Love and War

Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters, nor am I making money off of this.

I have one review that I'd like to respond to this time...

Yuui-chan: I’m well aware that there’s a season three. I knew about it the day it was announced and have been watching it since it began, so, yes, I saw the first three episodes, and I saw that all of the Aristocrats were introduced (with the exception of Adalbert’s father). However, I began writing this story long before there even was a season three. I don’t know how new you are to the series, but there was about two years between the end of the second season and the beginning of the third, and it wasn’t until about a year after the second season ended that the third season was announced. So you’ll have to forgive me for taking creative liberties at that time. I’ve been in the fandom for three or four years, and I thought (like most people thought) that season two was going to be the end. If that had been the case, this fic would have worked out just fine. Now, I’ve often thought of rewriting parts of it in order to make it a little closer to canon, but I haven’t come to any firm decisions about that. A rewrite would take a lot of time, especially when it’s taken me two years just to write and post this much, and at the moment I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to commit to a project like that.

Love and War
by Mikage

Chapter Seventeen

While pulling his blond haired friend from the rooms belonging to the former queen and practically dragging the young man down the hallway, Yuuri internally reminded himself to remain calm. Now matter how difficult Wolfram ended up being, he couldn’t allow his anger and annoyance, or his frustrations to get the better of him again. He didn’t want to argue about this. To him there was no longer anything to argue about. He knew the basics of what had happened here while he had been away, he knew the consequences of every single one of his actions, and he intended to fix all the mistakes that he’d made, starting with the one closest to him.

Even so, it was still hard not to simply turn around and shout at the younger looking male. Wolfram refused to make this easy for him; he’d known beforehand that getting the blond to talk to him again after the way in which he’d previously treated him would not be simple, but he’d hoped that Wolf would be at least a little more accommodating, a little more understanding. He’d already apologized, and though he knew it wasn’t enough to make up for all that he had done, he felt there were more important things to take care of, things the two of them had to get out in the open, before he could start groveling and begging to be forgiven.

Wolfram seemed to have other plans, and fought against him the entire way to their bed chamber - which wasn’t a vast distance at all, but with the blond prince constantly making efforts to break away, the trip down the hall took longer than it should have. He shouted and cursed at him, forcing Yuuri to tighten the grip he had on his upper arm more than once. The guards stared at the two of them curiously, occasionally sparing one another wary glances, as if they didn’t know what to do about the situation, or even if they should do anything at all. A majority of them remained standing where the were, trying to ignore the spectacle the king and prince were making as they headed towards their room.

Finally Wolfram ceased his spirited resistance, surprised green eyes staring up at the dark haired king, and Yuuri used his moment of immobility to his advantage. Quickly he pushed open their bedroom door - not even noticing how he’d suddenly come to think of the room that he’d once claimed as strictly his own as theirs - and crossed over the threshold, jerking Wolfram in after him. Only then did he release the blond’s arm, pushing him behind his own body and blocking the shorter youth’s way as he turned to lock the door, not wanting anyone to barge in while they were in mid discussion.

“Yuuri…” he heard Wolfram say his name, a hint of warning in his youthful voice, clear indication that the prince did not appreciate how he was currently being treated.

The double black merely ignored him, moving back to him and forcing him to begin making his way across the room, coming to a stop only when the both of them were a good distance away from the door. Wolfram glared up at him with his arms crossed over his chest, remaining as defiant as he’d been when the king had arrived at the rooms of the previous queen, green eyes sparkling in annoyance and dissatisfaction. Beneath that Yuuri could see a good deal of worry, though it was hard to decipher what exactly the blond haired prince was concerned about. Even so, Yuuri’s instincts warned him not to let Wolfram get away, more determined than ever to have this conversation, no matter how Wolfram tried to avoid it.

“Stay right here,” he demanded, narrowing his own eyes to let the other boy know that he meant it, and that he expected him to listen and do as he said. “Don’t move,” he added as an extra warning. “I’ll be right back.”

Swiftly Yuuri crossed the short distance to the adjoining washroom, searching around momentarily until he found a square of cloth folded on the counter. He retrieved it, dunked it beneath the water half-filling the washbasin, then wrung it out so that it was no longer dripping wet, but damp enough to serve his purposes well. He carried it with him when returning to the bedroom, moving back to where he’d left Wolfram standing, slower this time, watching green eyes widen as realization dawned upon the pale prince. Cautiously Wolfram backed up a step, increasing the distance between them only a little, his efforts increasing as Yuuri drew closer.

Once the king stood before him again, his struggling became far more spirited, and Yuuri had to move quickly to keep the older boy from fending him off. Either Wolfram had grown tired or Yuuri’s determination aided him with an extra burst of strength, and he was able to subdue him quite easily. With hardly any effort at all the taller young man had Wolfram backed up against the bed, holding him in place long enough to begin wiping the cloth along his face. The blond shivered at the cool dampness of the square of fabric as it cleared off the concealer that had most likely been applied that morning.

Yuuri took a step back after he had finished, his black eyes widening when Wolfram looked up at him. He’d been told by Conrad that the attack had taken place a few days ago, but it appeared as if the bruises he’d inevitably received had yet to fade much. Against the paleness of his skin, the blues and purples that had blossomed across the proud prince’s face stood out vividly. Yuuri marveled over the fact that he’d even been able to conceal such striking marks. No doubt whatever powder he’d used had been carefully applied, and then continuously reapplied over the course of the day as it had been smudged or unintentionally brushed off.

The dark haired king dropped his hand to the side as his eyes lingered on the blemishes, his fist clenching around the damp material still within his grasp, blunt nails digging into the fabric instead of into his palm. It took every ounce of willpower he had to suppress the angry growl that began to build in the back of his throat, and he had to forcefully prevent his frown from morphing into a snarl. Jerkily his free hand raised to tug at his hair, shaky fingers pressing into his scalp and yanking on the dark strands hard enough to cause a small bit of pain.

He’d known the bruises would be there; no amount of concealment on Wolfram’s part could have changed the fact that he knew. And even though he’d been warned by his brown haired guardian that the markings remained starkly vivid even after the time that had passed since they’d been produced, hearing about them and seeing them were two entirely different things. Simply imagining what they would look like had not prepared him for the actual sight. A slight swelling and tenderness endured upon the prince’s countenance, causing Yuuri to wonder just how hard the human attacker had struck his best friend.

Closing his black eyes as he took a deep, barely calming breath, Yuuri flung the wet washcloth aside as he reestablished his gaze with the shorter male, unclenching his fist and lifting his palm to the side of Wolfram’s face, allowing it to gently rest there as his fingers softly stroked over the bruised flesh. It was more difficult that it should have been not to pull Wolfram against him and circle his arms around the smaller body in a tight hug, and though he would have liked to offer whatever sort of comfort he could give, there was more to be said - and more to be seen - before he would allow himself to do anything more than this. His hand lingered only a scant amount of seconds before it had dropped away again, Wolfram’s green stare meeting his in wonder.

“Yuuri…” the prince began by saying his name, perhaps to question his motives, perhaps to offer an explanation, but he never finished, his voice trailing off softly as whatever words he’d been about to speak died within in throat.

“Take your clothes off,” he said, feeling not the slightest hint of embarrassment as he did so.

Wolfram’s face, however, flushed beneath the discolorations, arms coming up to cross over his chest as if to ward the king off. “What?”

“Remove your clothing,” Yuuri repeated, rewording his statement in case Wolfram had not understood his intentions the first time, though he thought he’d made himself quite clear.

“I will not!” the prince exclaimed in embarrassment, backing up as much as he could while already standing so close to the large bed. In his eyes Yuuri could perceive a touch of panic, and he knew without a doubt that his friend was reluctant to strip for more reasons that just simple bashfulness.

“Either you do it or I’ll go it for you,” he warned him, taking one small step closer to let the blond know that he had every intention of following through with his threats. Wolfram merely glared up at him, embittered, making no move to do what had been requested of him. “Fine,” Yuuri relented, and reached out to unlatched the slighter man’s belt.

Wolfram’s reaction was predictable, and so Yuuri was not at all surprised when the blond began to fight against him again, twisting this way and that in a more animated effort to put some distance between them. Yuuri dodged the fist that was thrown in the direction of his face easily, knowing Wolfram would never seriously hurt him and that he was not putting his full strength into his attempt for that reason alone. Managing his sudden tantrum was simple, and with only slightly exerting his more substantial power the king was able to thwart his venture to turn away.

“Yuuri, wait!” the prince demanded, glaring darkly at the taller man who’s hands slipped his belt off and allowed it to fall to the floor. “What are you doing?!”

“What does it look like?” Yuuri questioned in response, moving next to unravel the puff of lace at his throat.

“Stop it!” Wolfram shouted, lifting his own hands to shove Yuuri’s away, feeling as the collar of his jacket fell open without the strip of fabric there to keep it completely closed.

The Japanese young man permitted himself to be pushed back a step, dark eyes immediately locking on to the skin that had been exposed along Wolfram neck. The high collar of his white undershirt still obscured a great deal of it, but even above that Yuuri could see what Wolfram had been striving to keep hidden. The markings there were paler than the ones on his face, a telling sign that whoever had done this to him had put more strength behind the strikes to his cheeks than in the pressure he’d exerted upon his throat. Even despite that, though, the blotches of purple were ugly, further affirming what had taken place in his absence.

“Take them off,” he ordered again, still not completely satisfied. He knew there was much more still to be seen beneath the dark fabric of the prince’s uniform, and he would see it all even if it took him all night to convince the blond to do as he said. “Now.”

Wolfram stared at him for a long moment, his hands having again risen, one of them grasping onto his open collar, holding it shut will the other lay clenched against his chest, over his heart. Yuuri continued to stare at him levelly, silently relaying his thoughts and feelings to the other young man, watching the inner battle that was occurring inside him, able to easily and accurately pick out the wash of emotions in his emerald green eyes. For a moment it seemed as if Wolfram were about to deny him again, but then the blond’s harshly set frown suddenly eased into one that was caused more by pain than anger, his glare abating into more of a look of sadness instead.

He watched as his friend slowly turned around so that his back was facing him, noting the trembling of his pale hands as they moved to discard his jacket. The black coat was left to fall to the floor where his belt now lay, before Wolfram was bending to slip off his boots one at a time, feebly tossing them to the wayside as well. His hands disappeared from Yuuri’s view for the few seconds it took him to unlace his pants, sliding them down his legs and stepping out of them once they’d pooled against the rich carpeting beneath his feet. Last to be removed was the white undershirt, which he slipped out of slower than he had any of the other articles of clothing that had preceded it, leaving him in nothing more than his underwear, hunching in on himself once he did instead of standing up tall.

They’d seen each other naked more often than Yuuri had ever seen anyone else in a similar state of undress, and though he would admit that it had been more than awkward the first few times they’d stood in front of one another without any clothes on, they had both gotten used to it over the years that they had known one another. It had never bothered Yuuri as much as he used to pretend, as he’d seen more than a few of his classmates and teammates naked in the locker rooms back on Earth. The unique relationship between the two of them had been what had served to distress him in his earlier adolescence, what had made things so uncomfortable whenever they had been completely undressed.

Wolfram, though modest due to his proper upbringing, had never felt uncomfortable disrobing in front of him or bathing with the king, so Yuuri knew his current hesitation was not due to any sort of embarrassment. He’d appeared entirely uncovered the first time the double black had found him in his bed - though Yuuri had a hunch that had he lowered the bedclothes more he would have found Wolfram still in his undergarments - and was more than content to wash the kings back whenever they were in his private bath together. Rarely did the prince remove his clothing when in the presence of others, but he’d never once hesitated to do so when they were alone.

He refused to turn now, halting in his actions with his pale back still facing the king, shoulders slumped and arms crossed before him protectively. Yuuri did not allow him to stay that way for very long, reaching out to grab onto one arm, gently twisting him to turn around. Instead of avoiding his gaze as Yuuri had expected, Wolfram looked right up into his black eyes, and the demon king was hit with the full force of the other boy’s sorrow. Perhaps he would never speak of such feelings out loud, and Yuuri did not expect him to - nor would he pressure him to - but the look that was being cast his way was enough to clue him in to how Wolfram was truly felling.

Breaking the stare, Yuuri let his own eyes trail slowly over the blond’s now slighter frame, reaching out for both of his arms in order to pry them apart and hold them out by his sides. He inspected the markings along his neck first, carefully controlling his ire so as not to further distress his friend. He could easily make out the fading shape of two large hands, where the man’s thumbs had pressed against the front of his throat, palms and thick fingers circling around the sides and back. Tenderly Yuuri brushed a hand over them as he had the blemishes along his face, moving the pads of his fingers downward until he reached the next injury.

The laceration along the curve of his shoulder was unmistakably a bite mark, and even after the days that had passed Yuuri could tell that the human and gnawed on him hard enough to puncture the skin there. It appeared slightly irritated, a faint trace of red visible along the outside of the deep blue and violet brand, and Wolfram flinched faintly when the king passed his hand over it, though he couldn’t tell if the action was from any small amount of physical pain he may have felt or if it was simply from shame. This wound would no doubt take the longest to heal, and Yuuri had to wonder if there would still be a small trace of it left when the colors finally faded.

Next were the bruises on his arms, directly where Yuuri had been gripping him during their prior dispute, and he felt his sense of remorse increase when he easily recalled how harshly he’d treated the other young man, wondering if the additional tinge of blue found there compared to the handprints along the prince’s neck had been caused by him. He would have allowed himself to give in to his guilt if he weren’t so determined to mend all of the issues and occurrences his disappearance had caused. The fact that he may have hurt Wolfram again, however unintentionally - and it hadn’t been unintentional at the time, he remembered, recalling his desire for Wolfram to hurt as much as he had - did not sit well with him.

Finally, he came to the set of smaller bruises along the prince’s thighs. Yuuri lowered both eyes and hands to the lighter injuries, moving his appendages in an effort to discover how they had been caused. It wasn’t difficult at all, he realized as he spread his fingers in an attempt to touch all five blue marks at once. If his hand were only a little bigger, he could have done so easily, and he had to wonder how hard that human man had been gripping onto Wolfram’s leg, his blood beginning to simmer again as he remembered what the intent had been.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered before he could stop himself, caressing the pale skin lightly as if to offer comfort to the younger looking boy, when it was really more of an effort to comfort himself.

“You didn’t give me a chance,” Wolfram said softly in return, though accusingly, shifting awkwardly in place, apparently uncomfortable by Yuuri’s closeness and current actions. The king could hardly blame him for being unused to the caring touch on a part of his body that Yuuri had never before taken any sort of interest in. “And even if you had, it’s not important,” he added after a short moment of silence.

“‘Not important?’” Yuuri wondered in disbelief, staring into his eyes again, bewildered that the blond prince would even so much as think that what had been done to him wasn’t in any way anyone’s primary concern. “Look at what they’ve done to you!” he cried passionately, quickly glancing over all of the bruises again. “They attacked you! They hurt you!”

“I’ve had worse injuries,” his friend replied, breaking eye contact and averting his gaze off to the side. Yuuri new he was telling the truth about that, but he didn’t think it was the physical injuries that continued to plague the slighter man. The psychological and emotional effects it had had on him had most likely been far worse that the blemishes and would last far longer. “Anyway, I was in complete control of the situation. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Don’t you lie to me,” the king said, frowning.

Wolfram returned his green gaze to the taller male, keeping it as level as he possibly could, as if he could hide how he was truly feeling, how he’d really felt those few nights ago. “I’m fine,” he told him, voice as calm as he could make it, though he swallowed heavily afterwards, enough indication that he’d had to force those words out for the king’s benefit.

“Are you?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Yuuri paused, debating with himself on if he should tell Wolfram all that he knew or not. He figured it was fairly obvious that the prince knew he was aware of the attack itself, but he wasn’t sure if Wolf understood that he’d been enlightened on the humans’ intent as well. “Conrad told me about it,” he finally said, hoping that he wasn’t worsening the situation between the two by informing Wolfram that his half-human brother had gone against his orders.

“He what?” the blond nearly shrieked, face flaming red in a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and anger.

“He told me…” Yuuri continued, a little unsure of himself. “… about what happened… what they would have done to you if-”

“Why can’t he just butt out?!” Wolfram spat, anger outweighing any of the other emotions he was presently feeling, his eyes narrowing up at the king as if it were his fault the brown haired captain had betrayed his trust.

“He’s worried about you!” the double black defended his kindhearted guardian, knowing that Conrad had only expressed a small portion of his concern during their discussion out on the ball field. There was probably much more going on beneath the surface, more than either king or prince could probably guess at.

“He doesn’t have any right to be worried about me!”

“He’s your brother!” Yuuri reminded him, as if that made everything better, when he knew that family ties in this world were not nearly as strong as the ones he shared with his family on Earth. He’d noticed it on multiple occasions, especially among the nobility, how everyone was always proper and respectful, the distance between them preventing them from growing any closer. Things had changed only slightly in that respect since he had become king, and although he’d seen the relationships between Wolfram and his brothers - and Wolfram and his mother - heal at least a little over the last four years, the gaping wound between he and Conrad remained.

“He’s a human!” Wolfram shouted, when Yuuri was well aware that such a fact had nothing to do with why the prince was so against his second brother. The trouble was getting him to admit that it was something more than that, something that had hurt him on more of an emotional level.

“Half-human,” the demon king corrected him, his hands moving up to grip onto Wolfram’s shoulders, more of an effort to get his attention that to restrain him, since it didn’t seem as if Wolfram was going to continue his fight to remove himself from the darker man’s presence. “Just like me,” he said softly, keeping his black eyes locked on green. “What’s the difference?”

For a moment he didn’t think Wolfram was going to answer him, hurt and anger vying for dominance upon his pretty face, before he was speaking again. “He lied to me.”

“What, because he never told you?” Yuuri asked, shaking his head. “That’s not lying, Wolfram. Lying would be if he’d claimed to be a full-blooded mazoku. He’s never denied what he is.”

“I trusted him,” the prince admitted, his voice quieter this time as he broke his gaze again and shifted it down to the ground. “He didn’t trust me enough to tell me. I was his brother, and he didn’t-”

“Are his brother,” Yuuri corrected him. “He cares about you, Wolfram. He just wants to make sure that you’re okay. When he told me about what happened…” he paused once more, easily recalling the look that had crossed the older man’s face. “I could see in his eyes that he was concerned, that he’d do anything to protect you.”

“I don’t need anyone to protect me!” Wolfram hissed, eyes narrowing into a menacing glare that he shot right up at the king. “I can take care of myself!”

Yuuri didn’t bother arguing, though he was of the opinion that Wolfram needed just as much love and care as he did, perhaps more, since he’d gone without it for so long. Wolfram was a capable soldier, but he wasn’t beyond comparison. Yuuri trusted him to take care of himself, to take care of their daughter, but that didn’t mean there were and would never be situations in which Wolfram needed to be looked out for. Gwendal and Conrad knew when it was best to hold their younger brother back - mindful of the fact that his impulsiveness could very easily result in injury - just as Yuuri knew when he was trying to hide something beneath forced pride and anger.

“Were you afraid?” he asked him seriously, not thinking it was really a necessary question to ask, but wanting to see if Wolfram actually trusted in him enough to open up and answer him honestly. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Wolfram had felt at least a small jolt of fear during the attack, although whether it had been felt for Greta, himself, or both of them remained to be seen.

“What?” Wolfram looked shocked that he would even suggest such a thing. “Of course not! That’s a stupid thing to ask! I told you, I had the situation under control!”

“It doesn’t look that way to me.”

“Maybe not…” was the supplied answer, the prince’s shouting calming only slightly. “But you weren’t here when it happened, so you couldn’t possibly know.” He lowered his eyes for the third time since this conversation began. “I didn’t care what happened to me. I was more concerned for Greta. I didn’t… I didn’t want her to have to see something like that.”

“Why didn’t you want me to know, Wolfram?” Yuuri wondered with a light sigh, though he knew the event had brought shame unto the blond haired prince, and to have the king know about his failure only made him feel worse than he had before.

“I should have been able to protect her,” his shorter friend replied tersely.

“You couldn’t have known that they would sneak into our room late at night,” the double black reassured him, unknowingly referring to the room as ‘theirs’ again, which seemed to be enough to have Wolfram glancing up at him. “Besides,” he began, trying his best to smile, “we all know how heavy of a sleeper you are.”

Wolfram flinched. “I should have done something.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“I was weak.”

“They caught you by surprise,” Yuuri tried again, not understanding how Wolfram could possibly blame himself for something that had been completely out of his control. It didn’t take very long for the king to realize that he himself was guilty of that very same thing.

Wolfram’s mouth straightened into a thin line, before he was opening it to speak, his bottom lip trembling only the slightest bit. It was fairly obvious that he was struggling with himself to contain his emotions. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be that helpless?” he questioned him softly. “Do you even realize how much of an insult that attack was to you? And to think that I would actually allow something like that to happen…”

“To save Greta’s life,” the black haired king reminded him, understanding more than Wolfram probably realized. He knew that if he had been in the same situation, he would have done anything to ensure that Greta made it out alive. “I know how much she means to you. I know you’d do anything for her. What happened wasn’t your fault, Wolfram.”

“But they were going to-”

“I know what they were going to do,” Yuuri informed him, and had to put up the fight of his life to keep himself calm at the mere reminder of it.

“But you don’t understand!” Wolfram cried out, crumbling more with each passing second, his hands fisted in his efforts to prevent it. “You’re the king, and we… we’re married! But even before that… ever since you proposed to me, I’ve belonged solely to you! They were going to…” he trailed off, unable to say it aloud, “… and I would have let them, and it would have been an insult to the entire country.”

“That didn’t happen,” the king continued his attempts to soothe him, “and those men will be punished for what they did.”

“How?” his blond counterpart wondered incredulously. “They’re set to be put to death, but you’ll never allow an execution!”

No, he wouldn’t, but how could he say that to Wolfram when they’d hurt him so much?

“I don’t know yet,” Yuuri admitted, leaning down so that their foreheads touched, staring directly into the prince’s emerald eyes. “I don’t know how, but they won’t get away with it. I promise.”

A calming silence descended upon the two of them then, allowing them both a moment of reflection. It was then that Yuuri allowed himself to give into his earlier impulses, pulling the blond against him in a tight hug. Wolfram seemed slightly surprised, but didn’t fight against him, sliding his arms around the king’s torso in order to return the embrace. Yuuri released a sigh at the movement, lowering his face into the prince’s golden hair, breathing in the familiar scent.

He knew he’d been forgiven for everything he’d done and said before, though he didn’t think he deserved it. He didn’t think he even had the right to ask for it. If he had been on the receiving end of everything he’d put Wolfram through, he didn’t think he’d be able to forgive and forget so easily. Wolfram deserved so much better than this.

It was that thought that had him recalling his time on earth, his conversation with Shori and all that he’d come to decide. His behavior certainly didn’t warrant all that he’d been given over the years, but he was determined now to correct that, to prove that he was worthy of the love Wolfram didn’t hesitate to give him. Perhaps that love had yet to be answered, but Yuuri felt that if he could return at least half of it, if he could make Wolfram feel as cared for as he did, maybe that would be enough for now, and he could sort everything else out as it came to him.

Slowly he pulled back, keeping Wolfram close, but loosening his hold on him enough to be able to look down at him, noting how green eyes were shining up with curiosity. The pain he’d seen in those eyes before had dissipated greatly; it had not vanished completely, but it had lessened enough to where the prince was able to show him the smallest of smiles.

“I’m sorry I signed the declaration,” he heard the whispered statement, and knew that the remorse still being felt for that act alone was genuine. Wolfram truly hadn’t wanted to do what they both now knew he’d had to, and it haunted him, perhaps, as much as the attack did.

“No,” Yuuri shook his head, his anger over that betrayal having disappeared completely now. The fact that Wolfram had broken the promise he’d made no longer seemed as important as it once had. “No, don’t apologize,” he repeated. He still didn’t want a war - and he may never accept it completely - but there was no denying it’s necessity at the current time. “You were right. There’s nothing else we can do. I… I’m sorry I put you through that. I should have been the one to sign it instead.”

He smiled regretfully, for as much as it hurt him to say that, as much as it sickened him to think of how many of their soldiers would now inevitably die in battle, he knew that the signing of the declaration was a duty he should have responded to himself. True, it was a duty the two of them shared, but he, as king, should have been the first one to see to the safety and wellbeing of his people. He was their savior and primary protector, and it should have been his name that graced the document implementing this new effort to ensure that they were defended against enemy attack.

The bitter feelings he’d previously held concerning Wolfram’s actions in his absence had now morphed into feelings of admiration. Knowing that the boy could selflessly put his own feelings aside and do what he knew was unavoidable - regardless of the fact that he had been lightly pushed in this instance - made Yuuri feel as if he himself were inadequate to fill the position he held. Wolfram had known the consequences of his actions, but he’d been able to weigh it against the consequences they all knew would occur should nothing be done, and had been able to make the correct decision. Yuuri could do nothing but respect him for that; it must have taken a lot of strength and courage for him to do it.

The demon king smiled down at his fair haired friend, leaning down enough so that their foreheads touched again. He stared into Wolfram’s eyes for a long time, not really searching for anything in particular, merely loosing himself with their depths. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, he decided, to simply stand there and hold him, and be held in return. There was absolutely nothing in the world that could compare to having the knowledge that you were loved beyond reason, and to drown yourself in those feelings until they filled you completely, saturating every part of your being.

He could feel something inside of himself responding to their closeness, an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the hurt of betrayal or the anxiousness of not knowing. It pulled at him much as it had during the incident that had had him leaving for Earth, and this time he gave into it without any intent of running away. He leaned foreword, keeping their eyes locked as he gently brushed his lips against Wolfram’s, hoping he could see his convictions as he did so.

It lasted only a second, much too short in Yuuri’s opinion, and so as soon as he’d pulled away, he moved in once more, settling his mouth more firmly over the paler boy’s. Just as they had that night one week ago, green eyes grew impossibly wide, holding more shock within them this time, and unlike the previous occasion they did not inevitably slide shut. Yuuri did not allow his lids to flutter closed either, holding Wolfram’s startled gaze for the entirety of the kiss, as resolute in his desire to try as ever.

He pulled back shortly after, not wanting to do too much too soon, knowing that, despite his curiosity, his physical wants, and his resolution, they had to take things slowly. Rushing in now could possibly be the biggest mistake either of them could ever make - and they’d both made a good number of mistakes in their lives.

“What was that for?” Wolfram asked in a soft whisper, only the slightest bit hesitant, as if he didn’t want to believe what had just happened.

“It just… it felt like the right thing to do,” the king answered him, stuttering over his words less than he would have had he not had that discussion with his older brother, had he been left to figure things out on his own.

“I’ve told you before, I don’t want your pity.” Even saying that, the blond hardly sounded angered or insulted, and the black haired young man had to wonder if he, too, could feel the air changing between them.

“It’s not pity,” Yuuri denied with an emphatic shake of his head. It had felt like the right thing to do, but not because of any sort of sympathy he held for the other boy. It’d felt like the right thing to do because he’d wanted to do it. “Wolfram… when I was on Earth, I… I did a lot of thinking,” he went on, hoping that he would be able to explain with only a minimal amount of nervous stammering. “I talk to Shori, and… and I care about you, Wolfram. I mean it when I say that; I’m not just trying to make you feel better about your situation.”

“What do you mean?” the prince inquired, making no move to pull away from him or push himself closer, letting him speak and work things out aloud.

“I told you before I left that I was trying hard to make everything better between us, but I wasn’t trying. Not really.” He knew that now, and he lamented all the time he’d inevitably wasted. “I want to try now, I want… I want to give you a chance, I want to give this a chance, whatever this is,” he told him. A good deal of uncertainty remained within him, but he accepted and faced it unwaveringly, set on moving passed it for good. “I… I should have done this a long time ago, but I was too much of a coward.”

“I don’t understand,” Wolfram admitted, hesitantly shaking his head. “Why so suddenly?”

“I like kissing you,” the dark haired demon king blurted out, knowing he had to say it, that the first step in all of this had to be confession. “You were right, Wolfram; I liked it, and that’s why I ran. I was afraid of what that meant. But I’m not afraid any more,” he continued quietly. It was true to a certain extent; fear persevered, but it was different now that it had been. It came from a different source, and was felt for a different reason. “The only thing that scares me now is… is the thought of something happening to you again. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore.”

Somewhere inside, Yuuri knew there was only so much he could do to prevent that possibility. It had already been made apparent to him that even with an increase in security, all of their lives were still in danger. He’d known the day their marriage had been suggested that things weren’t nearly as peaceful in the kingdom as they had been for the majority of the time that he had been there, just as he’d known that Wolfram’s suddenly elevated position would put him at a greater risk. All these things he’d thought and considered before, but only now was the true fear beginning to sink in.

Someone out in the world was intent on using his relationship with Wolfram against him, whether it was one of their old enemies or their newest one didn’t matter. What would he do if they were to come after the blond again? He was already beyond angry, and he was finding it more difficult than it should have been to maintain his tolerance and good cheer. There was a burning desire inside of him to do something; he didn’t know what that was, but it plagued his mind and made him feel like a failure for not taking any sort of action.

But Yuuri knew better than anyone, just as there was a danger presented to all of them from the outside, Wolfram stood an even greater chance of being hurt by the people closest to him, and that, more than anything else, made Yuuri sick to his stomach.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he said in a whisper, looking soulfully into big green eyes that were finally beginning to lose the last traces of heartache, his own heart throbbing painfully as he thought of how easy it would be to cause its return. The power he had over the prince’s fate was terrifying, more so than the constant stream of energy that flooded his being; with just a single action or a few words, he could shatter Wolfram’s entire world

His inner strength slowly returning, and his confidence beginning to rejuvenate, the blond haired young man was able to show him a reassuring smile. It didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes and causing that sparkle Yuuri wanted desperately to see, but it was warm and loving, and a step in the right direction. “You haven’t hurt me.”

They both knew it was a lie, but neither of them felt like discussing it. Yuuri knew he had probably hurt Wolfram more than anyone else in the entire eighty six years the prince had been alive, and it was something he himself would have to live regretting for the rest of his life. There was no way for him to change all that he had done in the past, but he could fix the present and look ahead to the future. There, he hoped, he could get Wolfram to smile as he had in his dreams.

Yuuri said nothing more on the subject, merely returned Wolfram’s smile with a small one of his own, releasing a heavy sigh as he pulled the shorter young man closer again, burying his face into golden blond hair and breathing in deeply. He could feel the arms around his torso tighten as Wolf strengthened his embrace, and the light exhalation of the prince’s breath against his neck as the other boy lowered his head onto his shoulder. They fell into a comfortable silence, one that Yuuri was intent on allowing to continue. He was quickly growing to appreciate these moments between them, the peace that fell over them after so much turmoil and pain.

Pressed together as they were, Yuuri could feel Wolfram’s chest rise and fall with every breath that he took, his smile widening slightly as their hearts beat nearly in sync. Wolfram was as warm as ever, his slighter body both strong and delicate within his hold, and Yuuri had a hard time containing the sudden streak of protectiveness that passed through him, struggling to keep from crushing the other boy against him. All at once he was consumed by the desire to possess him, to kiss him, to touch him, to do anything to prove to himself that Wolfram was still alive and in one piece, that those men hadn’t managed to take something so important away from him.

His hands began to roam on their own accord, his right rising to submerge itself within the blond curls that tickled the side of his neck, stroking though the golden mass steadily and soothingly as his left hand caressed down Wolfram’s back. He rubbed at the soft, naked skin tenderly, his palm trailing down the line of his spine before the tips of his fingers tickled lightly at his sides. Wolf squirmed a bit at the sensation, but made no move to stop him, his hands beginning to create their own path along the king’s back, one of them trailing to the front in order for him to slip an arm up and around the darker boy’s neck.

Yuuri released a pleased noise from the back of his throat, which Wolfram responded to by burying his face against the side of his neck, his lips grazing along lightly tanned skin, though Yuuri couldn’t tell if it had been intentional or not. Again he brushed his left hand down the center of the blond’s back, until it came to rest just above his dark undergarments. Wolfram pulled away then, only enough to be able to look into his face, the arm that had wound it’s way around the king’s neck moving back so that he could rest his palm against the side of his face.

“So, you mean…” he began questionably, green eyes staring into Yuuri’s, as if looking for the answer to his inquiry on his own. “You… I…”

Yuuri merely smiled and nodded, then leaned down to claim the fairer boy’s lips in a lingering kiss. This time Wolfram did not restrain himself; during all of their other kisses, the prince had responded very little, pressing back lightly but putting little feeling into it. Now he kissed him as Yuuri had always expected he would, with love, passion, and enthusiasm, both arms circling around his neck as slender fingers sank into his thick black hair. Yuuri returned the embrace in kind, arms locking him in place, hands grasping, and his lips pressing against Wolfram’s with a near bruising intensity, to the point where the kiss was almost urgent.

He didn’t know how long it lasted - it could have been mere seconds, or minutes even; time seemed to have no sense or value between them in that moment - but when they finally pulled apart, Wolfram’s pale, bruised face was flushed and their breathing had become slightly irregular. The blond youth smiled at him then, and Yuuri could barely contain his sense of relief, his fears slowly draining away. He traced his lips along the contusions on Wolfram’s face and the line of his jaw, making a path of fleeting, feathery kisses down the side of his neck, until he came to the bite mark on his shoulder. He stopped there, exhaling heavily, before he lifted his face to return the smile that was being directed his way.

“Will you let me put my clothes back on now?” the blond asked him, a hint of teasing in his voice, though his pale cheeks remained flushed, and not all of the rosy hue could be blamed on their impassioned kiss.

“Sure,” Yuuri agreed, stepping away from the slighter young man and releasing him from the circle of his arms. He looked around for the other boy’s nightgown, not thinking it very sensible for him to slip his uniform back on when they would be getting ready for bed soon anyway. Eventually he found a garment folded upon the pillow on Wolfram’s side of the bed, and he reached to grab it for him. “Here,” he said handing it off to the prince.

Wolfram merely spared him another smile - and, really, that was all the thanks Yuuri needed; if he could see the boy that peaceful from now on, he’d be content for the rest of his life. He disappeared for the scant moment it took to pull the article of clothing over his head, his arms sliding through the sleeves as the fabric fell loosely around his body.

It was then that Yuuri realized this nightdress was not one of the ones he’d seen his friend wear before - the pink one he wore most often, and then the dark peach colored one Yuuri had come to associate mostly with their traveling. This new one was similar in style to the pink one, in that it barely hung from his shoulders and stopped at his ankles before it could brush against the floor, but instead of being died a soft color to compliment Wolfram’s fair features, it remained a brilliant snow white.

“Will you help me?” Wolfram’s question was coy, the look on his face inviting, though he remained blushing at his own suggestive behavior. He turned his back to the king, allowing him to look at the gown’s fastenings. He could have easily done it himself if he’d tried, and Yuuri had to wonder momentarily if his friend was testing him, assessing the new, broader boundaries of their relationship.

The black haired boy didn’t hesitate to step foreword, calmly slipping the one tiny, pearl-esque button through it’s designated loop just bellow the collar; he then proceeded to tie off the blue ribbon that circled around the blond’s torso, creating the neatest bow he possibly could while at the same time making sure it was fastened tightly. The silken azure ribbon was the only splash of color along the entire gown, with ribbon of a matching blue threading through the lace of the collar and the ruffles lining the sleeves and lower hem.

“What’s with the new nightgown?” he casually asked once he was done. Although the fresh bed clothes nearly covered him completely from head to toe, the coloring - or lack there of - served as an instant reminder of the dream he’d had on Earth.

“My old one was ruined,” Wolfram answered him simply, turning back around so that they were facing one another once more.

Yuuri didn’t need to ask to know when, exactly, the old one had been destroyed, since he figured the answer would be fairly obvious. He looked towards the new bed then, remembering his first thoughts of it upon entering - the confusion, and then the easy acceptance - only for it to suddenly have an entirely new meaning to him. He didn’t have any doubts as to what had happened to the old bed once it had been taken from the room - he wouldn’t have been surprised at all if Wolfram had burned it - and could now understand the exact reasoning behind it’s removal.

Anger filled him again, permeating into every part of his being, deep and unquenchable, and this time he feared he would be unable to control it. He closed his black eyes to take a steadying breath, but it did little to calm him, for in the darkness created by his closed lids he could see the images from his dreams, and in the back of his mind he could hear the voices whispering to him, taunting him, reminding him again and again of the mistakes he’d made.

Your fault, they hissed. Your fault.

“Yuuri?” his friend’s questioning voice broke through his thoughts, the blond haired prince looking up at him with concern, his head titled to the side curiously.

“I think… I need to talk to Conrad,” he replied, reaching out to clasp both of the other boy’s hands within his own, his thumbs unconsciously stroking over the soft skin.

“Why?” Wolfram wondered, slightly taken aback by the sudden off-topic declaration.

Yuuri looked back at him, his black eyes hard. “There’s something I have to do.”

* * *

Conrart wasn’t very surprised to see the king arrive at his office only a couple of hours after their previous conversation; in fact, some part of him had expected it. When they had parted after returning from the ball field, the dark haired boy had had a determined look upon his face, and Conrart knew him well enough to know that when Yuuri was resolute in his course there was very little that could stop him from completing whatever task he’d set before himself. It was one of his admirable qualities that seemed to have weakened as of late, but one that appeared to have returned full force.

The youth came in now with the same firmness upon his features, only it was darker this time, more severe, caused now more by anger than his previous concern. Beside him stood Wolfram, green eyes fixed upon the king as if nothing else mattered - and in the blond’s world, there were probably very few other things that did. They held hands, fingers entwined and palms pressed firmly together, their current closeness a sure sign that they had managed to work out at least some of the problems between them.

“Your Majesty,” the brunet greeted his charge respectfully, though with a slightly raised brow, waiting for the young king to speak. When nothing but silence was given in reply, he felt the need to express some of his worry. “Is everything alright?”

It seemed apparent to him that something was amiss, but he wasn’t about to jump to any conclusions, not until Yuuri gave him some sort of an answer. The one he received was definitely not one he’d been expecting.

“I’d like to interrogate the prisoners myself.”

Conrart frowned at his words, though he could easily guess what had brought forth this sort of request. He did not feel comfortable granting it; both he and Gwendal had tried their luck at questioning the prisoners since the night of the attack itself, but very little information had been gained. The men sat there in silence, staring at them with either blank looks or grins stretching across their faces, withholding the facts and doing whatever they could to provoke more out of their interrogators than angered inquiries.

When they did speak, their words were nothing more than suggestive taunting, insults aimed at their newly crowned prince, indecent comments made concerning his status as the king’s spouse. Once, the bolder of the two had even gone into explicit detail as to what he’d planned to do to the blond had the princess not escaped their grasp and foiled their scheme, leering maliciously the entire time, as if such thoughts excited him. The man hadn’t made it out of the room before nearly being beaten to within an inch of his life.

They had been starved, struck, and threatened with as many forms of torture as he and his older brother could possibly think of - even ones that had gone out of practice due to their severity and hideous nature centuries ago - but neither man had budged. If anything, it increased the level of their smirking looks of pleasure and the amount of their indecent statements, to the point where Conrart was reluctant to be in their presence any longer than he had to. It was a frustrating process, one he did not wish to allocate to their already emotionally distressed king.

“I don’t believe that’s a wise decision, Your Majesty,” he began warily, not wishing to stand against him, but knowing that a confrontation like the one Yuuri seemed intent on instigating would not do well with appeasing his troubled mind. “It seems apparent to us that they do not hold either you or Wolfram in very high regard. Their weapons have been confiscated, but they could still pose a threat to you.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, and for a moment his rigid composure seemed to waver, but then his eyes hardened and his frown set itself more firmly upon his face. “Then I’ll allow you to accompany me.”

Conrart stared at him closely, knowing that he replying in such a way meant there would be very little he could do to change the younger man’s mind. “Your Majesty, you really shouldn’t-” he tried again anyway, not wanting to put him through any unnecessary stress. He had enough to deal with at the moment, adding on any more would no doubt cause more harm than good.

“Conrad,” Yuuri interrupted him before he could finish, his voice deep and level, leaving no room for questions or arguments. They gazed at one another in silence again, Conrart expressing his concern with the soft set of his face, Yuuri communicating his stubbornness with the sharp darkness of his eyes and seriousness of his countenance. “I am not requesting your permission. I’m telling you that I intend to speak with them. If you’re so concerned for my safety, then you may join me.”

Even Wolfram seemed surprised by his statements, his eyes slightly widened and his grip on Yuuri’s hand tightening noticeably, a sure sign that he had not been aware of Yuuri’s intentions as the two of them had entered the room.

Conrart himself could do nothing but stand there and continue to watch the two of them carefully, frowning just a bit more at Yuuri’s remarks. It went against his better judgment to allow something like this - surely Gwendal would have gotten angry at the mere suggestion and balked completely at the idea - but Conrart knew there wasn’t much he could do at the moment to change Yuuri’s mind. He could try again to talk him out of it, but he had a feeling everything he said on the matter would be cast aside and ignored. Very rarely did the boy give demands, but when he did it was best to follow them.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said with a frown, immediately abandoning his work and stepping out from behind his desk to lead both boys out of his office.

The walk to the dungeon was a somber one. The halls were dimmer now that the sun had set, the light of the moon that filtered in through the windows not nearly as illuminating as its daytime counterpart, and shadows crept up to enshroud certain portions of the castle in darkness. The torches had been lit at the first sign of nightfall, and a few candles burned away in their sconces, the light of the flames flickering off the walls, patterns of light dancing along the stones, fighting the growing dark for supremacy.

The castle itself was much more intimidating at night than it was during the day; the halls seemed longer, wider, darker, making it much easier to get lost in the vast corridors and hidden passages. The portraits and tapestries lining the walls seemed to become colder, more foreboding, the eyes staring out from old canvases sharper, more scathing, watchful, as if waiting to catch someone doing something wrong, intent on punishing any who chose to harm or threaten. The lightlessness was like an oppressing weight, one that could increase the wariness of even Conrart at times, causing him to become much more alert.

The rooms they passed as they made their way down the halls were guarded, one man on each side of every door, all of them carefully picked by both Conrart and his older brother, for after what had happened those few nights ago, neither of them felt very confident entrusting the safety of their king and younger brother into the hands of people they did not know well. They’d also increased the number that were stationed at night; along with those that stood before each and every door were the men that patrolled the halls, making their rounds every hour and informing their superiors of any suspicious activity.

Neither he nor Gwendal planned on giving any man the opportunity to get so close to the seat of their monarchy again. These precautions should have been taken years ago, they knew, but Yuuri had coveted whatever small amount of privacy they gave him, and so, feeling he was safe with Wolfram close by, they’d allowed him to go relatively unsupervised. It had been foolish of them to think that Wolfram would be able to handle whatever threat happened to surface in the midnight hours - for although his skills were truly commendable, there was still a lot he had left to learn, especially when it came to limitations and control - and even more senseless to look over the fact that Wolfram may need protection as well.

The dungeon was on the lowest floor of the grand palace, hidden far away from the private rooms and offices of the king and his family, secluded from the livelier parts of the castle so that the life and brightness would not be polluted by its desolateness. It had been kept empty for most of the last four years; Yuuri had released all of the prisoners that had been held within it upon his arrival, exiling those whose crimes could not be forgiven, and pardoning those who could. In secret, he and Gwendal had had some of the more dangerous captives sent to one of the country’s other prisons outside of the capital - murderers and war prisoners that it would have been too hazardous to release.

They’d allowed Yuuri to venture down into the dungeon’s shady depths very few times, not wanting to give him the chance to explore its darker rooms and instruments of torture. He’d seen Greta in her cell when the girl had been taken away after her assassination attempt, and had been into the interrogation room to question a few of their previous prisoners, but they had never allowed him to see any more than that. If Conrart had it his way, their king would never be shown some of the more vile parts of its making, choosing to keep such things hidden from someone who would probably never be able to understand their purpose.

He stopped at the stairs leading down, remaining on the ground floor for a few moments longer, pausing to turn and look over the two youths once again. In the minutes that had passed since they’d left Conrart’s office, Yuuri’s steely look had softened only a little, his desire to see this through unrelenting. Wolfram, on the other hand, seemed to have become decidedly more uncomfortable, shifting in place as he and Yuuri waited to be lead down, obviously wary about seeing his attackers again. Conrart couldn’t say he blamed him, and his heart went out to his younger brother, wanting to spare him the pain and humiliation of having to face those who’d tried to bring harm upon him.

“Wolfram,” he called to him softly, waiting for the blond to look up at him before continuing. “It would be best if you were to wait here.”

For a moment the blond looked angered, insulted that his emotional stability and the state of his mind was being questioned, but then he glanced down the darkened stairwell, and in his eyes Conrart could see the shame and despair, the fear he tried so hard to hide from others.

“But…” he began to argue, despite his distress and reluctance, not wanting to leave his husband to face those men alone.

Yuuri merely smiled at him, and Conrart watched with something akin to fascination as the black haired young man lifted a hand to tenderly stroke at his bruised cheek, brushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes and tucking them behind his ear, letting his fingers play over it lightly before he dropped his hand away. “It’ll be alright,” he said quietly, his voice barely even a whisper in the dim hallway. “It won’t take long.”

Wolfram stared up at him for the longest time, and it was as if they shared something between themselves at that moment, a silent understanding that Conrart could only observe as if from a distance, watching the way they searched each others eyes, held each others hand, speaking to one another with soft looks instead of words. He couldn’t hope to ever know what was said, but when the moment ended Wolfram was nodding his head, giving his consent, and the brunet knew that he’d be dutifully waiting, and that he would be standing in the same spot they’d left him once he and the king returned to the upper floors.

He noted the way their hands lingered, clasped together until the distance between them became too great for them to remain that way, and then he and Yuuri descended the stairs, heading down into the windowless cavern that was the dungeon of Blood Pledge Castle.

A soldier greeted them once they entered, shocked to see that the king had come into the lower depths. Yuuri wasted little time in greeting him - as he most likely would have had he been in a normal condition - and made his intent clear before the other man could say much more than his title in salutations.

“I’d like to speak with the prisoners. Bring them into the interrogation room.”

The soldier’s eyes widened, and then he shot a skeptical look in Conrart’s direction, as if asking him if he should follow the orders presented to him or not. Conrart could only nod in reply to his questioning look, and then watch as the man scurried off do to what was requested of him, before the Captain himself had to turn and follow Yuuri into the room in question.

The air in the interrogation chamber was stale and heavy. With no windows that looked onto the outside world, there was very little that could be done to air the room out. It looked and smelt old, with cracked walls and scuffed floors, odd discolorations scattered about, blood stains turned brown after so many years had passed. There was a dilapidated wooden table, and two old, creaky wooden chairs, but nothing else to bring life to a room that seemed so dull. There was no need for anything else; why should those who’d committed crimes be given even the smallest of comforts?

As soon as the door closed behind them and Conrart went about lighting some of the candles, Yuuri walked towards one of the corners of the room, brooding and silent, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned lightly against the wall. After a minute passed, he tilted his head back and raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if composing himself and preparing to face those that he’d been warned were immoral and unforgiving. Conrart took a spot close by, but chose not to speak; he feared his words wouldn’t do much good, knew they’d either be denied or slighted altogether, and so he kept them to himself, and allowed Yuuri his moment of silent contemplation.

It didn’t take long at all for the soldier to come in, he and another uniformed man leading the prisoners inside, their weapons drawn in case either man felt brave or brainless enough to try something. Shackles were bound to their wrists, the chains rattling noisily as they were forced across the dull wooden floors and shoved into the battered chairs. Conrart went around the table to stand behind them, in case they needed to be restrained at any point during the questioning, his hand unconsciously going to the hilt of his sword.

Nervously, the two soldiers went back to the door, but instead of leaving they stood on either side, knowing that their presence could very well be needed as well. Both of them were watchful, their eyes shifting around the room, looking first towards the captives, then at Conrart, then towards the king, though they remained still and silent, keeping their places and seeing to their duties with a dedication that surpassed their inner apprehension. They, too, kept their hands by their swords, wanting to ensure the safety of their king.

Yuuri had not moved from his spot since he’d taken up residence there, though he’d flinched imperceptively when the door had opened and the prisoners had been brought inside. Conrart watched him still, waiting patiently for him to complete whatever mental process he was using to prepare himself. Another few moments passed, one of the men - the shorter, older of the two - shifted awkwardly in his chair, and then Yuuri was lowering his gaze back down, and taking a few steps closer to the table that separated him from the attackers of his spouse and daughter.

He looked them over before doing anything else, and Conrart, having been in his position as the interrogator more than a few times before, knew exactly what he’d see. A human man in his late thirties, tall and well built, with a scar across the bridge of his nose, and a face that had gone unshaven over the last few days. The other, close to his mid to late forties, with small gray eyes and a disproportionate nose, shorter but just as strong, and - though more haggard looking than his cocky companion - just as dedicated to his silence. They each had a variety of cuts and bruises, gifted to them out of the frustrations of those who’d taken to questioning them.

Yuuri uncrossed and lowered his arms down to his sides, and said not a word, causing the soldiers by the door to glance at one another curiously, and the older of the two prisoners to shift in his seat again. Long moments of near silence passed with the king doing nothing more than staring, watching, and the atmosphere in the already stuffy room became decisively uncomfortable. Even Conrart could not contain his disquiet, glancing at the younger man in curiosity, waiting for him to say something, do something, though it appeared as if he were more than content to remain exactly where he was.

Finally, the silence was broken, the taller human - the one whom Gwendal had wrenched away from their younger brother, and who had earned the most severe beatings - grinned in amusement at the stranger standing before him. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, his words more mocking than a true acknowledgement of Yuuri’s title and position, and though it was quite probable that he had never before seen the demon king, the youth’s dark hair and eyes made his status apparent.

Those two words seemed to knock Yuuri out of whatever trance he’d fallen into, and though he said nothing in reply to them, his eyes narrowed, and he stared directly into the bedraggled man’s smug face.

“Here to question us yourself?” He asked the question in the same burlesque manner he’d used when saying his title, as if he hardly expected the young half-human king to do anything to harm or punish he and his companion. “Or are you going to let your men continue to beat the information out of us?”

Conrart almost expected Yuuri to raise his black eyes in his direction, to give him a disapproving look for all that he and Gwendal had done, but none came. Instead, Yuuri’s eyes narrowed further, his glare hardening more as his hands clenched themselves into fists. “You deserve whatever beatings they’ve given you.”

At this, the two soldiers at the door winced noticeably, glancing at each other again in unease. They weren’t used to hearing the king speak in such a way, for it was uncommon and nearly unheard of for Yuuri to wish harm upon others. When he’d spoken to criminals before, he’d never done so with such a menacing attitude; he was as accepting of them as he was to others, chose to give them the benefit of the doubt in the hopes that they would change their ways. It was disconcerting, even to the brown haired captain, to hear him speaking to this man as he was now.

The human man did nothing more than raise his eyebrow, and showed nothing of his thoughts and emotions besides a slight interest in the king’s reply. “Angry, are you, Your Majesty? Since when have you condoned violence as a means of interrogation?” His voice still held that mocking quality to it, disrespectful and patronizing to a man he obviously deemed too young and incapable. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

Yuuri’s hands clenched tighter, but he otherwise had very little reaction to the try at instigation. “What is your name?” he asked, his voice calm and level, but Conrart could already see the storm building behind the black of his eyes, the anger and frustration that surged inside him.

“What makes you think I’ll tell you?” was the careless reply. A question to answer a question. “Your retainers haven’t been blessed with any such information. Why should you?”

“I’m the one your king has a message for, aren’t I?” Yuuri reasoned. Although he hadn’t been showed the letter that Gwendal had found hidden amongst the mail the night of the attack, Conrart assumed he’d been able to make his own deductions, and knew these men were somehow connected to the group of assassins currently massacring their villages. “The letter he left on my wedding night was addressed to me, and your crimes against my family were a means to attract my attention. I’m the one you really want to talk to, right?”

The human chuckled lightly, clearly amused. “Funny how you’re suddenly so concerned for the prince, when you never seemed to care about him before.”

His statement had Yuuri stopping in his tracks, and Conrart could also not contain his surprise. To say something like that, to know of the personal lives of the king and the prince, and the problems and feelings that existed between them, this man had to have been hiding amongst them for quite some time now, stealthily gathering information and carefully planning his attack. No doubt he’d observed enough to know exactly how the black haired youth would react, which buttons to push to ignite his anger.

Yuuri’s glare darkened further, and the frown on his face lowered even more until it was nearly a scowl. “How long ago did you infiltrate our defenses? How long have you been spying on us?”

More importantly, how had he managed to stay hidden and avoid detection? Surely their security hadn’t been that lax, had it?

“Long enough to discover your personal and military weaknesses.”

Conrart watched his charge step foreword, closer to the table, leaning over it and unclenching his hands to place them flat against its surface, staring straight into the prisoner’s eyes. “How long?” he asked quietly, dangerously, not even sounding like himself anymore, his voice void of acceptance and understanding, filled with outrage and something similar to hatred instead.

The younger captive, which the brunet could only assume was the leader with how he seemed to be speaking for he and his counterpart, allowed his confident smirk to disappear, adopting a straight face now as he looked directly into the eyes of the demon king, suddenly serious, as if he could see the power within the boy’s gaze. “Three years,” he replied after a short period of silence, his answer doing nothing to quell Conrart’s worries. “We infiltrated soon after you abandoned your people and left your kingdom to take care of itself.”

It wasn’t difficult to remember just what period of time he was referring to. Yuuri had left to visit Earth many times since the beginning of his rule, but the only time anyone could ever say he’d truly abandoned the kingdom had been after the destruction of the boxes. He’d been gone for more than a couple of months, and with how confusing things had been in the country at that time, with the talk of finding a new heir to assume the throne, it was easy to see why some would claim that he’d abandoned them all.

“A very stupid move on your part, Your Majesty, if I must say,” the human man continued with his explanation. “Your Chief of State and the rest of your advisors were so busy with reconstruction and searching for a suitable solution to fill the void of their missing king to notice that their defenses had weakened. By the time you returned, we were so deeply entrenched that you fools failed to notice at all.”

Three years…

Yes, three years would have given them plenty of time to discover their secrets, their weaknesses, their habits and day to day activities.

The question now was ‘why’? Why go to such lengths? Why now and not before? Why Wolfram and not the king himself?

“What is your name?” Yuuri asked him then.

Conrart half expected the man to go back to smirking, to refuse to say anymore. He’d hardly said anything of importance when either he or Gwendal had asked the same things, and so he was prepared to hear Yuuri receive the same sort of answers as they had. He doubted either captive would ever give them enough information for them to find out where it was they’d come from, and who it was they were working for.

But the man surprised him by saying, “Ilyich.”

His partner in crime seemed just as shocked as the captain, small gray eyes widening comically as he turned to stare at the disheveled and heavily beaten man in the chair beside him. “What are you doing?!” he hissed quietly, apparently not at all appreciative by his sudden desire to speak.

Ilyich merely smirked again, shaking his head slowly, disregarding his accomplice’s wonder and anger, and putting most of his focus into the young man in front of them. “My friend’s name is Frideric,” a comment that earned him a sputter and a harsh glare from the other in response.

“What is your surname?” Yuuri asked him next, not satisfied with what little information he’d been given.

But Ilyich seemed satisfied with what he’d already given, and Conrart, though surprised, knew not to expect any more than that. To give away his surname would make it easy for them to discover the country of his origin, to find his family - if he had one - and would potentially shed light upon the question of who he was working for. If they were to believe the second letter they had received, then this man was quite clearly trusted by the one whom he served, enough to have him sent to a foreign country with the purpose of collecting information and staging an attack against the monarchy. To learn his full name, then, would put them much too close to unearthing the identity of his master.

Ilyich’s smirk grew, his smug look swift to return. “I don’t believe I’m inclined to tell you.”

Not the answer Yuuri was looking for, if the way his eyes seemed to darken even more was any indication. All of the boy’s light, all of his happiness, all of his benevolence, leniency and patience seemed to leave him in an instant - if they hadn’t been stamped out already - and his eyes, usually so open and warm, became scathingly cold. Conrart was sure he was not the only one to feel the sudden chill that seemed to encompass the stifling air of the candlelit room, as the soldiers by the door once again shot nervous looks towards one another, perhaps able to see the king’s displeasure in the way he’d suddenly tensed.

Time seemed to stand still, with Yuuri leaning over the table, and the two prisoners sitting across from him on the other side, the younger of the two appearing confident, the other worn and restless. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Yuuri pulled himself away, straightening up and removing his hands from against the table top, and when Conrart looked closely he could see them shaking slightly. Perhaps the boy had been trying to hold himself back from carrying out what happened next, but either way his efforts seemed pointless, as Ilyich was apparently determined to get a better reaction out of him than stiff questioning and an irate glare.

“The weak king of a weak country…” the unkempt human said of the black haired youth, though whether this observation satisfied him or not remained to be seen. “You can’t protect your people, your daughter, or your pretty little prince. Sooner or later they’ll all be broken before your very eyes…”

His anger fueled by the man’s words, Yuuri was once again leaning over the table, his movements so quick Conrart had no time at all to step foreword and attempt to placate him - and he had to wonder if he would have if he could, seeing as he thought these men deserved whatever animosity was currently being directed towards them. This time, instead of merely staring at Ilyich with his intense rage burning inside of him, Yuuri lunged foreword, one tightly clenched fist swinging out to catch the side of the other man’s face, sending both he and the chair careening into the floor.

The soldiers jumped, the older captive sat stiffly in his seat, the look on his face becoming increasingly more wary, while Conrart himself stood still and watched, making not a single move, neither to stop Yuuri nor to help the fallen prisoner back into place. The man in question laughed from where he’d fallen, pushing himself back up to give the king another one of his wicked smirks, his shackled hands raising to grip the edge of the table in order to steady himself. His lower lip was split, blood dripping down his chin to drop onto the floor to create a few small splatters by his knee.

Yuuri stood his ground, glowering down at him, his fists once again shaking as proof of his attempts to hold back, but he inevitably lunged foreword again, only this time instead of lashing out at the man he grabbed onto the collar of his shabby shirt, dragging him up and a little over the table to be able to look at him eye to eye. The young man’s teeth were tightly clenched, his jaw set firmly, his black eyes piercing, his glare darker than Conrart had ever seen it. And as the king’s glowering look turned into a sneer the longer he looked at the criminal, a familiar blue light slowly began to appear around him, seeming to emanate from within him, pale and glowing, even more evidence to the level of his enmity.

“I will find out who sent you with or without your cooperation,” Yuuri seethed, and for a moment it was hard for Conrart to tell if he’d truly transformed or not, or if this show of power and anger was entirely his own. “But I have absolutely no intention of ever releasing you from this dungeon. You will be placed back into your cell, where you will be provided with only enough food and water to keep you alive. You will sit there, rotting in your own shit and piss until the day that you die…”

It was then that Conrart finally took a step towards the two of them, his concern nearly unquenchable now as he continued to watch over his charge. The words he was speaking to the human man were not normally ones that found their way into his every day vocabulary, and yet his speech was not eloquent enough to be what Conrart was used to hearing in the Maou’s ardent speeches. Had he finally been driven passed his limit then, too angry to be able to force the feelings away, and yet unable to just stand by and not do anything to react?

“And, in the event that your people attack again, or try to place further harm onto my family,” the double black continued, his voice low and dangerous, and none of those present in the room at that moment were in anyway hesitant to believe every word that he said, “I will forego your trial, a date for your execution will be set, and I will have you hanged. Have I made myself clear?” Never once did he hesitate, although Conrart doubted he’d ever follow through with his threats, even if the conditions he’d specified one day came to pass.

Ilyich seemed to share the same doubts as the captain, his menacing grin never once faltering, even in the face of such power. “Perfectly, Your Majesty,” he replied, as confident as ever, like this confrontation and the revelation of his and his partner’s names were of no concern to him.

Conrart had to wonder if there was a reason behind his show of confidence, thinking that perhaps Ilyich knew something that the rest of them were currently unaware of - even the slightly older captive, whose eyes had once again widened, his face becoming pale and ashen as he silently watched and listened, possibly in fear of what was taking place in front of him. The brown haired half-human pushed such thoughts out of his mind, to be thought of in more depth at a later time. The focus of his attention was now on the ailing king, whose show of resentment concerned him more than anything else at the moment.

“Your Majesty,” he called out to him, though whether to reassure him or for some other means, he had no clue. The only thing he was confident about was that Yuuri would come to regret everything he was saying and doing once he’d had the opportunity to cool down, and Conrart did not wish to see his kind soul wracked with any more guilt than what currently plagued it.

The normally hopeful and tolerant boy hardly spared him a glance, although it was obvious that his voice had gotten through to him by the way he suddenly stiffened, his dark eyes losing some of their threatening glare, his sneer lessening back into a less frightening frown. The fist that had buried itself into Ilyich’s shirt trembled again, harsher and more noticeable this time, until Yuuri finally shoved the man back with a low growl in the back of his throat. Ilyich stumbled, and then once more found himself against the hard, unforgiving floor, another laugh bubbling out from within his chest.

The king no longer seemed interested in watching such things, turning his back and walking quickly towards the exit of the room. He yanked open the door a bit harder than necessary, practically ripping it from its frame in his effort to get away. As soon as he’d done so, he left the interrogation chamber, stumbling back up the stairs as he put even more distance between himself and the current cause of his vexation.

Conrart dutifully followed him, stopping only long enough to order the rather shocked looking soldiers to bring the prisoners back to their cell until they received further word as to what to do with them. Then he was swiftly traversing the dark staircase back up to the ground floor, looking around to catch sight of the younger half human.

It didn’t take him long to find him at all, though the sight he saw was not one that helped to ease his worry. Just as he’d suspected, Wolfram had stayed exactly where they’d left him, in the guarded hallway a few feet away from the stairs. Yuuri had immediately gone to him, arms wrapped around him so tightly Conrart had to wonder if the blond was even able to breath, face buried into the side of his neck so that the captain was unable to see his expression, though he could tell by the way his shoulders were lightly shaking that he was not reacting well to what had just happened.

The blue light that had enveloped him for the last few minutes he’d spent down in the dungeon had faded away, perhaps taking his anger with it, and leaving behind a sadness and revulsion for the way in which he’d reacted and the things that he’d said. His guilt had already taken hold of him in the few seconds that had passed since his hasty exit, and Conrart was dubious as to whether there was anything he could say to comfort or reassure him. Certainly his own behavior had sickened and frightened him, especially since he’d reacted upon his anger on his own instead of relying on his more confident inner half.

Wolfram seemed almost overwhelmed, one arm wrapped lightly around Yuuri’s back, the other lifted so that he could run his fingers through his dark hair. His green eyes were wide with what was no doubt surprise, and his gaze drifted over to Conrart as soon as the brunet had ascended the stairs, staring up at him questioningly, silently asking him what had happened. His confusion was as evident as Yuuri’s regret, though Conrart could do nothing more than shake his head. Even he, having been there, could not confidently explain what had happened without rousing more questions and concerns, or causing even more confusion than what was currently being felt.

Denied any sort of answer, Wolfram returned his attention to the young man presently clinging to him. “Yuuri,” he whispered his name, merely as a way to offer comfort and to let him know that he was there for him than as a way to get him to respond. He turned his head enough to place a soft kiss along the king’s dark hair, then nuzzled his cheek against it.

Yuuri’s shaking eased a little, but his grasp on the slighter boy never loosened. It was only after a few moments, when his trembling suddenly stopped altogether, that his arms went lax and dropped away. Wolfram gasped and released a startled squeak as Yuuri went completely limp against him, and Conrart had to quickly move foreword to assist him, the king’s full weight now too heavy for the prince to be able to support for longer than a few seconds without having to lower the both of them to the ground.

“What happened?” Wolfram asked once the captain had enlisted the help of a couple of the guards to transport the king to his room, green eyes filled with worry, entreating him to explain, to reassure him that Yuuri was alright.

Conrart merely shook his head again, placing his hand comfortingly against his younger brother’s shoulder, before walking with him down the hallways, following along as Yuuri was taken to be placed in bed, leaving the darkness of the dungeon behind them.

* * *

Yuuri didn’t awaken until the next morning, coming out of his sleeping state slowly, drifting for a while in a period of half wakefulness before his eyes fluttered open and he stared blearily at the top of the canopy. For a moment he wondered what he was doing back at the palace, before the previous day’s myriad of events made themselves known in his mind. His anger and confusion when discovering the current war, the way he’d yelled and argued with Wolfram over his signing of the declaration, his conversation with Conrad and the concern it had caused him to feel for his blond haired friend. Then his second confrontation with Wolfram, seeing the bruises that marred his skin and feeling the uncontrollable anger it had invoked, before recalling his trip down to the dungeon, and everything that had happened there.

Immediately he was consumed by a wave of shame for how he’d acted, what he’d done and said to the prisoners, only to be wracked by a sense of confusion next, thinking that he couldn’t have expected to treat them any differently. What they’d done - or tried - had been a serious crime, and it was only right to have them punished for it; that didn’t stop him from feeling the way he did, though. No matter how much he tried to justify it, he didn’t enjoy having the fate of another person in his hands. Their life or death was not something he wanted weighing down on his conscience.

But, despite his guilt, despite his unwillingness to carry out the threats he’d posed to them, those men had attacked Wolfram and Greta, and for that they could never be forgiven. He may not want to implement any form of overly harsh punishment, but that wouldn’t stop him from keeping both Ilyich and Frideric locked away for the rest of their lives. He’d feed them, he’d have his medical staff treat them if they were to fall ill, but they would never be released from their prison; he wasn’t about to give them the opportunity to cause harm to those he cared about again.

Once he’d fortified himself, and convinced himself that this was for the best, that he wasn’t doing anything wrong by treating those two men in such a way, only then did he release a sigh, and begin to take in the things that surrounded him. No longer thinking such dark, depressing thoughts, he was able to concentrate more fully on the weight he suddenly realized was lying against them, and when he looked down to see what it was, he found that he wasn’t surprised at all to see a head of blond hair resting against his chest and shoulder.

Wolfram was sleeping peacefully, eyes lightly closed and long lashes resting against his fair cheeks, the bruises along his skin still visible, though they did nothing to take away from the picture of innocence the prince had become as he lost himself in his dreams. His facial features were smoother, his mouth no longer frowning, his brow no longer creased in thought, and it was as if he felt no stress or resentment, his posture completely relaxed as he rested against him. He looked young, free of doubts and worries, the soft rays of the rising sun that streamed through the windows glinting off a his golden hair. It was probably the most clichéd thought he’d ever had when he marveled over how heavenly his friend looked at that moment, but he hardly cared about sappy words and overused phrases when Wolfram seemed so serene and tranquil.

Slowly, not wanting to chance waking him - for although Wolfram usually slept heavier than anyone he’d ever met, there were also times when the lightest of movements could jar him and have him completely awake in a matter of seconds - Yuuri lifted his hand to lightly brush it through his hair, watching the way it slipped through the strands, before taking his index finger and curling a lock around it. He smiled softly, releasing a contented sigh and again forgetting all of his troubles, focusing instead on more important matters, such as the boy he suddenly found himself so entranced by.

He watched him as he breathed, moving his hand again to stroke his cheek, trailing a finger down his nose, caressing his thumb over his slightly parted lips, smiling a little wider as he wiped a small trail of drool off of the slighter young man’s chin. He allowed himself more than a few moments to bask in the feeling of having Wolfram close to him, loving the fact that he could feel his heart beating, using his arm to pull him just a little closer, wanting to lose sight of all else and simply drown in his warmth. This was what he wanted, he could admit to himself now, to be close like this, to take care of and protect Wolfram just as Wolfram did the same for him.

“He hasn’t been getting much sleep as of late,” a familiar voice to his right caught his attention, causing him to jump lightly in surprise at the suddenness of it. He turned his head enough to see who it was, only to catch sight of two figures standing by the door. One, his brown haired guardian, smiling warmly; the other, the Great Sage, whose presence was not nearly as foreboding as it had been the last time he remembered him coming into his room, his black haired friend’s gaze less serious, seeming more amused now than anything else.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Conrad spoke again when he noticed that his unannounced presence had surprised the younger half human, his smile widening slightly as his hazel eyes twinkled. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Yuuri shook his head, carefully - and with a bit of disappointment - moving Wolfram off of him so that he was able to sit up, placing the blond next to him on the mattress, watching as the movement seemed to rouse Wolfram a bit, but when he brushed a calming hand through his hair again the prince nuzzled the side of his face into one of the pillows and easily drifted back off, much to Yuuri’s relief. If what Conrad had said was true, then he didn’t want to have to wake him up unless it was absolutely necessary.

Satisfied that Wolfram was comfortable, and that it didn’t seem as if he’d disturbed his slumber, Yuuri sat and leaned back against another one of the large pillows, turning a bit to glance at the two by the door. “Is something wrong?” he asked, though he didn’t think so, not with the way they were currently looking at them, but he could never be too sure. Conrad usually tried not to disturb him if he could help it, and he and Murata hadn’t talked much at all since their disagreement.

It was Conrad’s turn to shake his head this time. “No, Your Majesty. I was merely concerned and wanted to make sure that you were feeling alright.” He didn’t say it, but Yuuri knew the brunet had become more that a little wary after what had happened yesterday, and he really couldn’t blame the man.

“I’m okay,” he reassured him with a light smile, for although there were a few things still bothering him - the war, as well as the prisoners he’d confronted yesterday - he felt calmer and more levelheaded than he had before. Perhaps his outburst yesterday had helped to release some of the stress that had been building within him for so long.

Not wanting to think of the event any longer, even if it may have proven the slightest bit helpful in the end, Yuuri turned once again to glance at Wolfram, not at all surprised to find his hand absently stroking at his hair. He sighed a second time, amazed at how comfortable he’d become with touching Wolfram like this in such a short period of time, for although petting his hair wasn’t exactly a monumental step in striving to build a relationship with him, it was more than he would have been willing to commit to before.

“He seems more at ease since you’ve returned,” Conrad observed, and Yuuri had to agree. No doubt the blond had felt a great deal of sadness and stress after their argument, but in the hours that had passed after they’d managed to talk and come to an understanding, the young mazoku prince had calmed considerably. “He wasn’t exactly cooperative in the time that you were on Earth. Gisela attempted to give him an herbal mixture to help him sleep, but he refused to drink it. I don’t believe he’s slept for more than a few hours since…”

Even though Conrad didn’t finish his thought out loud, Yuuri knew what he’d meant to say, and it made him feel horrible that he hadn’t been here. If he hadn’t been such a coward, so consumed by his doubts and fears that he’d allowed them to drive him away from the place where he was needed, maybe he could have done something to stop those men, maybe he could have somehow protected Wolfram and prevented him from having to feel such fear. He knew Wolfram would probably never admit it, but he’d been able to see it in his eyes as they’d been talking, and again as Conrad had lead them down to the dungeon. Conrad’s revelation of his unwillingness to sleep was just further proof Wolfram’s distress.

Of course, thinking about the brunet’s words, he had to wonder why Wolfram allowed himself to sleep now, to return to the vulnerability that he no doubt thought had been the cause of his unawareness, allowing the two human men to catch him off guard. Did Wolfram honestly feel safe with him, like he’d said the night he’d fled after they’d kissed? Was it really, truly enough for him to feel comfortable sleeping in their bedroom, allowing himself the rest he’d forsaken while he’d been away?

“Conrad,” he began questioningly, speaking to his mentor though not taking his eyes off of the boy next to him, “do you think that… Wolfram and I…” and he trailed off, not really knowing what it was he’d wanted to ask in the first place, though he knew he desired his guardian’s reassurance. Shori had pretty much told him that this - trying as he was now - was the right thing to do, but he felt that hearing it from Conrad would make it seem more true. Conrad was Wolfram’s brother, after all, and if he was going to do anything, then he felt that receiving some sort of blessing beforehand would be best. It would, without a doubt, make him feel more confident in his decision.

“I believe that you need each other,” the half human captain spoke to him rationally, and though Yuuri wasn’t currently looking at him, he could hear the smile in his voice. “And there isn’t anyone I trust more to take care of him.”

That simple statement was enough to have Yuuri breaking his attention away from the blond again, turning his head back to the right to glance at the man who’d given him his name. Conrad could have worded that a different way - he could have said what Yuuri knew he felt and thought, that there wasn’t anyone he trusted more than Wolfram to take care of the king - but he hadn’t, and the nineteen year old knew he’d done so for a reason. At the moment, it wasn’t about Wolfram’s abilities to give protection and show a certain level of caring, it was about Yuuri doing the same, and feeling comfortable and confident in what he was doing.

Conrad couldn’t have said anything more reassuring.

“Thanks,” Yuuri said with a small smile, truly appreciating his words, and taking them to heart. He knew he could trust them. Conrad may have given most of his attention to him over the last four years, but it was easy to see how much he still cared about his youngest brother.

“You’re welcome,” Conrad smiled in return, giving him a shallow nod before turning to the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty, there are a few things that require my attention, and I do believe it would be for the best if you were to get some more sleep.”

Yuuri nodded back to him, agreeing wholeheartedly, watching his brown haired guardian as he turned and left. His attention strayed to Murata next, who hadn’t spoken a single word since Yuuri had awakened, and whose presence served to both confuse him, and give him hope. If there was one thing that had bothered him more than the problems he’d been having with his feelings for Wolfram, it was the animosity that had erupted between he and two of his advisors and friends, issues that he was intent on resolving as soon as he was given the chance.

“Murata, I want to -” he started to apologize for the things he’d said and the way he’d acted, but was immediately cut off as the other double black slowly shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” the great sage told him, giving him a warm, friendly smile unlike the serious frowns he’d been sporting recently. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. You were only doing what you thought was best. Von Bielefeld was right; we can’t fault you for that.”

“But…” Even if he said that, he still didn’t think he’d treated either he or Gwendal fairly. If he could go back and relive that night, he would have made sure the whole confrontation had gone much differently.

“It’s fine,” Murata continued to assure him, not seeming angered or insulted in the least. It was a change Yuuri didn’t quite understand, but one he wouldn’t question. He’d rather not continue arguing with one of his closest friends.

“So…” Still, he was unsure. He had a to make sure that things were truly alright, that Murata wasn’t just saying all this for his benefit. “We’re cool, then?”

“Yeah,” his Earthen friend replied, his expression growing even more amused. “We’re cool.” The sage headed for the door then, seeming intent on following Conrad out of the room. “Rest for a little while longer. You’re no good to any one when you’re so stressed out. In fact, you’re sort of scary.” He grinned at his own words, letting Yuuri know that he hadn’t really meant them, that he was merely joking around.

Yuuri nodded to him as well, then watched as he left and shut the door, feeling the last bit of his guilt slowly release itself. He laughed lightly, thinking he’d made things harder for himself than they should have been over the last month or two, carefully laying back down against the mattress and rolling onto his side to get a look at the blond boy next to him. Leaning closer, he gently placed a kiss along Wolfram’s forehead, then wrapped his arms around him to pull him closer in order to bury his face into his golden curls. He breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent and holding it in for as long as possible, before he released it in another contented sigh.

A bright smile found it’s way across his face as he felt Wolfram unconsciously cuddle closer, one that was more reminiscent of the ones he’d shown in his earlier youth, when his duties and his confusion hadn’t been nearly as daunting as it had all seemed recently. Now the indecisions he’d faced and the doubts he’d had about himself were beginning to ease, and he felt more able to face the problems that stood before him…

One step at a time…

TBC…