling and sit with the obviously distraught blond and allow him to explain, to think of all this rationally instead of letting his anger get the better of him. But he pushed that voice aside just as easily as he’d always done with everything about himself that he didn’t want to accept.

Old habits die hard.

“Stop acting so high and mighty!” Wolfram spat, green eyes finally narrowing, though it seemed as if he had to force himself to continue facing the darker man. “You think your world is so much more advanced than ours?! You don’t think some of the people on Earth are just as barbaric?!” he asked him, glaring heavily. “There are wars there, too, aren’t there?! People fight against one another on Earth, too, don’t they?!”

“We don’t fight over stupid things like you do!”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” the prince challenged him. “I’ve read some of the books from your world! Conrart translated them. I know of some of the Earthen wars: people enslaved in camps, whole cities destroyed by powerful explosions, battles over religion and against persecution, battles over land for natural resources! You think they’re so different from wars here, but they’re not! Innocent people are killed in your world, too, over greed and stupidity! It doesn’t seem as if anyone’s learned how to talk there either!”

Yuuri fell silent at his best friend’s words, allowing himself a moment to think on them, internally realizing that what he said was true, but refusing to back down just because of that. The people on his world had learned from their mistakes, or at least that’s what he liked to think; it didn’t seem as if anyone here had learned a damn thing. This whole time they’d thought of nothing but war, even when allowing him to do as he pleased and speak with the enemy. It had always been that way. He would want to talk, and his friends would protest, then there would be some sort of consequence for their hasty actions.

He’d thought over the years that Wolfram had changed, that at least the blond would agree with him when it came to situations like this. Wolfram had been one of the few to follow him without the doubt possessed by Gwendal and the others, and though his friend had voiced his complaints on more than one occasion he’d eventually come to agree with him, and had stood by him no matter what. Only now was Yuuri beginning to realize how wrong he’d been. Wolfram was still he same. Wolfram’s views on the humans would never change completely, no matter how many nations they befriended.

“You think I actually want this war?” the blond boy asked him in opposition o his thoughts, eyes staring up into black accusingly, making his internal pain fairly obvious. “You think I enjoy sending soldiers off to die, that it wasn’t hard for me to sign that declaration?!” He shook his head slowly, making no other moves to get away. “That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life, because I had made a promise to you, and I knew I was breaking your trust in me! I felt like I was dying as I signed my name!”

Instead of backing up even more, putting some distance between himself and the enraged king, Wolfram pressed closer, lifting his hands to grip tightly to the white material of his shirt, almost as if he were pleading with him, trying to make him understand. Yuuri merely looked down at him emotionlessly, experiencing nothing more at the moment than simmering anger, all other feelings shoved into the dark recesses of his mind. There was no compassion or pity, no understanding, just a deep rage that he was finding increasingly difficult to contain.

“We’ve tried everything and still they don’t want peace!” Wolfram continued. “They’ve attacked our people, destroyed our villages, threatened us and killed hundreds without showing any mercy! We can’t just sit around and allow this to continue!” he said, fully believing his own words, though the manner in which he said them made it sound as if he were still trying to convince himself, to justify his actions. “When we got married I made a vow to help you protect this kingdom, to do everything in my power to keep our people safe! Right now, going to war is the only way to ensure that our country has a future!”

Yuuri didn’t have much to say in reply to that. Everything that came to mind was nothing more than a repetition of things he’d already said before. “You should have waited for me to come back!” he shouted instead. “You should have talked with me about this before doing anything!”

Silence washed over the other boy, as if he couldn’t think of an appropriate response.

“How am I ever supposed to trust you again?”

That hurt; Yuuri knew it did. He could see it within the prince’s green eyes the moment he said it, the way they widened, the way his lips parted in anguish and disbelief, how his hands instinctively loosened their hold on his shirt. He blond haired young man deflated instantly, his face paling considerably as he pulled away from the demon king again, looking for all the world as if he had to use every ounce of his strength to prevent himself from crying.

It hurt Yuuri, too, to see that, to remember the promise he’d made to himself and realize that he was successfully breaking it. But he couldn’t help it. In such a short span of time he felt as if he’d lost one of his best friends, as if the boy he’d thought he’d known was nothing but a fake, using his friendship and trust to accomplish whatever goals he and the rest of the mazoku had set for themselves and their kingdom. He felt similarly to the way he had when he’d first been brought here four years ago, lost in confusion and not knowing who to trust, who to believe.

Nothing was going the way he’d wanted it to, the way he’d planned. He hadn’t wanted to return to Shin Makoku and be confronted with something like this. He’d aimed to solve all the issues currently plaguing them, but he hadn’t once thought that the circumstances had changed so drastically, that some of his closest friends - his family - would betray him. He’d planned to come back and sort everything out between himself and the blond prince, to talk things over and tell him all the decisions he’d come to make in his week on earth, then sit back and get serious about the threat that Shimeron was posing.

Now he had this mess to figure out and sort through, one he thought was ten times worse than the chaos and confusion he’d left behind.

‘I can’t do this right now,’ he thought to himself, calming down enough to realize that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything while he let his anger control him. Shouting at Wolfram now, continuing this argument would do nothing more than aggravate the problem. He needed to compose himself, to release his anger in a far less hurtful manner, and then come back when he’d gotten his thoughts and feelings in order.

Looking away from his fair haired friend, Yuuri gently repositioned the boy so that he was no longer against the door, overlooking the looks of bafflement and dismay he was receiving from the slighter boy. Without turning to face him and grant him a parting word, the nineteen year old took hold of the door handle, preparing himself to make his exit. He’d told himself before coming here that he wasn’t going to run away anymore, only to fail before he’d even spent an hour in this world.

“Yuuri, wait!” Wolfram tried, grabbing onto his shirt again when he made to open the door, pausing as if waiting for some form of acknowledgement.

Yuuri gave him no indication that he’d heard him.

“Wait, please!” he said again, slightly louder this time, sounding desperate, and the king couldn’t readily remember a time in which Wolfram had ever truly begged, at least not like this. “Yuuri, I have to tell you something! When you were gone, Greta and -”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Yuuri told him, shaking his hands off, closing his eyes against the doleful look on his face, hardening his heart against the sorrow in his voice.

Wolfram may have tried to say something more, he didn’t know; he forced himself not to listen. Instead he made to leave, twisting and pulling at the handle until the door gave way, then crossing over the threshold without a backward glance. He caught sight of Conrad waiting in the hallway, the brown haired man shooting him a look that held a mixture of guilt and disappointment, and when he normally would have gone to the older half-human for comfort and guidance before, he looked away from him this time. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to be alone.

He pivoted on his heal to head back down the hallway, paying no attention to anyone, not Wolfram, not Conrad, not the maids or guards. He felt lost again, adrift in the sea of confusion that was his mind, disoriented and knocked astray, the path he’d set for himself in his week on Earth no longer as clear as it once had been.

TBC…

A/N: And that’s it for now. Again, it may take a while to get anything else out, so if a couple of months pass without an update - or without further word from me - don’t worry. That would be me being bus with school work. But I’ll definitely be working on this whenever I get the opportunity.

Chapter sixteen will be called ‘Comprendre,’ which means ‘to understand.’