Love and War

Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou.

In which there is plotting, arguing, and late night conversations…

Love and War
By Mikage

Chapter Five

Lord Gwendal von Voltaire, eldest son of the former Demon Queen and Chief of State of Shin Makoku under the current king, frowned deeply as he entered one of the many offices of Blood Pledge Castle. The sun had now completely set behind the rolling hills in the horizon, and the evening meal had ended not even half an hour ago. The tension in the dinning room had risen even more now that all ten Aristocrats were accounted for, and he’d felt extremely lucky that a fight had yet to break loose. Everyone had spent their time glaring at one another, making it obvious that they all had issues to discuss before this wedding could be underway.

Being an Aristocrat in this day and age was not an easy task. Gwendal himself had taken over as the lord of his father’s home territory at a time when the bonds between many in the council had begun to disintegrate. They were more likely to argue now than have a peaceful conversation, choosing to fight over their own problems than discuss the ones currently facing their country. Predictably it made accomplishing anything more than a little difficult. Most of them had been consumed by their greed for power, and put their own lives and interests before those of the people they served.

Gwendal feared they were slowly but surely leading Shin Makoku into ruin. Though the common man probably never saw the Aristocrat who represented them in person, all the townsfolk were very much aware of what was going on and could be counted upon to voice their displeasure should things roll further downhill. In certain ways, the disunity facing them now was more of a threat than the humans.

But von Voltaire wasn’t going to let this pointless madness continue at a time when the country needed them to stay strong and make the decisions that would affect the futures of everyone. He’d scheduled a meeting this evening specifically to get the bickering out of the way so that the wedding ceremonies could continue without any sort of problem. Regardless of what each of them thought of their present king and Gwendal’s own youngest half brother, the union between the two of them was a necessary step in protecting their kingdom, and he would not allow anyone to prevent it.

They could think whatever they wanted, but in the end they all had the same responsibility: make sure there was someone in place to take over after His Majesty.

The rest of the Aristocrats had already assembled in the designated meeting room, arguing amongst themselves - as he saw when he entered. They’d situated their chairs around the large oval table so that they wouldn’t have to sit close to those they had bad relations with, purposely segregating themselves. Günter, Mikhail, Stoffel and Odell sat in a small group at one end of the table, the three of them not speaking nearly as loudly as the others, but still getting a few words in. Marlena, Griselda, Auberon, and Winifred were gathered at the other end, each looking as annoyed as the next, like this meeting was pointless. Julius was the only one seated by himself between the two groups, occasionally glaring in Bielefeld’s direction.

There were others who were present as well, though they had no part in the council, merely served as a security precaution. Geigen Huber was standing to the right of the door as if guarding it, Conrart doing the same from the left. Von Spitzweg had his trusty servant, Raven, by his side, the man appearing as dark and silent as always. Wolfgang von Bielefeld was also there, located by the chair of his older brother, seeming worn out from his travels, if the barely noticeable slump of his shoulders was any indication, but the sternness of his face clearly showed that he felt the need to be there at the moment.

Gwendal would rather not have any extra persons present, but figured they didn’t pose any harm, and their presence could very well prevent their respective lords from doing anything drastic to one another while the discussion was going on. Mentally preparing himself for what he knew was about to ensue, the dark haired Chief of State took his place in an empty seat at the head of the table, flanked on each side by Günter and Mikhail. It took several moments before the others managed to quiet themselves down, and when they did they all stared at him expectantly, a few of them shooting him rather annoyed glances.

“No one is leaving this room until we’ve all come to an agreement,” he warned them, gazing at each of them in turn. “I will not have this ceremony conducted only to have half of you prevent them from getting married.”

“I don’t see what the fuss is about,” Marlena von Grantz began in a severely contemptuous tone. “We have every right to disagree,” she pointed out, earning a nod of approval from Griselda von Hassel and Winifred von Yale.

“We don’t have the time nor the luxury to disagree,” the gray-black haired man reminded them, receiving his own set of nods from Günter, Mikhail, and Odell. “His Majesty needs an heir, and the current Princess is not exactly suitable with her rapid human aging.”

“Then have him marry a Mazoku noble woman and produce another one,” Auberon von Bielefeld said, leaning back in his chair, looking as if he thought this conversation were a complete waste of his time. “I don’t care who she is as long as I don’t have to be ruled by that spoiled nephew of mine.”

“Brother,” Wolfgang mumbled to him, trying to gain his attention, but the scarred man was ignored.

Gwendal speared the older Bielefeld with an angry glower. “If any of you had a problem with the betrothal, why wait until now to speak up? His Majesty and his fiancé have been engaged for the past four years.”

“Your brother, you mean,” Auberon corrected him. “Don’t think that by referring to the brat as His Majesty’s intended that we’d so easily forget the fact that he is your younger half brother who, upon ascending to the throne, would no doubt grant you more power than you currently possess.”

“Lord von Voltaire would never use his brother as a means to gain power!” Günter spoke up in return, narrowing his own lilac eyes in disapproval. “He has achieved the position as a member of the Ten Aristocrats entirely on his own. His family chose him to lead them when the previous lord passed on.”

“And who is it that has been doing a majority of the king’s work?” Winifred asked, arching a grayed eyebrow suspiciously.

This time it was Mikhail who replied. “Someone must be responsible for taking care of royal matters whenever King Yuuri is away.”

“And what makes Lord von Voltaire the best candidate?” Griselda wondered acidly. “Certainly any one of us would be just as useful at such things.”

“Von Voltaire is the previous Demon Queen’s son, and as such he is most capable of seeing to the matters of state when His Majesty is unable to,” Odell explained calmly.

Auberon chuckled at that, causing all eyes to turn to him. “Favoritism rears it’s ugly head.”

“Excuse me?” Gwendal wondered, not understanding what the man was getting at, or what any of this nonsense about him had to do with the wedding.

“Don’t you think it’s strange how each of the former queen’s sons have wormed their way close to the current king?” Bielefeld asked those seated around him. “Her oldest takes care of royal matters when he is away and has control over the main army. Her middle child,” here he shot a glare in Conrart’s direction, “has become his personal guard, even after his act of betrayal, and now her youngest wants to marry the weak bastard. So, while each of them gain power, the rest of us are left trying to keep up.”

“You speak as if we are being neglected,” Mikhail observed, “when that is not the case at all.”

“Of course not, for you. Your younger sister is von Voltaire’s childhood friend; she practically lives here, so it would do them well you keep you in their good graces. And you, von Christ,” Auberon turned his gaze to the lavender haired man, “are His Majesty’s royal advisor, so it makes sense that you would not be left out of the loop. Then there’s Wincott who, after all the trouble with Suzannah Julia in the past, it would do His Majesty well to appease.”

“If you would make more of an effort to speak to the king, he would be more inclined to listen.” This was said by Conrart, who took a step foreword as he spoke, as serious as he had been since the Bielefelds had come. “But you’ve hardly come here at all since he first arrived in this world,” the brown haired soldier added.

“We shouldn’t have to beg for the king’s attention!” Winifred shouted harshly. “He should be the one coming to us, taking care of his people! Not once has he come to visit my territory, nor has he been to Hassel, nor Grantz, nor Bielefeld!”

“His Majesty has not been to Mannheim, either,” Julius said coolly, eyeing the old woman critically, “but I understand that he has been busy and I do not hold it against him.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure seeing that his snot of a fiancé gets everything his little heart desires would keep any man busy for four whole years!”

“Wolfram has nothing to do with it!” Gwendal loudly bellowed, quickly becoming annoyed with their whining. “His Majesty has been learning the ways of our people and our culture! He was born and raised in another world and was not given the privilege of growing up here! Lord von Christ has spent the last four years educating him and preparing him for his responsibilities! A task like that cannot be accomplished over night!”

“And he can’t bring his books with him?” Marlena wondered sarcastically, mocking the young king.

“He has also been on many journeys,” Mikhail reminded them all. “If you’ll remember, he successfully located the Demon Flute and the Demon Sword Morgif.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Auberon waved one of his gloved hands dismissively. “And we also remember all the trouble he caused during those little adventures of his.”

“So, as a way of showing your displeasure with His Majesty, you’ve decided to vote against the marriage?” Odell asked.

“We choose to vote against it because we do not believe his fiancé is worthy enough to be the Prince of Shin Makoku!” Griselda explained, huffing indignantly.

“Why?” Conrart spoke again, and all eyes turned to look at him curiously.

“Excuse me?” von Hassel asked, sneering at the half human, insulted that he would be so insolent as to question her.

“I asked you why,” the brunet repeated. “If that if your belief then there must be a reason for you to feel that way.”

“Because he is unfit for the position!”

“How?” Mikhail asked, obviously not thinking that was a good enough excuse. “He’s been trained as a soldier and well taught in politics. I cannot think of anyone more suitable.”

Auberon scoffed arrogantly at that. “A commoner would be more suitable! The child is spoiled!”

“He is no longer a child,” Wolfgang told his brother, seeming to be defending his son against him.

“He will only be eighty-six years old this winter! He is hardly mature enough to take on the responsibilities! Not to mention the fact that it is already apparent that His Majesty’s human blood is causing him to age at a faster rate than a full blooded Mazoku! If things continue as they are now, he won’t be around as long as a normal king, and when he dies his fiancé will be left at the throne! I refuse to be ruled by a spoiled prince!”

“Brother, he is my son.”

“Your son?” Conrart suddenly inquired, brown eyes hardening even more, angered that his ex-step father would even attempt to make that claim, seeming to forget what they had truly gathered here for as he focused on the scorn he’d held for his mother’s third husband since many years ago. “You left your son before he could hardly even speak! For years you didn’t even come to see him! What right do you have to call yourself his father?!”

Winifred snorted from Auberon’s right. “And I assume you think Dan Hiri was any better? Did he not leave as well?”

“My father at least made an attempt to spend time with me, which is more than I can say for him!” the king’s guardian went on, his voice slightly louder than usual, showing more disrespect than Gwendal could remember him capable of, proof enough that he was angry. “Why have you come back now?!” he asked the one armed man vehemently. “You think you can make up for leaving him behind after all this time that you’ve neglected him?!”

“I left for a reason, Conrart,” Wolfgang tried to explain.

“What reason?” the brunet asked, though the way he said it made it obvious that he didn’t think there was any reason good enough the justify what he’d done by skirting his responsibilities as a father.

“To protect him.”

“Protect him?” Conrart almost snorted at him in disbelief. “Protect him from what? You?”

“That’s understandable,” Julius muttered from his side of the table, his arms crossed as he sneered in resentment. “There’s no telling how he’d have turned out being raised by a murderer.”

The room fell silent for a long moment, none of them making a sound as von Mannheim’s words reached their ears. Some of the Aristocrats looked at him in shock, appalled that he would mentioned such a thing at a time like this, altering the course of the conversation away from the original subject. Others were hardly phased by it, silently agreeing with his statement from their places around the table, surreptitiously glancing at Wolfgang to see his reaction, only to see that his aqua colored eyes and scarred face were strangely blank, seeming in no way offended by Julius’ accusation, like he’d become accustomed to hearing people say such things.

It was Auberon who reacted to it, the older Bielefeld sibling standing from his chair with a vicious snarl, glaring dangerously at the man who dared to insult his brother is such a way. “My brother is not a murderer!”

“Then what do you call what he and his men did in Bastille? An accident?” Julius rose from his seat as well, challenging the other man.

“The Courts found him innocent!”

“The Courts were wrong,” Conrart joined in again. “They have been before.”

“And what would you know about the trial?!” Auberon questioned him, the hatred he held for the half human evident in his voice. “You were recovering from your wounds from Lutenberg when the event happened and you weren’t even here when the trial took place!!”

“You’re right, I wasn’t here,” the brunet agreed to that. “I was on Earth delivering His Majesty’s soul, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what happened.”

“You don’t know why,” Wolfgang finally spoke, looking at Conrart levelly, though his thoughts and emotions were still very well hidden.

“What could possibly excuse you from butchering over a dozen people?!” Julius shouted, hands gripping tightly to the edge of the table, as if that was enough to prevent him form attacking the navy captain and doing the same to him. “My son is dead because of you!” he accused, voice filled with resentment. “The only reason you got off is because you were once king! If it wasn’t for Queen Cecilie’s influence, you’d be rotting in prison right now!!”

“Do you even realize what would have happened if Captain von Bielefeld hadn’t done what he did?” Stoffel von Spitzweg spoke for the first time since the Aristocrats had gathered for this meeting, pushing his chair back so that he could stand to his feet as well, Raven remaining behind him. “Do you realize how dangerous it would have been to allow those men to live, how it would have affected the future of our entire kingdom?” he continued, serious and stoic as he stood up for his younger sister’s ex-husband.

“Who are you to say such things, Stoffel?” von Mannheim asked, eyes burning with rage. “It was you who got us into that war in the first place, forcing us into battles that we had little hope of winning.”

“I don’t pretend to be free of blame,” the dirty blond haired man told him, purple eyes narrowed. “I understand that many of my past actions and decisions were wrong. There is blood on my hands that I can never wash off,” he admitted, truthful for once, actually accepting responsibility for what he did twenty-four years ago, which earned him looks of shock from many of the room’s occupants. “I have made mistakes that I have come to regret. Watching His Majesty and everything that he has done for Shin Makoku thus far, I have realized that my pride and prejudices were my down fall.

“I was as much of a traitor to our country as Adalbert von Grantz was, and I admit that I have attempted to get in His Majesty’s good favor in order to return to my former position as Regent. But King Yuuri has become a better ruler than I ever was, a better king that any of you could have been. It is because of him that I am able to take responsibility for my actions, and even still he does not hold it against me. I will not pretend to be as forgiving as His Majesty, nor as understanding, but I do know this: what Captain von Bielefeld did was necessary for the future of our kingdom!”

“How?” Julius asked, his wrath not calmed in the least.

“Those men were traitors!” Günter broke in, appalled that anyone would think of them as innocent.

“So is my brother,” Marlena replied, “and Stoffel just claimed that he was as equally traitorous. Perhaps we should have Wolfgang kill the two of them as well. He’d certainly be doing us a favor then.”

“Those men were plotting to-”

“You don’t know that for certain!” Julius cut the royal advisor off abruptly. “There was nothing to prove those claims! My son would have never turned against his kingdom. He was as loyal to us as anyone!”

“He had already killed others,” Mikhail reminded him dispassionately.

“Then we should have captured them and let the courts decide what their punishment should have been!” Winifred argued. “Although, I don’t suppose we can trust anyone to make the right decisions when some of us are so heavily influenced by those in power!”

“That’s quite enough!!” Gwendal suddenly barked from the head of the table, preventing them from saying any more, blue eyes narrowed as he glanced around the room. “We are not here to discuss the courts or anything concerning Captain von Bielefeld and the incident in Bastille!!”

Everyone fell silent, though Lord von Voltaire received a few glares in return for his commanding tone.

“If you wish to continue with this debate, then you may do so once we’ve come to a decision on he matter of His Majesty’s wedding. Conrart,” he turned a disapproving glance in the direction of his brown haired brother, “I would suggest that the next time you are present at one of out meetings, you keep your accusations to yourself. Need I remind you that you are not a member of the Aristocrats and therefore have no say in anything that we may discuss?”

“No, brother,” the brunet replied, frowning.

“Then you are hereby dismissed!”

“I understand,” he said with a stiff bow. “Excuse me.”

Once the soldier had made his exit, the older dark haired man turned his attention to Wolfgang, who’s scarred face remained completely emotionless. “Captain von Bielefeld, I think it would be best if you would excuse yourself as well.”

Wolfgang only nodded in agreement, bowing slightly also. “As you wish, Your Excellency.”

The one armed man walked across the room to leave as his half human step son had, the dark eyes of Julius von Mannheim boring into his back in quiet accusation. Geigen Huber, who hadn’t said a single word since taking his place by the door, looked towards his enraged cousin for direction, and at the long haired man’s curt nod, he departed also, softly closing the wooden door behind him.

“Now… let us continue our discussion on the topic of the king’s marriage,” Gwendal began again, watching as Auberon, Stoffel, and Julius slowly sat down in their seats again. “I want to know why we are not in agreement, and what can be done to fix this problem”

“Force the king to marry someone else,” Winifred suggested. “We do not want the Bielefeld boy.”

“We do not have the time required to search for a suitable mate and conduct the necessary ceremonies,” Odell said, having remained hushed during the argument that had just ended. “If we are to go to war with Shimeron within the next few weeks, it would be wise to have His Majesty marry as soon as possible.”

“Come now,” Griselda began with a short laugh. “You know as well as I that the king will not allow us to go to war, no matter how many times Belal threatens or attacks us.”

“You’re right,” Gwendal agreed, nodding. “Which is why it is important that we have someone else with the authority to sign a Declaration of War.”

Nine pairs of eyes moved to stare at he head of Voltaire, deciphering the meaning of his last statement, each of them coming to their own conclusions. It took a moment for anyone to speak, and when they did they sounded skeptical, looking at the stoic Chief of State warily.

“Are you saying that Wolfram would be willing to sign one?” Marlena asked, curious.

“If it should come to that, he would certainly be more inclined to do so than His Majesty.”

“How can you trust him not to side with the King on the issue of this war?” Winifred queried. “The boy has feelings for him, does he not? Why would he do anything to jeopardize that?”

“It would be easier to convince Wolfram that going to war with Shimeron is the only way to stop them than it would His Majesty. He may fight it for a while, but if we were to broach the subject with him when His Majesty is not here to influence him, I’m sure he’d eventually come around, regardless of what kind of agreements he may make with the king.”

“We cannot afford to go to war, Gwendal,” Mikhail said, displeased with the idea. “We lost more than half our army twenty-four years ago, and that was against Shimeron on their own. They have allies now.”

“As do we,” von Voltaire reminded him. “Cavalcade has a large enough force to make up for what we lack, and they are more than willing to lend us their aide.”

“We also have a sizeable amount of human soldiers deserting their armies and coming here for safety,” Günter added. “If we were to grant them amnesty in return for their support, I am sure they would agree to help us as well. The information they may provide us could very well be useful.”

“How do we know that we can trust them?” Odell inquired, raising an eyebrow. “They could be spies.”

“And word has spread that Belal is looking to make an alliance with Lyron of Isidore,” Mikhail said. “If he were to succeed in that...” the red haired man trailed off for a second, shaking his head at the idea. “Gwendal... there is nothing we could do against a force such as that. We would be severely outnumbered, even if the rest of our allies should offer their assistance.”

“Which is why we must stop Belal before he has that chance,” Griselda cut in.

“But we all know the king will never choose the option of war, no matter what the threat,” Gwendal said evenly. “We have been informing His Majesty of every move that Belal makes, and we have done everything exactly as he’s said so far. If Shimeron and Isidore unite against us, it could very well mean the end of the Mazoku.” He allowed a moment of silence for that information to sink in, watching as a few pairs of eyes looked down at the table top. “We cannot allow that to happen.”

“So you are using your brother,” Auberon observed, though he didn’t seem so displeased by that thought this time around.

“I have no intention of seeking any more power than I have now,” Gwendal reassured them seriously, looking him straight in the eye. “But if I have to use my brother to ensure the safety of the kingdom, then I will do so.”

This was the real reason he’d wanted Conrart out of the room, and Wolfgang as well, so that neither of them would be aware of what the rest of the Aristocrats would be planning. He’d sent Hube out to make sure that both men had not remained in the area, preventing them from returning to stand outside the door and listen in. He didn’t want either of them to know what was currently being discussed, since he knew Conrart would loudly object and then go inform His Majesty of all that had been spoken. Wolfgang, also, could not be completely trusted to keep his mouth shut, as he still had somewhat of a relationship with the former queen.

In truth, he and Günter had been plotting this for weeks now, and although the lavender haired man sided with their king more often than not when it came to the issue of warfare, he agreed that this was not the time to remain passive. Their resolve had firmed with the attack by Belal’s men on two of their villages, and then even more so when Franshire had fallen. They’d concealed their reasoning from the Sage, King, and Conrart by supporting the notion that it was imperative that there be another heir to the thrown, and had waited for the right moment to broach the subject with the Aristocrats, most of whom believed that war was the only viable option.

This sort of plotting bordered on treason, but they could think of nothing else short of sending the troops out without a declaration. They’d all tried talking to the king about the situation with Shimeron and each time they’d been ignored, or the black haired young man had refused to take action. Von Voltaire didn’t like having to go behind His Majesty’s back like this, as he’d grudgingly grown to like and respect the king over the years, but they all had certain responsibilities, and if Yuuri was so unwilling to do his then Gwendal would do something about it, even if it meant taking advantage of his youngest brother.

Perhaps it was true that another war would cost them greatly, but they couldn’t afford to remain idle. Shimeron was a grave enemy, he would admit to that, but their forces would be able to handle them. The countries Shimeron had made pacts with so far were not as militarily adept as many others and did not possess the large forces that they’d need in order to fight in a war. He was confident that they could take Shimeron on and win; it would take a while, but with the right tactics and information they could make it out of the war with less casualties than they had twenty-four years past.

If Shimeron were able to convince Isidore to join then, everything would change.

Isidore was a large country to the east of Shimeron, and though they chose to remain neutral in most conflicts between kingdoms and races, their military was the largest in the world. Shimeron had tried to gain their assistance in the last war, but had been unsuccessful. Since then, the previous king had passed away due to illness, leaving his power hungry younger brother at the throne. They’d received word from Yozak not even a few days ago that Belal was planning on meeting with King Lyron within the next couple of months, and that Lyron himself seemed interested in what the king of Shimeron had to propose.

Gwendal could hardly imagine what it would mean for Shin Makoku should the two make an alliance. In a war such as that, they wouldn’t stand a chance. The other Aristocrats knew this, Yuuri had been told what could possibly happen, and yet nothing had been done so far to rectify the situation. If they could just convince Wolfram, force him to sign the papers, then it wouldn’t matter what the king did or didn’t want, and they could fix things before it became too hopeless.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” he began after a short period of silence, “but my loyalty lies with Shin Makoku first and foremost. I will not allow anyone to sacrifice the lives of our people, be they our enemy or our king.”

One by one the Aristocrats nodded, convinced, and just like that the decision was made.

* * *

Late that same night, when the crescent moon had risen to it’s highest point in the sky and the stars were twinkling brightly behind a few stray clouds, Yuuri lay awake in bed, unable to fall asleep no matter how long he kept his eyes closed. He’d been tossing and turning for the last few hours, trying to find a comfortable position, only to end up on his back, black eyes staring up at the top of the canopy in boredom, arms brought up so that his hands were pillowing his head. A heavy sigh escaped him as his thoughts flew through his mind, keeping him awake long into the night.

It had been an exhausting day, and both he and his fiancé had retired early that evening, though he supposed Wolfram’s real reasons were a bit different than his own. Yuuri had simply wanted some peace and quiet, some time away from all the drama that had recently been unfolding in his life, escaping the tension that had been brought on by the gathering of the Ten Aristocrats to the sanctity of his private bed chambers. Wolfram had feigned fatigue, but Yuuri assumed the other boy had been escaping as well, getting away from the blank aqua eyes of his father, which had settled on the blond boy many times over the course of the evening.

Yuuri didn’t know how to feel about his best friends father. A part of him felt sorry for the man; it was clear that he’d been through a lot and the way he’d sometimes gaze at his son made it seem as if he regretted what he’d done by leaving. The other half of the king felt nothing more than confusion, wanting to know more about Wolfgang von Bielefeld, but lacking the courage to speak up and ask anyone. Talking to the man himself was too unnerving to voice any sort of personal questions. He could never tell what the naval officer was thinking; Wolfgang hid his emotions better than anyone he’d ever met, even Gwendal, who could normally contain everything but anger and frustration. Captain von Bielefeld didn’t even show that.

Wolfram seemed just as uneasy around his father as the king was, making Yuuri wonder how often they’d seen one another throughout the years, and if Wolfram even knew anything about the man who’d given him life. The blond boy hardly looked at him, much less spoke to him, and seemed to want to avoid being in his presence as much as possible, awkward and unsure of himself whenever the scarred man was around, shy in a way that Yuuri had never seen before. In all the times Wolfgang had tried to converse with his son over the day, Wolfram had only replied with less than three word answers, never looking the older Bielefeld in the eye.

Celi had tried to sooth the awkwardness as much as possible, recounting a few of the good memories she’d had with her third husband, both before, during and after their marriage, sitting close to the man at every chance she got. It made Yuuri wonder why they’d broken up in the first place. Though it was difficult to tell with Wolfgang, the dark haired king thought it was pretty obvious that the two of them still had feelings for one another, even though the captain had left and Celi had gone on to other people. Maybe it wasn’t exactly love, but there was a friendship there, one that had not been broken with the end of their marriage.

Greta, also, had tried to make the situation less strained. His daughter had always been a friendly girl, and that charm and politeness didn’t stop for the estranged parent of her blond haired father. She’d taken to calling him ‘grandfather,’ which he seemed to enjoy, if the barely noticeable sparkle in his eye was any indication. She had no problems talking to him, and even though he didn’t always have a reply, he still listened as if what she said was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard, having more patients than his older brother.

But Yuuri desperately wanted to know more about the captain, wanted all of his questions answered, he just didn’t know who to ask. Why did Conrad seem to hate his step-father so much? Why had Wolfgang and Celi divorced? How had the man lost his right arm? What had he been doing during the war? What had Celi and Conrad been talking about when they’d mentioned Bastille?

It made his head hurt just thinking about it all, and he inadvertently groaned in frustration, heaving another sigh as he rolled over onto his left side.

He was more than a little surprised to see a pair of emerald eyes gazing back at him in curiosity, Wolfram laying so that he was facing him on the large king-sized bed. Normally the blond would be asleep this late into the night; he could fall into dreamland faster than anyone Yuuri had ever met, and he usually stayed there for the entirety of the night hours. Waking him up once he closed his eyes was almost impossible, as was keeping him on his side of the bed. It was rare for Wolfram to be wide awake at this hour, leading Yuuri to wonder if there was anything wrong with him.

“Can’t sleep?” his friend asked quietly, careful not to disturb the peacefulness brought on by the darkness.

“Yeah,” he replied just as softly. “I guess I’ve just got too many things on my mind.”

“Me, too,” Wolfram nodded slowly, understanding. “Sometimes I wish things didn’t have to be so hard,” he admitted, scooting a little closer to the other boy, though making sure he stayed far enough away so as to not invade his personal space. “Don’t you think life would be easier if we weren’t royalty?”

“Are you saying you’d rather be a commoner?” Yuuri wondered, quirking an eyebrow as he lefted himself up on one of his elbows, resting the side of his face in the palm of his hand. He found it hard to imagine Wolfram working the fields and not being provided he luxuries of castle life. “I’m sorry, Wolf, but you wouldn’t last a day out there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m incapable of picking crops and doing simple construction work?”

“It’s not always so simple, though,” the young king told him, shaking his head. “You have to worry about finances and stuff, and you wouldn’t have chefs to make your meals for you. You’d have to do all the cooking and cleaning on your own.”

“I can cook.”

Yuuri gave him a disbelieving look.

“Well... I could if I tried,” Wolfram amended, sniffing indignantly. “I’m a trained soldier. I know how to get by on my own.”

“But have you ever had to before? Have you ever been in that kind of situation without maids or guards or other soldiers there to help you?”

The blond was silent for a moment, glaring at him slightly, annoyed that he’d been corrected. “No,” he said, frowning.

“Then how do you know you can do it?”

“Because I do,” Wolfram replied, lifting his nose in the air as well as he could while lying down on his side.

Yuuri smiled at him. “You’re too high maintenance for that kind of life,” he said, nearly laughing at the affronted look that crossed his fiancé’s face.

“And what, pray tell, makes me so ‘high maintenance?’”

“All the primping and preening you do in the mornings,” he explained, his statement causing pale cheeks to flush, though he could hardly see it with only the moonlight providing any illumination. “Don’t think I don’t know how long you sit in front of the mirror. It’s almost as bad as a girl. You’re like a peacock.”

“What’s a ‘peacock?’” Wolfram asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s a kind of bird in my world with big, elaborate tail feathers. Sometimes the word is used to describe people who obsess over their looks.”

“I don’t obsess over them. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look nice,” his fiancé said. “And at least I look presentable most of the times, which is more than I can say about you. You dress like a slob, and then you always wrinkle your clothes or put stains on them with your awful eating habits. Maybe Günter should have spent more time instilling some proper etiquette into you.”

“Why should he waste his time when I’ve got you to constantly nag at me about it?” the king replied cheekily.

“I do not nag,” Wolfram was quick to deny.

“Oh, yes, you do.”

“I do not.”

“You do, too,” Yuuri insisted. “That, and you never know when to admit that you’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.”

The black haired young man got a good laugh out of that, rolling so that he returned to laying on his back as he continued to chuckle, deciding not to comment on his excessive egoism. “You’re really something else, you know that?” he said instead, calming himself down as the glanced up at the canopy again, his level of boredom decreasing as he found a source of amusement in his Mazoku friend.

When Wolfram refused to answer his question, Yuuri continued to speak. “But I can understand why you’d think life as a commoner would be easy,” he said. “When I first came here, I thought being king would be a peace of cake. I didn’t realize how much work was actually involved. It’s stressful, especially when no one listens to you because they think you’re too naive or stupid.”

Still Wolfram didn’t say anything in reply, and when Yuuri turned his head to the side to glance at him, hoping he hadn’t suddenly fallen asleep like he’d been known to do in mid-conversation before, the black haired boy was relieved to find that he was still awake. The other young man was simply staring at him, listening to him for once instead of cutting him off or trying to talk over him, giving his statement some serious thought. Yuuri wondered what was going on in his pretty blond head, frowning as he thought that it had become harder to read the emotions in his eyes since the night of their dispute.

He didn’t like not knowing what his fiancé was thinking or feeling. He’d been entirely truthful in what he’d said about Wolfram being the only one who was always completely honest with him. Wolfram usually had no problems with talking about certain situations or events, and would give his opinion about things whether someone asked for it or not. When Yuuri had first become king and he’d had all those questions about the war, Adalbert, and Stoffel, Wolfram had been the only one willing to give him any answers, and had only been prevented from doing so when his older brothers had ordered him to shut his mouth.

If there was one thing that annoyed Yuuri about his three advisors and the man who’d named him, it was their tendency to leave him in the dark about the past, about things that had happened before his birth that still affected them all in the present. He wasn’t asking them to tell him every little detail about the previous war and all it’s battles, but it would help if he were at least a little bit knowledgeable about that period in time. Günter had practically skipped right over it in their history lessons, spouting statistics about the number of those who’d died or been injured, before going on to lecture him about something else. He hadn’t known what had really happened until Gisela had told him about it after Hube had come back.

Now Wolfram was becoming just as evasive, just as tight-lipped and hush-hush as everyone else, falling silent in the middle of some of their conversations when he thought talk was going to turn to a subject that the others wouldn’t want them discussing. He was becoming less forceful, ceasing their bickering when he never would have let Yuuri win before, oddly quiet when he had once been loud and troublesome. The sudden change in the blond’s behavior made the demon king extremely uncomfortable, wishing Wolfram would yell at him or try to strangle him, anything to make things feel more ordinary.

“Hey, Wolf... can I ask you something?” he finally asked, growing sick and tired of being so clueless all the time. He figured the only way he’d get a straight answer now was if he voiced his curiosities, preferably when the two of them were alone so that no one was around to shush the other boy.

“What is it, wimp?” Wolfram replied, adding the taunt in there for the sake of sounding normal, when he didn’t sound as arrogant and condescending as he typically did when he let that tiny affectionate insult slip into his speech. He was still laying on his side, green eyes looking up at him warily, like he knew the king was about to ask him something he didn’t really want to think about, much less talk about.

“What exactly happened to your father’s arm?”

The full blooded Mazoku sighed heavily, lowering his head slightly so that he wouldn’t have to look at his fiancé, frowning as he thought of the man who was supposed to be his father.

He’d never felt right calling Wolfgang von Bielefeld ‘father.’ The sea captain had left he and his mother long ago; he didn’t have many memories of him, and the ones he had saddened him, because even when his paternal figure had dropped by the castle for a short visit, he’d always felt neglected. He’d never known what it was like to have a real father. Gwendal had often acted as a parent, perhaps to make up for what both he and Conrart had lost, but he knew that it just wasn’t the same, and that he was missing something that was important in the life of a young boy.

As a child, watching Conrart leave to go off on journeys with Dan Hiri had made Wolfram infinitely jealous, not only because his Little Big Brother had been leaving him, but because the brown haired boy was so obviously loved by his human parent and was able to spend time with him. Wolfram could count the times he’d been alone with his father on one hand, and all of those occurrences had been when he’d been very small, faint memories that were almost forgotten after all this time. His father had never tried to take him with him on his boat; he’d suggested the idea once, but had never followed through with it (though Wolfram imagined he would have been sick the entire time).

He knew that although he looked like his mother, he had his father’s personality, had inherited his temper, acted almost just like him... or, at least, the man he had once been. Captain von Bielefeld had changed so much over the years that the blond haired youth hardly recognized him, and felt unsure around him because of that. After the last war and everything that had happened directly after it, his father had become reclusive, hardly seen by anyone besides the men who served under him; he spent more time on his boat than he did on land. The last time Wolfram had seen him had been after he’d been injured, when his father had been taken to the castle in order to recover, shortly before Conrart had left for Earth.

Most of what had gone on at that time was nothing more than a blur to the blond, but he could remember looking in on his father and seeing how much pain he’d been in, both of the physical and the emotional sort. Mother had been distraught for days, sitting by her third husband’s bedside, holding the only hand he had left and soothing him as if they’d never divorced. It had been almost heartbreaking watching the two of them, and Wolfram had often found himself wondering what life would have been like if his father hadn’t left, if his father had actually loved him enough to stay.

“He was injured during a battle at the end of the war,” he said quietly, finally answering Yuuri’s question. “It was after Lutenberg, in a village just a few hours from here. The wound on his arm became infected, so it had to be amputated before it could spread.”

“Was it in Bastille?” the black haired young man continued to question, relieved that his fiancé had replied.

“Yes,” the blond slowly nodded, long lashes fluttering over green eyes as he closed them, pulling at the sheets and blankets so that they came up further, covering his shoulders. Talking about all of this made him cold suddenly, and brought awful pictures to his mind; a battle weary Gwendal, a mother in tears, a forlorn Julia, a wounded Conrart, an enraged and betrayed Adalbert, and a half dead, armless father, a ghost of the strong, hotheaded man he used to be.

The war with the humans wasn’t something he enjoyed looking back on. Certain parts, like Stoffel’s insistence on battle, von Grantz’s betrayal, and Geigen Huber’s folly he could speak of without any problems, but when it came to his family and all the things that he happened in each of their lives... those were memories he’d rather forget. He’d felt isolated back then, from his parents, from his brothers, and from the rest of the world. The feeling of helplessness had been with him constantly, causing him to curse his young age as he watched people he knew die or come back seriously injured, unable to do anything but stand by and watch. He’d been too young to fight, had been kept behind, sheltered and protected by stone walls and personal guards.

He knew very little of what had gone on out on the field, had only been told which battles they’d won and which they’d lost. The only thing he knew about Lutenberg was that Conrart and Yozak were the only survivors. The only thing he knew about Geigen Huber’s mistake was that it had resulted in the deaths of many, including Suzannah Julia, Wolfram’s tutor and Conrart’s close friend. And the only thing he knew about Bastille was that his father had inevitably lost his arm, and more than a dozen traitors had been killed. Slaughtered, some said, but such information had been kept from the youngest son of the former queen.

“What happened there?” Yuuri asked anyway, unaware of how little his friend had actually been told.

“I don’t know,” Wolfram said, his voice small in the darkness of their bedroom. “No one ever told me. It wasn’t something that people discussed, and there aren’t many people who know exactly what happened, besides the fact that many men were killed. During the trial, Mother sent me to Castle Spitzweg so that I wouldn’t be caught up in all the madness. She didn’t let me back until after it was over. After that, my father went off, and he hasn’t been to the capital since... not until now.”

“Oh,” was Yuuri’s response, black eyes peering up again, feelings discouraged by Wolfram’s answer. What the hell did he have to do to get some information around here? “So then why doesn’t Conrad like him? Because of what happened there? Or is there another reason?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” the blond wondered. “You think he’d actually tell me why he hates my father?”

“I suppose not,” the king said with a sigh. “But Conrad doesn’t really like talking about him, and every time I ask him something he doesn’t give me a straight answer. He hides too many things from me.”

“So you ask me?”

“I thought you might know a little more, since you are his son.”

“I don’t know what it means to be that man’s son,” Wolfram grumbled, keeping his eyes closed so that Yuuri couldn’t see the hurt within them, the longing he had to be accepted by someone who was supposed to love him. “He never cared to act like my father. He cares more about the sea and his damn boat than he does about me,” he explained dejectedly. “My family isn’t like yours. We have too many problems to act like a real family should.”

Yuuri was silent for a moment, thinking everything over, listening to the bitterness in his friend’s voice as he spoke, wishing he could do something to take the hurt away, but knowing that this wasn’t a problem that could be solved easily.

He was starting to feel as if he didn’t really know Wolfram, like all he’d seen so far, his selfish attitude and demanding nature, was just the beginning of who the blond boy really was. Looking at him, it was easy to forget how long he’d been alive, how many years it had been since he’d been born. At nearly eighty-six, Wolfram didn’t look a day over sixteen or seventeen. Sometimes he acted even younger than that, sometimes older, could be playful and childish one minute, and then mature and in charge the very next.

He looked young, too young to be in the army, too young to have gone through all that he had, too young to be expected to go along with everything now without any complaints. Now Yuuri could see that although he was an adult according to Mazoku law, his fiancé was still very much a child, or an adolescent rather, struggling through this period in his life as best as he could, but still depending on his mother’s love and his older brothers’ guidance, wanting their approval and acceptance more than anything. He tried so hard to be as strong and as skilled as his two brothers, followed their lead and emulated everything that they did in the hopes that he could be like them, instead of being his own person.

Yuuri felt bad for him, wished that things could have been different, that his friend could have had a normal life, without all the hardships he’d had to face over the years. He could see just by looking at Wolfram now that the blond had a lot of insecurities, had seen them before but hadn’t really thought much of them. It made him feel guilty for not even noticing, for thinking nothing of it, and for putting the boy through this when it obviously made him feel worse. Since the night the wedding had been announced, Wolfram hadn’t even tried to hide it, let it show without thinking of holding back.

“Do you hate your father?” Yuuri suddenly inquired. He didn’t know why he’d asked that besides the fact that he was curious. He knew Wolfram’s relationship with his father was not something to speak of lightly, but he wanted the blond to open up to him more, wanted to know everything about him so that he wasn’t so confused by his thoughts and feelings anymore.

“I don’t know him enough to love or hate,” Wolfram said, before he was rolling over onto his other side, hiding his face from the other young man.

“Wolf-”

“Stop, Yuuri,” came the quiet demand, stopping him before he could say any more. “I’m tired. I just want to sleep.”

Yuuri knew he was lying, but he didn’t say anything, just fell silent again with another heavy sigh. There were still so many things he didn’t know, about his fiancé, about his people, about the past, and he wondered if there would ever come a day when he found out what everyone was hiding from him, or if things would continue as they were, with them all lost in the darkness.

TBC...

A/N: So anyway… the wedding is almost here. After that, things should start to pick up a bit. That’s not to say that the story will move any faster than it is now (or that I’ll update more frequently), but the relationship will begin to develop a little more. A little, nothing too serious too soon. Yuuri’s still being a wimp. :P But then I don’t think he’s the kind of person who’d say “I love you” until he’s a hundred percent sure that he means it (which could be quite a while).

A lot happened in this chapter, even if it doesn’t seem so. I don’t want to say this chapter is a turning point or something like that, but the first half with Gwendal and the Aristocrats is very important to everything that’ll be happening later on. The Aristocrats were a problem in and of themselves, but Gwendal beginning to stray away from Yuuri is a big deal. That, and I’ve further elaborated on the issue concerning Shimeron, and somewhat introduced the kingdom of Isidore (Yes, I made it up), which will come in a little later.

As I go along, especially as I’m writing out all of the chapters that haven’t been typed up yet, I’m finding a few songs that help set the mood a little more. The main one is the instrumental version of Ling (Zero), which is the theme song of the live action version of the manga MARS, which was made in Taiwan (I haven’t seen the whole series yet, but what I have seen so far has been absolutely amazing! I love it! And the guy who plays Rei - or Ling, which is his name in the Taiwanese version - is sooooo cute!!). I really like the song, both the version that plays at the beginning of each episode and the instrumental version, which I’ve been listening to a lot whenever I’m writing a Yuuri/Wolfram scene. There’s just so much longing an hopefulness in it that I think it fits how Wolfram is feeling, and will be feeling for a majority of this fic - of course that’s just my interpretation; different people hear different things in music.

Bleh, I feel like I’m talking too much. Oh well, I suppose it’s better to do all my talking at the end of the chapter rather than the beginning.