Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

Bloom	By : chayron Category: +G to L > Kyou Kara Maou Views: 9093 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Kyou Kara Maou! It belongs to its respective owners. This fan fiction is not a commercial project, and I'm not making any money from writing it.

Chapter List
- 1-Bloom
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 8-Part 8
- 9-Part 9
- 10-Part 10
- 11-Part 11
- 12-Part 12
- 13-Part 13
- 14-Part 14
- 15-Part 15
- 16-Part 16
- 17-Part 17
- 18-Part 18
- 19-Part 19
- 20-Part 20
- 21-Part 21
- 22-Part 22
- 23-Part 23
- 24-Part 24
- 25-Part 25
- 26-Part 26
- 27-Part 27
- 28-Part 28
- 29-Part 29
- 30-Part 30
- 31-Part 31
- 32-Part 32
- 33-Part 33
- 34-Part 34
- 35-Part 35
- 36-Part 36
- 37-Part 37
- 38-Part 38
- 39-Part 39
- 40-Part 40
- 41-Part 41
- 42-Part 42
- 43-Part 43
- 44-Part 44
- 45-Part 45
- 46-Part 46
- 47-Part 47
- 48-Part 48
- 49-Part 49
- 50-Part 50
- 51-Part 51
- 52-Part 52
- 53-Part 53
- 54-Part 54
- 55-Part 55
- 56-Part 56
- 57-Part 57
- 58-Part 58
- 59-Part 59
- 60-Part 60
- 61-Part 61
- 62-Part 62
- 63-Part 63
- 64-Part 64
- 65-Part 65
- 51
- 52
- 53
Disclaimer: I don’t own Kyou Kara Maou! – It belongs to its respective owners. This fan fiction is not a commercial project, and I’m not making any money from writing it.
Warnings: yaoi (male x male), violence, swearing, angst, drama. Wolfram-centric, out of character, original character.
Summary: With Yuuri’s upcoming birthday, Wolfram makes his decision. Where will it lead him and what is to become of them? Should eventually be Yuuri x Wolfram.
A/N 1: Yuuri – 18 years old. Wolfram – 21. Eldara – 32. Halea – 20. Athara – 18. Gwendal – 54.
A/N 2: Greta doesn’t exist.
A/N 3: European/American/Japanese standards all at once depending on the plot requirements.
A/N 4: A tendency to ignore the anime/manga and supplement the story with my own imagined facts.
A/N 5: Season III is not taken into consideration, except for the fact that Wolfram’s uncle exists.
A/N 6: The umlaut in Gunter’s name is a bother.
Bloom
by chayron (lttomb@yahoo.com), beta-read by Anonymously Awesome
Part 52
Wolfram watched Yuuri’s profile while thinking about what exactly and how he should draw. The king was sitting in the chair opposite the easel, staring at him with hopeful, expectant eyes. Shibuya didn’t look the tiniest bit regal. If not for his black hair and black jacket one would think that he was just a common young man.
Wasn’t that actually the point?
Wolfram sighed.
Mistaking the sigh for disapproval, Yuuri combed his hair with his fingers then turned this and that way on the chair, trying out a few different poses.
“How should I sit?”
The blond gave him a look and let out another frustrated sigh. “Turn my way,” he instructed. “No. A bit more to the side. Right. How about you take your jacket off? Or is it too cool in the room?”
The idea seemed to please the king. He started unbuttoning his black jacket. A little self-conscious of Wolfram’s eyes on him, Yuuri shrugged it off and draped it over the back of his chair. He turned back to Wolfram and smiled awkwardly.
“Lean against the backrest. Yes, like that. Straighten your shoulders. Put your hands on your lap. No, the right one on the armrest. Yes, like that. Chin up. No, don’t cross your legs. Good. Chin up.”
Yuuri suddenly acquired a secret, and very questionable, desire that Wolfram would continue with his instructions until he was hard and naked. That would be incredibly embarrassing but also very exciting. When nothing of the sort happened, Yuuri even felt somewhat disappointed.
Oblivious to the king’s over-active imagination, Wolfram was making the first dabs and brushstrokes. His hand felt heavy on the canvas; awkward and scratchy. Despite everything, the usual sense of satisfaction and fulfillment started overtaking the blond. The dabs and brushes started organizing themselves into clusters of recognizable shapes.
Silently, Yuuri watched him work. He was aware that this time it felt completely different to how it had years ago. Back then he couldn’t wait for Wolfram to finish with his experimenting, now he wished for the amazingly green eyes to linger on him longer. Wolfram was probably aware of this as he soon stopped looking at him almost entirely.
“Are you drawing me from memory?” Yuuri wondered.
Wolfram’s striking eyes set on him with a somewhat amused look in them. “Yes, mostly.”
Yuuri motioned at the painting. “Can I…?”
“No. Not until I finish.”
Yuuri pouted slightly but stayed in his chair.
Wolfram kept painting and it was quiet in the room with neither him nor Yuuri speaking. The king watched von Bielefeld curiously, wondering whether he was really in love with him. He certainly felt like he was, but he didn’t know anything about love.
Did it even matter, though?
The king’s stare felt heavy and it unnerved Wolfram. “You can’t buy my affection with gifts,” he muttered.
“Can’t I? They do please you though, don’t they?”
The king was certain of this, and it annoyed Wolfram that he was right. “They do, yes,” he admitted. “But your attitude doesn’t. So stop it, please.”
Yuuri hummed under his breath. “Stop what? The attitude or the gifts?” he asked.
“Both. Stop them.”
The king let out another hum without giving either confirmation or refusal. Von Bielefeld couldn’t decide whether he felt more annoyed or pleased. He still couldn’t get used to Yuuri’s assertiveness. He had never expected that Yuuri could be so firm and insistent concerning his romantic interests. Wolfram, however, knew that Yuuri wouldn’t act so recklessly and self-assuredly if he weren’t certain that his feelings were, at least on some level, reciprocated. Yuuri was certain that there was nothing to lose, all that mattered was time. He was probably right too. This annoyed Wolfram.
“You’ve always taken me for granted,” he said. There was no anger in his voice just resignation. “Even now.”
Yuuri gave him a searching look. “It’s… I do know that you like me, but… I can only hope to redeem myself and make you think that it’s worth a second chance. I want you to trust me. It’s… I’m not as brave as I’m trying to appear. But I… I can only push now. If I don’t, you won’t even consider me, right?”
Wolfram didn’t know what to answer as, again, the king was right.
“I will probably leave in a few weeks.”
“The hell you will,” Yuuri said stubbornly, making Wolfram laugh.
“Oh, I’m definitely going to.”
“We’ll see.”
“You can’t stop me, Yuuri.”
“Don’t challenge me, Wolfram,” the king warned him seriously.
Wolfram gave him a look. “But it’s you who are challenging me.”
Yuuri chuckled. “Yeah, true.”
Wolfram was still drawing almost without looking at him. It was disappointing as the king had expected to receive much more attention. Wolfram either had his face set in his memory or was drawing triangles and cubes again, which was fine since the blond seemed to be very inspired, the brush not ceasing to move for more than a second.
When the smell of the turpentine became too sharp, Wolfram went to open a window.
“Can I take a look?” Yuuri asked again.
“No, it’s not finished.”
Wolfram returned to the easel and took up the brush again. The light evening breeze ruffled the curtains, passed them and flew over both of their heads then farther into the room to play with the slightly wilted bouquet on the table.
Wolfram painted for another twenty minutes then announced a break until tomorrow. Yuuri repeated his wish to see the painting again, but it was declined. Nonetheless, he caught a glimpse of it while Wolfram was cleaning up his workplace.
It was a splendid, albeit unfinished, landscape with himself in the foreground.
“Is this how you see me?” Yuuri asked while pointing at his body in the painting. It was sprouting a donkey’s head.
From where he was arranging the brushes, Wolfram spared the painting a look. “Yep.”
“With a donkey’s head? Why?” Yuuri wondered.
“Because you’re stupidly stubborn.”
“The same can be said about you. Besides, it’s treason to talk like that about your king.”
“Then put me in the dungeon.”
Yuuri took another look at the unfinished painting. It was promising. “I will hang it in my study once it’s done.”
“You can’t. Your reputation will suffer if it’s seen by other nobility.”
“In my bedroom, then,” Yuuri promised.
Wolfram rolled his eyes. Yuuri’s reaction was no fun. “We can just start on another one,” he proposed.
“Why? I like this one – it’s funny.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Never mind.”
Yuuri watched the blond cleaning and arranging his brushes to dry. It took him several minutes to clear up.
“Shall we go have dinner?” he asked, standing up, leaning on the crutch.
“Yes, but… Wolfram, you…”
The king suddenly moved forward, and, surprised, Wolfram stepped back. He stumbled and nearly fell, but Yuuri grabbed his upper arm to steady him. The blond winced in pain when his weight fell on his injured leg. Yuuri tried to steady the blond by pulling him forward, and Wolfram ended up in his embrace. The blond shifted uncomfortably, pushing himself away from Yuuri, trying to regain his balance.
Even though he sensed Wolfram’s discomfort, Yuuri didn’t let go. Moments like this made him wonder which one of them acted more virginally. With an inward sigh, he lowered his hand to Wolfram’s waist to still him.
“Wolfram.”
The amazingly green eyes concentrated on the king’s face with caution, waiting.
Yuuri’s head leaned forward, the green eyes now reflecting alarm. Yuuri’s lips stopped just a fraction from Wolfram’s. “You’ve got green paint on your forehead,” he whispered.
The blond stared at him. “You asshole,” he said a few moments later.
The king chuckled, leaning away. “What? Disappointed?”
“Let go of me!” Wolfram demanded, pushing himself away from Yuuri. He nearly fell over again but smacked at Yuuri’s hands when he tried to steady him.
“Don’t be such a kid.”
Wolfram’s eyes exploded into a nova. “How am I a kid? It’s you who…”
Yuuri nodded in a demonstrative way. “Yes? Me who…?” he encouraged when the blond fell silent.
“You who… Oh, piss off!” Wolfram spat angrily.
He turned around and stomped along towards the nightstand at the bed to look for a clean handkerchief in one of the drawers. Yuuri watched him sit down on the bed for convenience while he ransacked the drawers. The bag with the wooden cock was just an arm’s reach away from the blond. Yuuri realized that, despite all common sense, it annoyed him.
“Wolfram?”
“What do you want now?” the blond grunted without lifting his eyes from the drawer; he was going through the last of them and, unless some handkerchiefs had gotten lost amongst his underwear and socks, it seemed that there were none.
“Do you like him?”
“Who? Eldara? Yes, I do. I told you that before.”
“He’s sleeping with your brother.”
“Which one?”
Yuuri glared at him. “You know perfectly well which one.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t get it. Isn’t it…? I don’t know…unnatural?”
“What is?”
Yuuri threw his hands apart. “Him sleeping with your brother!”
“Rather, I think you mean that it is more unnatural that it is Gwendal who is sleeping with him.”
“That too,” Yuuri agreed. “That’s just plain weird!”
“Is it?”
“Yes! Isn’t it… I don’t know…disturbing, unnatural?”
“You’re repeating yourself. It would be more disturbing if Gwendal and I slept together. Listen, have you got a handkerchief on you? I seem to have run out of them.”
Yuuri patted his pockets then fished one out of his trousers. “I haven’t used it,” he said, noticing Wolfram giving it a suspicious look.
“Good,” the blond said taking it. He dabbed it into a glass of water that stood on the nightstand. He wrung it out and started rubbing his forehead with it.
Yuuri walked over to him. “You’ve left a spot here,” he said, pointing at the blond’s forehead.
With a displeased smack of his lips Wolfram handed over the handkerchief to the younger man. Yuuri wiped at the spot. The paint resisted, and he pressed harder.
“Ow.”
“Mm… I think it’s coming off.”
“What? My forehead?”
“You complain an awful lot. Almost clear. You know, I do love you.”
Wolfram looked up at him from behind the handkerchief. “So you think.”
“Yes, I think I do. I believe so.”
In silence, Yuuri finished wiping the blond’s forehead. He dropped the handkerchief into the glass. The water splashed a little on the nightstand. He bent over again, leaning forward. Surprisingly, Wolfram didn’t pull back, and he pressed his lips against the blond’s. It was different from the last time. It was gentle, soft. He was still desperate, but there was no urgency or anger this time. His hand slid into the mop of blond hair and he ruffled it, enjoying the richness and thickness of it.
With his hand still on the back of Wolfram’s head, Yuuri leaned away to look at his face. The blond seemed to be somewhat surprised and cautious, but he didn’t appear to be put off. The king leaned in for another kiss and, this time, Wolfram’s lips parted for him.
Yuuri wasn’t any more skilled than he had been before. Wolfram still found it endearing. What attracted him most to Yuuri was probably his honesty. There was just something about that naïve honesty that kept constantly flooring him. It annoyed him often as well but, most likely, it was only because he was envious of it. One just couldn’t survive in the world with that kind of mindset. And yet, Yuuri kept proving everyone wrong. He survived, he thrived. Not without outside help, of course, but still. Wasn’t that even more amazing?
Wolfram was answering his kiss. What’s more, he was putting his strength into it, encouraging him, teaching him. Yuuri’s hold on the back of the blond’s head had turned into a grip while he was trying to catch the other man’s every breath and sigh. He was still bent over while the blond was sitting on the bed and it was uncomfortable. The king drew closer, forward and rested one knee on the bed while his other, half-bent, was in between the blond’s thighs.
A few moments later Yuuri realized that the noise in the room, which he had become aware of at some point, was the sounds of them kissing: wet, smacking, slurping sounds. That excited him even more. He was getting hard and had no doubts that Wolfram was enjoying this no less. He could have checked but was reluctant to pull away in case the blond was to regain his senses; there was no need to rush it when everything was going so well.
The king was pushing him backwards, into the bedding and mattress. The maneuver was careful and masked behind gentleness but was unmistakable. Wolfram had resisted at first but after experiencing kiss after convincing kiss, he quickly forgot why he had been resisting when it felt so good.
Climbing farther onto the bed, Yuuri pushed the blond down onto the mattress. They kept kissing, and Wolfram was still in the lead but now that he had the blond trapped underneath him, he felt more confident. He leaned more of his weight on the other man while supporting the rest of it with his left arm and leg. His free hand slid south, fumbled a little with the blond’s tucked shirt then slid underneath it. Maybe his progress was too hurried as Wolfram started and broke the kiss.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he muttered.
“Trying to get to the stage you and von Ashira were at when I found you two.”
Yuuri was obviously serious. Wolfram stared up at him with unmistakable lust in his emerald eyes but it was soon covered by no less obvious reluctance.
“No.”
Yuuri chuckled, the sound self-content, filled with lust. He leaned forward to issue another kiss, and Wolfram found that he wasn’t able to refuse it. A moment later, Yuuri leaned away.
“You do realize that you aren’t being very convincing, don’t you?” he said looking at the sight in front of him. He wished to burn it into his memory: Wolfram’s flushed face, swollen lips, glistening with saliva, the obvious bulge in his trousers. Yuuri felt drunk off his own power – it was him who had put Wolfram in such a state. He had made Wolfram want him. Badly at that.
The king’s hand slid under the blond’s shirt again. It was caught in an iron grip, anger now appearing on Wolfram’s face.
“I said ‘no’!”
Yuuri gave him a questioning look, but the blond appeared to be dead-serious, and he removed his hand; making Wolfram angry with him wasn’t part of his plan. He was disappointed. Silently, he stared down at Wolfram then blinked slowly, once, twice. Uncertain, Wolfram shifted when the king leaned down again. Instead of kissing him, though, Yuuri whispered into his ear: “Playing coy? Really? After we have witnessed you being thoroughly plowed by von Ashira? I find that does not make much sense, Wolfram.”
The words were permeated both with lust and laughter but they were overshadowed with obvious discontent. Wolfram turned his head to stare at the younger man in surprise. “Yuuri?”
“No.”
Soundlessly, waiting, Wolfram continued to stare up at the king. He had faced Shinou a few times before, but it had never been personal or up close like this. He had no idea how to act. Not until the king’s hand palmed him through his trousers.
The king let out a surprised shriek when his back hit the floorboards next to the bed, barely avoiding conking his head.
“I told you to stop that,” Wolfram said, looking at him from the bed. He wasn’t certain who he was talking to, but that didn’t make any difference.
Shinou blinked at him in disbelief then summoned his elements while, at the same time, blocked the connection between Wolfram and his. The blond cried out when an invisible force slammed into him, plastering him to the mattress.
“That’s really brave of you!” the blond hissed after he had failed to summon his fire element. “That’s what one calls a fair fight, isn’t it?”
Shinou, who had climbed back into the bed, gave him a surprised look. “I have no intention to fight you.”
“Then what do you call this?!”
“This is self-defense.” Wolfram sputtered in indignation, and Shinou chuckled. “You will have to forgive me my impudence as it gets unbearably dull and lonely existing between the Temple and Shibuya’s mind.” He reached out to the blond again, but his hand faltered at the scintillating look in the green eyes.
“I’ll hit you,” Wolfram warned even though he was barely able to move.
“Hit me and you hit Shibuya,” Shinou said with a soft, mocking smile.
“He deserves it for not being able to control you,” Wolfram spat.
The Original King stared at the blond. He was both enraged and impressed. No one had ever dared to speak to him like that.
“I cannot be controlled…not by Shibuya nor anyone else,” he hissed. With satisfaction, he noted the emerald eyes widen in alarm. They widened even more when he reached out to brush over his left cheek. He wished to tell von Bielefeld that it was futile to struggle, that he was his already. That, however, would have resulted in even more prideful struggles and countless attempts to escape. Von Bielefeld was too proud for his own good.
“Do not worry,” Shinou said instead. “Shibuya and I, we have an agreement. It is not my intention to cause you any harm.”
“Then what do you want?” Wolfram asked without any signs of being relieved.
“Want…” Shinou repeated thoughtfully. There were many things he wanted. He stroked the blond’s cheek again. He could sense confusion and anger swirling in von Bielefeld’s mind. “You paint yourself a great victim,” he said. “Unrequited love, drama, tragedy. Such a noble and beautiful, such a snobbish suffering. Why does it have to be so pompous?”
“It’s not pompous and I’m not pretending!” Wolfram protested angrily. “Will you stop touching me finally?!”
“No, I do not think that you are pretending. I do, however, believe that you are wallowing in your gallant suffering and inspire yourself to remain doing so for years to come. That is the truth, is it not? Have you, however, thought about Shibuya’s drama? His insecurities and responsibilities, his guilt? Don’t you think he has had his fair share of them as well? I dare say even more than you, Wolfram.
“Now he is attempting to mend the harm he has done to you. Is it not meaningless to resist him when you want him so much?” He emphasized his words by squeezing Wolfram’s now almost soft penis, making the blond let out a row of unclear, indescribable sounds of anger and threats.
“Stop it! It’s too late now!”
Shinou laughed unpleasantly, the voice hard, irritated. “Too late? Neither you nor Shibuya are dead. All that comes from your mouth are disgraceful excuses. This is your pride and stubbornness talking.”
Wolfram glared at him. Even if it was so, it was none of Shinou’s business. “So what is this all about?” Wolfram wondered. “Do you want to warn me? To intimidate me?”
“To make you change your mind.”
Wolfram’s eyebrows rose. Shinou was either an arrogant prick or didn’t know him at all. He laughed. “You think that by threatening me you will make me stay with Shibuya? Let me assure you that this will only bring the opposite result.”
“That was not a threat.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“Insolent prick.”
At least their thoughts concerning each other matched. Wolfram glared at the king. “Why should I stay with a man whose mind is as changeable as weather and who has no control over another man in his head? The one who thinks that he can do with me as he pleases.”
Shinou’s eyes turned dark. “How dare you speak to me like this? I am your king!”
“No. Shibuya of Shin Makoku is my king. You…you are the past. He is the present. Why do you still interfere?”
Shinou stared at him, enraged, stunned, hurt. “I ought to kill you.”
“Leave Shibuya to his own devices. He’s not a kid anymore who needs to be led by hand. Do you think he will be pleased to hear about you threatening me to stay with him? Whatever agreement you two have between yourselves, this is definitely crossing the line.”
“I am not threatening you,” Shinou repeated.
“You have just threatened to kill me.”
“I will not.”
Shinou stared at the blond quietly, not saying anything else. Von Bielefeld was cunning. He was also right. Only…where would it leave him? Dormant for the rest of Shibuya’s existence? Sleepwalking in the Temple until the day he was reborn? He didn’t like the idea. He was a thing of the past indeed, but he wasn’t dead. Neither was he alive. That was the problem.
Wolfram suddenly felt the pressure disappear off his body. The look in the king’s eyes had changed as well.
Shinou was gone.
Yuuri blinked at Wolfram uncertainly while his mind was trying to piece together the missing information. To his relief, he found that both he and Wolfram were still dressed. Nonetheless, something about the way Wolfram was looking at him told him that something serious had just transpired.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing,” Wolfram said. He looked around for his crutch and slid off the bed. He tucked his shirt back into his trousers and picked up his crutch. “Let’s go have dinner. I’m starving.”
Disbelieving, Yuuri watched him move towards the door. “Hey!” he called at the blond’s back. “Goddamit, will you stop?!” he called again when Wolfram didn’t react. “What the hell did he do?!”
_ _ _
“I’m really, really sorry,” Conrart said.
Gwendal sighed. “I know you are. Let’s hope his arm heals without any complications.”
Conrart stood up to pour himself a glass of water. He sat down back into the chair opposite Gwendal’s desk and emptied it in two large gulps.
“I don’t even want to know what happened this time, but it’s Gurrier’s fault again, isn’t it?”
Conrart let out a long sigh, filled with regret. He didn’t even have the strength to feel ashamed. It had been the first time that he had let anger consume him during a spar. A morning spar with Yozak was a daily routine. Like every morning, Yozak showed up fresh and crisp just as always, full of jokes and good humor. As if nothing had happened. As if nothing had ever been happening. And that did it. The spar had turned into a fight. He had no idea he could feel so much anger and resentment. He had somehow broken Yozak’s arm. Not intentionally, but he had kept pushing Yozak until there was a snap.
“It’s no one’s fault,” Conrart said finally.
“Why don’t you travel back to Kardera?” The astonishment on his brother’s face was so evident that it made von Voltaire throw his hands apart. “What?”
“You’re suggesting I go after Ine? Really?”
“And why not? From what I heard he’s a perfectly fine man. And anyone is better than Gurrier, to be honest.”
“That’s just plain insulting.”
“But true.”
Conrart sighed again.
“One day you’ll end up killing each other. Go to Kardera and forget him.”
“Are you certain you’re qualified to give advice? Wolfram is probably still angry with you for sleeping with von Ashira.”
Gwendal’s eyebrows rose. Against all his hopes, it seemed that his fling with the duke was a well-established fact that everyone was aware of. It was going to come up in many conversations. Oh, well, it didn’t really matter.
“If he were, my study or chambers would have already been set on fire. Wolfram isn’t very subtle in expressing his anger, as we both know.”
Conrart squeezed out a smile. “Indeed.” He suddenly lowered his head into his hands. “Ahhrhh… I’m sorry. I…” He looked up at his brother again. “To be honest, I don’t even like Ine that much. Besides, von Ashira is looking for a bride for him.”
“Oh. That’s news to me.”
“Yeah…”
“What are his thoughts on that?”
“I don’t care what his thoughts are, Gwendal. Yozak just pissed me off! I can’t do this anymore!”
“I know you can’t. I was asking about Ine.”
“Will you stop that? I couldn’t care less about Ine!”
Gwendal rolled his eyes. “Right.” It seemed that Conrart was about to be hit by another fit of hysterical aggression. Conrart needed a break. “I want to propose a plan,” von Voltaire said.
Conrart grunted angrily. “Oh really?”
“Yes. A very simple one. Break up with him and go away to get over him. Then find yourself a decent man.”
Conrart clapped his hands in malevolent glee. “Sounds awfully familiar! Really, where have I heard that before? Hasn’t exactly worked out, has it?”
“It actually has.”
Conrart gave him a questioning look but Gwendal raised both of his hands to stop him from going there. “Let’s just concentrate on one thing at a time.”
“What if he follows me?”
“Do you want him to?”
Conrart glared at him.
“He won’t if he does not know where you’ve gone.”
“The funny thing is that he probably hates me now anyway. All this talk is useless.”
Gwendal’s palm rose to his forehead while his mouth bit back a curse. “Just break up with him. It’s the perfect opportunity. Just end it finally. You have already apologized to him for the accident. Now just take your horse and get the hell out of the castle and that will be the end of it. Return in a few months, I’ll send him on a mission somewhere. You won’t see his face or hear about him for quite a while.”
“Alright.”
Gwendal stared at him, not certain whether Conrart was pulling his leg or not. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Splendid.”
TBC
- 51
- 52
- 53
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Bloom