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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
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 – 20.
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 HARPG0
Part 7
Wolfram slept during the first two days. The duke had been informed that he had woken up a few times to eat and to go to the bathroom, but, otherwise, he simply slept, just as the doctor had said. On the third day, the nurse came to Eldara to report that von Bielefeld had woken up and was very agitated.
“Right,” said the duke, putting a chicken wing aside. He brushed a napkin over his lips and then wiped his fingers with it. “First thing he does after waking up is disturb my meal. This is definitely a good sign.”
Halea rolled her eyes. “It’s not that he chose to…”
“I know, Halea,” the duke sighed, standing up. “What I meant is rather different. Now he will probably demand I bring him home at once. And then, he will complain to me how unsatisfactory the service is and how he finds his bed uncomfortable.”
“Most definitely,” Athara agreed. “He’s exactly the type you described.”
Eldara gave his youngest sibling a questioning look. “Do you know him well?”
His brother shrugged. “Not really. Both of us studied at the Military Academy at the same time. But he is older and we were in different years and separate groups.”
“I see.”
“I also remember that he was very good at his studies. However,” Athara continued, “as far as I remember, he has always had a very explosive character. Literally. He despises Humans, too.”
“Ah,” the duke said, frowning. “Combining these features doesn’t bring me much joy.”
Athara nodded. “Exactly. But despising Humans was a part of contemporary fashion one followed in order to fit in, so maybe…” he drawled, leaving it hanging.
“Alright. Tell the servants not to clear the table off just in case I’m not gone for long. Then again, after seeing von Bielefeld, I might lose my appetite altogether.”
“I’m confident that won’t happen,” Halea said.
Grinning, Athara looked at his sister. “She certainly likes him.”
“Yes, I was thinking that since this opportunity has already presented itself, I should just marry them off.”
“If it’s you, dear brother, then I’m certain that you will succeed,” said Athara saluting the duke with his wineglass. Mixed together with playfulness, there was certain bitterness in his words, which didn’t elude Eldara’s ears.
Halea sighed. “And nobody has asked me if I want to marry him.”
“Certainly you do!” Athara exclaimed. “Who doesn’t? He’s rich, influential, handsome, and young!”
“Careful, Halea,” the duke warned. “It seems you have a rival here.”
“You know I prefer women,” Athara said. “Pity, though. He is a great catch.”
“I should get going before your great catch falls asleep again.”
When the duke entered the room where von Bielefeld was currently residing, it struck him that the blond’s overall condition looked much better. He was sitting upright in the bed with his back leaning against the headboard. He wasn’t so ghastly pale anymore. His hair was still a horrific sight, though, and the duke figured he knew what one of Wolfram’s immediate requests was going to be.
The duke nodded politely. “Your Highness. How do you feel?”
Wolfram was obviously relieved to finally see someone who could speak his language but now was looking at Eldara, trying to remember where he had seen him.
“We have met at His Majesty Yuuri Shibuya’s birthday party, Sir. I think that was about three months ago. I’m Eldara von Ashira,” Eldara introduced himself with a light bow of his head. “The Duke of Raizgad.”
Recognition lit up Wolfram’s face but now he looked mildly startled. “I’m in Kardera?”
“Yes, Sir,” Eldara confirmed. The blond’s alarmed eyes set on his face. Eldara could see that his pupils were of slightly different sizes. He hadn’t noticed this before; must be an aftereffect of the concussion.
“Your Grace,” Wolfram muttered, suddenly remembering his manners. The next question, though, made the duke smile tersely: “Am I a prisoner?”
“No, Sir. You are a patient,” the duke accentuated. Then, he thought that he was being rude and unfair to Wolfram. The blond was suffering from a concussion, had just woken up without understanding where he was and, of course, was a little panicky, not really thinking about what he was saying. Besides, there were sufficient grounds for von Bielefeld’s suspicions – he had, in fact, debated with himself about allowing his soldiers to cut Wolfram’s throat right there on the coast.
Seeing that, as predicted, this was going to take long, the duke went to the table in the middle of the room and took one of the four chairs. He carried it over to Wolfram’s bed and, after the blond gave a quick nod, seated himself. The entire time, the blond had kept quiet, waiting for further explanations.
“Sir can travel home whenever he wishes,” Eldara said softly, hopeful that his calm tone would help dissipate Wolfram’s fears. “However, due to a serious concussion, the doctor advises as much rest as possible for the next few weeks. No physical exercise either. It would be in Sir’s best interests to rest and heal.”
Wolfram didn’t look very convinced but seemed to relax somewhat. He touched himself on the forehead. His fingers prodded the bruise gently. He scratched his head. It was obvious that he knew that at least the part about his concussion was true.
“I…” Wolfram muttered, “I have to write home, Your Grace. To inform them about what happened.”
Eldara wasn’t certain if he should applaud the youth’s mistrustfulness or be annoyed by it. “I hope I will be forgiven, Sir. I have already written to your brother, His Highness Gwendal von Voltaire. I informed him about your health condition and your current location.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Eldara knew what was going to be the blond’s next question and, thus, decided to hurry it up: “I sent the letter the day before yesterday and we haven’t received the reply yet. It should come in five or six days if the sea is calm.”
“Oh.” Wolfram could not see the duke’s face very well. The man had purposely chosen to sit next to the window and the low, afternoon sun prevented Wolfram from seeing his eyes. It was hard for Wolfram to gauge his reactions. “Then may I take the advantage of your hospitality, Your Grace?”
“Certainly, Sir.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. If I could make one more request…”
“You are my most honored guest, Your Highness. There is no request you can’t make.”
Wolfram gave the duke a strained smile, making the duke realize that von Bielefeld knew these pompous formalities between them did not give him any reason to think he was very welcome here. This made Eldara grin inwardly.
“I am very grateful, Your Grace. I would like to take a bath.”
The duke nodded. “Certainly, Sir.” He stood up. “I’ll tell the servants right away,” he said, going for the door. He couldn’t see Wolfram giving his back a thoughtful look while he was talking to the guard at the door.
“I’m sorry about your bed, Your Grace,” Wolfram added when the duke returned to his seat. Now the blond was wary that there were guards at this door. This went both ways – he was either guarded from danger or from being dangerous to someone. “I’m not exactly…hmm…sanitary,” he explained as the duke gave him a puzzled look.
“A hot bath can do wonders, Sir,” the duke said, deciding to be courteous once again and not to inform the blond that he smelled a great deal as well.
“Your Grace, the maid who was here doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Isn’t there anyone who speaks at least one of Shin Makoku dialects?”
“She is not a maid, Your Highness,” the duke corrected him. “She is a nurse. But seeing how Sir doesn’t need much medical care, I can exchange her for a maid. There are quite a lot of people speaking the main language in Kardera but most of them are nobility or people who have one or another business with Demons.”
“I see. Then there’s no need for that, Your Grace. I would feel more assured if I were taken care of by a person who has received medical education.”
Von Bielefeld was honest, the duke had to give him that. “My doctor comes once a day to check on Sir’s health progress. Sir can have a word with him. He speaks the standard language fluently.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll definitely do that.” Wolfram scratched his head. “I was wondering about clothes, Your Grace.”
Eldara looked at a bathrobe hanging on one of the three chairs at the table. Very likely, this piece of clothing, aside from his blue underwear and someone’s slippers, was the only one von Bielefeld had. “Right,” the duke said, “when we found you, you were…” He fell silent at the cold look on von Bielefeld’s face. “Right,” Eldara repeated, “I’ll make sure you have something to wear, Sir. Of course, we can’t get anything tailored so fast, but my brother is about the same size. He also, more or less, follows the latest fashion as well.”
For the first time, Wolfram took a good look at the duke. He couldn’t tell exactly from his sitting position but the man was probably taller than him. His chest and shoulders were wider as well; he had more muscle, too. Von Ashira didn’t seem much older, though, – very likely, he was in his mid-twenties. However, unlike himself, the duke had already reached his full growth. Thus, any of the duke’s clothes would hang on him like on a coat hanger.
“Maybe Sir is interested in something from my wardrobe?” Eldara asked misinterpreting Wolfram’s look.
Wolfram’s eyes rose from the duke’s stomach, where he had been admiring the shining buttons, and up to his face. “No, thank you, Your Grace.” He wanted to add that he would look like a clown, but, thankfully, his brain reacted faster than his mouth and he avoided this dangerous faux pas. “I think it is already enough that I’m taking unfair advantage of your brother.” Wolfram presumed that the duke’s brother wasn’t going to be very happy about this either. “Shouldn’t I ask his permission first, Your Grace?” he wondered.
“Oh, I’m certain that he’ll be honored to lend them to Your Highness.”
Wolfram was starting to develop a headache from these pompous formalities and tension. He knew that, finally, he was more or less safe and he was feeling sleepy and tired again. He was already regretting he had asked for a bath.
“Ah!” Wolfram said suddenly. “What happened to the pirates?”
Eldara inspected the blond for a few seconds before answering. “Some of them resisted and died. Others are going to be hanged tomorrow, Sir.”
Wolfram returned the duke’s evaluating stare. Just like in the fort, just like on board, yet again, he got the feeling that everyone thought he was some naïve, sheltered kid. Alright, maybe he wasn’t the toughest warrior on the planet, but he was not a spoiled brat, either. Well, not anymore. He knew what retribution and death were. He knew what pain was and he knew what love was.
After receiving the indignant stare, Eldara grinned unconsciously. Immediately, he regretted that as the blond seemed to be insulted even more. He hid his smile quickly. Von Bielefeld was supposed to be twenty but he was even worse than Athara. Teenagers were so sensitive and self-righteous.
“Your Grace, I…”
“Call me Eldara, please,” the duke said, giving Wolfram a short smile.
Wolfram bowed his head lightly. He was surprised at the sudden wave of warmth from the duke. There was no change visually, but he could instinctively feel that something had changed. “Then, I will expect the same courtesy.” Wolfram scratched his head. “About those pirates,” he continued. “I think they have my signet ring. If there’s any possibility of getting it back…”
Unconsciously, Eldara fingered his own signet ring. “I see. Yes, it could become a problem if it got into the wrong hands. I’ll look into it,” he said. His fingers let go of his ring and he lowered his hands back to his lap.
“Thank you.”
Wolfram noticed that there were no other rings on the duke’s fingers. It appeared that the duke was wearing the same uniform he had seen him with during Yuuri’s birthday celebration. The cravat and silver cufflinks were different, though. The white cravat wasn’t decorated with any kind of brooch. Actually, the man wasn’t wearing any other jewelry except for a band in his hair, and even then, as far as he could see, it was only a strip of dark material without any ornamentation. Wolfram wondered if that was because the duke wasn’t fond of jewelry or because the man realized that he was even more stunning without its glitter.
“Would you like to come and watch them hanged?”
There was something probing in Eldara’s voice again and Wolfram didn’t like that. “No,” he said. “I’m not into that kind of thing.” The weird smile stuck on the duke’s face annoyed him. “Besides, they treated me pretty well.”
“Mm… I see,” Eldara said. He fingered his signet ring absentmindedly. “What about Sharp Ronny?”
“The captain?” Wolfram wondered. He gave the duke a suspicious look. “What about him?”
“No, nothing in particular, but there are rumors about him.”
Eldara’s silky tone was enough to make him understand what kind of rumors he meant. Wolfram felt his cheeks tinting red.
The duke chuckled, amused by Wolfram’s silence and his lightly colored face. His brow rose a little. “I see that he was treating you extremely well; it will be a pity to hang him.” He shrugged. “Ah well, such is the life of a pirate,” he concluded. “I’ll tell the servants to ready the clothes before your bath,” he said before Wolfram could react in any way to his words. “They will change the sheets as well. Do you have any preferences concerning food?”
Wolfram watched him for a few seconds, then decided he had no objections to what the man had said. And even if he did, he would just make a fool of himself protesting. “No, not really. Just something simple, please. I’m not very good with foreign cuisines.”
“I’ll talk to the cooks.” Eldara stood up. “The bath should be ready in fifteen minutes or so,” he said pushing the chair back to the table. “A servant will come and lead you there. The toiletries will be ready as well.”
Wolfram nodded gratefully. “Thank you.” He scratched his head again. “Err… How long, according to the doctor, I should refrain from physical activity?”
“For at least two weeks. Overall, his suggestion was for you to take a month off from everything.”
Wolfram looked startled. “A month?” he repeated uncertainly.
“Yes, a month here,” Eldara said, not without annoyance. “Maybe a month is a little bit too much, but, currently, you are in no condition to travel. It would be just looking for trouble if you did.”
Eldara reacted like this every time Wolfram suggested there was something ulterior in his intentions. This made Wolfram think that there was a reason for this sensitivity. Being insulted was not among the reasons Wolfram could come up with.
When the duke had finally left, Wolfram leaned backwards into his pillow and exhaled loudly. For a few moments, he just stayed like this with his eyes closed. Somehow, the pirates had been easier to deal with – he knew where he stood with them. The duke, though… Eldara was hardly older than him, especially for a Human. However, it felt as though they were ages apart. The man was sly and manipulative. This much was clear. The remarkable hospitality he was offering was certainly coming with a handsome price attached. In time, the duke would demand his reward, and it wasn’t going to be monetary. It was going to be hard to keep an eye on all the hints so as not to fall into some well-prepared trap of machinations.
There was a knock on the door and Wolfram opened his eyes, startled. He realized he had nodded off. A servant entered. He was saying something but, after Wolfram gave him a lost look, he pointed at the door.
“Baaf,” he mumbled, embarrassed.
“Ah, yes, my bath. Thank you.” How, in the world, was he going to keep an eye on things if he could hardly understand what they were saying? The duke was not going to be in a hurry, either, to find someone who could speak any of the Demon languages.
The servant waited until Wolfram wrapped himself into the bathrobe then led him outside into the corridor. The guard at the door didn’t move from his post. His eyes, though, followed Wolfram and the servant until they disappeared behind a corner.
Wolfram was looking around, memorizing where he was being led. He inspected the carpets he was treading on and the tapestries. Curtains, paintings, candlesticks, everything was different. Certainly, there were different things fashionable in Shin Makoku and Kardera. Wolfram was not an expert in fashion, but he thought that it all looked very tasteful. He wondered vaguely whose achievement it was.
A soft baaing drew Wolfram’s attention to the room they were passing. The door was open and he could see a cat walking towards them. It caught up quickly and tried to rub itself against Wolfram’s legs. He stopped to stroke it and the cat immediately started to purr. It was a beautiful, large animal, obviously male, as Wolfram could see now. Its white fur was neither long nor puffy but it was still silky to the touch.
Wolfram was stroking it until the cat turned his backside to him and sprayed Wolfram’s legs with one accurate fountain. Gasping, he jumped back. Mumbling something under his breath, the servant kicked the cat aside. Wolfram inspected his legs. Warm, tiny droplets hung on them. He stared, unsure of his next course of action. He had just gotten pissed on by a cat. He had nothing to wipe his legs off with, only his bare hands. It was good that he was going straight to the baths.
The servant’s incessant grumbling roused Wolfram from his dizzy reverie. Wolfram looked at him and suddenly couldn’t stop laughing. The look the servant was giving him was also very funny. The man must think he had a screw loose.
Wolfram laughed until he felt like crying. Shivering, he slumped against the expensive tapestry and covered his face with his hands. He realized he was being hysterical but this somehow didn’t make things any better.
A touch on his shoulder made Wolfram jerk and lower his hands. He stared at the servant, who was saying something unintelligible. For a few seconds, Wolfram watched him babbling then shrugged indifferently, ending that incessant flow of pointless speech. The servant looked mildly hurt.
Wolfram pushed himself off the wall indicating he wanted to proceed to the baths. It was obvious that the servant didn’t think it was a very good idea but he kept silent this time, starting to walk forward again.
There was a guard at the door to the baths. Wolfram nearly burst out laughing again. Now, it was painfully clear why the previous guard hadn’t moved from his post. The blond followed the servant into the baths.
There was a large tub right in front of the entrance. However, the swimming pool dominated most of the room. On Wolfram’s right, there were two other, smaller, pools with steaming water. A cupboard with open shelves stood between the two of them at the wall and Wolfram walked to it. The shelves were housing rows and rows of varicolored bottles. There were labels on almost every one of them but no matter how hard Wolfram looked, he could not find any label which would at least remotely remind him of the word ‘shampoo’. Lost, Wolfram turned to look at the servant, who was obediently standing behind him. The man just motioned at the bottles and smiled at him idiotically. Frowning, Wolfram concentrated on the bottles again.
Finally, Wolfram spotted a familiar blue bottle. After retrieving it, he saw that he had been right – it was the popular shampoo Gunter used. Its smell was somewhat too sweet for Wolfram’s taste, but this was better than getting bald from some mysterious liquid. Feeling victorious, Wolfram lowered the bottle down, next to the edge of one of the smaller pools. He grabbed the best-looking bar of soap he could find and then turned to face the servant, who, while Wolfram was searching for shampoo, had enough time to, seemingly, “sprout” a few soft towels and a sponge in his hands.
Wolfram took the towels and the sponge but then his eye caught a mirror on the front wall, just at the entrance. With dread, he walked over to it. However, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw after wiping the steam off. Shocked, Wolfram patted himself on the face. What, in the world, was that huge yellow lump on his forehead? And bags. Gray bags were under his eyes. He had never had bags under his eyes before! And what was with that oily mat of hair on his head? Numbly, Wolfram tugged at his hair. He would be lucky if he succeeded to brush it out sometime in this century. Very likely, he was going to have to cut it short, really short.
Wolfram stared in the mirror then touched his face again. He had always cared and had been sensitive about his looks. Gwendal sometimes teased him about it. But, honestly, now even Gwendal would be horrified at the sight of him.
The blond turned away from the disagreeable mirror and went back to the pool, where his toiletries were waiting. The servant had discreetly retreated to the door, leaving him some privacy, and Wolfram shed his bathrobe. While wrapping the smallest towel around his hips, and then pulling his dirty underwear off, he wondered if there were any prospects of him getting any new clothing tonight. Deciding that, in case there wasn’t any, he was going to parade around without underwear, he slid into the pool.
He was aware of the servant’s blabbering again. However, as he couldn’t understand a thing, except ‘baaf’ or sometimes ‘bieeef’, he simply ignored it. It was not hard to do as the water was heavenly. His nervous shivering was lessening as well. Wolfram sat down so that only his head was visible and leaned his back against the wall. He had missed this warmth. It wasn’t cold in the guest room he was staying in. In fact, far from it. Yet, it was autumn already and the stony walls of the castle were letting the cool dampness through.
“What, in the world, are you saying?” Wolfram wondered aloud as the servant didn’t slow in his incessant blathering. He was pointing to somewhere behind himself. At the mirror, probably. Scratching his head, Wolfram shrugged. He took the sponge from the edge and held it out for the servant. That seemed to work and the flow of words stopped. The man seemed to be uncertain but walked over to the pool and took the sponge from Wolfram. The blond watched the servant rub soap into it. Then, he stood up and turned his back for the man.
It felt good. Wolfram could nearly feel dirt sliding off his skin. It had been more than two months since he had had the luxury of a bath. At the fort, the ‘bath-day’ was on Sundays. However, there were no bathtubs as such. One just wetted his sponge in a bucket of hot water and rubbed himself with soap. Once done, he would pour the bucket over himself to wash the residual soap off.
The bathhouse was very hot, though, filled with boiling steam and soldiers hitting themselves with bundles of birch twigs. Some leaves would scatter or stick to the sweating bodies. Wolfram found the bathhouse exhausting. It was really not his kind of thing.
The servant was done and Wolfram sat down again. He felt lightheaded with some kind of relief. His muscles were so relaxed that they felt loose, almost watery. The blond leaned his back against the edge of the pool and closed his eyes.
Wolfram spluttered and coughed, water running through his nose and mouth. He flailed his hands instinctively, trying to keep his head out of water. His nose was burning as, instead of getting precious air into his lungs, he could not stop coughing. He could feel someone’s hands on him. Wolfram tried to overcome his panic and blink the soapy water out of his eyes. The aggressive voice was spilling a stream of unfamiliar words and the hands didn’t let go of him. Wolfram knocked them off and then punched out blindly with his fist. The sound of his madly beating heart in his ears prevented him from hearing a crack.
The blond dragged himself out of the pool. He could finally see the servant hunching on the floor, holding his nose. Blood was dripping through his fingers and onto the tiled floor. Wolfram’s right hand groped around until his fingers wrapped around one particularly large bottle of either shampoo or oil. Still coughing so hard that his whole body shook, Wolfram tried to keep his eyes trained on the servant.
He turned to the opening door. That wasn’t a very clever thing to do as the servant suddenly was on top of him, trying to wrench the bottle from his fingers. While fighting the man, Wolfram could hear shouting. Someone tried to grab him, but he rolled himself and the servant over. Then he kicked at the nearest leg, sending someone down to the ground.
Wolfram wrestled with the servant until the two of them traded places. Now, Wolfram was keeping him down. The man, who had previously been occupied with the task of wrenching the bottle out of his grasp, now was wriggling fruitlessly, trying to escape. Wolfram pressed his knee against the servant’s groin and grinned at him meaningfully. Despite the fact that he must have seemed like something not from this world while coughing and, at the same time, trying to smirk threateningly, the strategy worked. The servant simply stopped, now staring at the blond apprehensively. His weirdly bent nose was still bleeding lightly.
“What are you doing to my servant, Wolfram?”
Keeping a secure hold on the man underneath him, Wolfram turned his head to look at the doorway. The duke was standing there, obviously not amused, only in his night robe and slippers, his long hair strewn out all over the place. Two guards with their swords drawn were at his side.
“He attacked me. Wanted to drown me! But I’m certain you know that!” Wolfram spat. The servant whimpered as Wolfram’s knee dug deeper.
Eldara’s brow rose a fraction. The blond was delirious; Rigon was loyal and would never do that. Staring at Wolfram, he wondered if the blond realized that the only thing he was wearing was that wet towel which was slipping down his hips. At least, he was facing them.
“Did the steam addle your brains, von Bielefeld? Do you even know what you are accusing me of?”
Eldara finally looked down at his servant, whose pleading eyes had been searching for his for more than a minute already.
Wolfram listened to the unrecognizable prattle that the duke and the servant exchanged. He heard Eldara sigh.
“Let go of him,” the duke said.
Wolfram snorted, not even pretending to listen. The servant whimpered at his weight.
“You do realize that you have no choice in the matter, don’t you?”
“How about I dismember him?” Wolfram said, smashing the bottle against the tiles.
The servant cried out as glass debris showered the side of his face. Wolfram’s shriek surpassed his, though. Eldara watched as the blond cradled his bleeding hand, a few green-colored shards protruding from it. The servant saw his chance and pushed at Wolfram, making him topple backwards, momentarily flashing his goods. Wolfram cursed, his leg swiping under the servant, who had already managed to get on his hands and knees. The man yelped in shock as his chest hit the tiles, barely missing the glass. Wolfram was on him in a second.
The duke’s guards surged forward but he motioned for them to stay back. Wolfram had started to glow. They were no match for a full-blooded Demon of Wolfram’s caliber. The servant hadn’t stood a chance even if against a weakened von Bielefeld.
“Wolfram?” the duke addressed the blond in a soft voice.
“Yes?” Wolfram hissed, his fire element now fluctuating threateningly around him.
“You fell asleep in the pool. Rigon said he had tried to drag you out of water and you went berserk. Why, in the world, didn’t you use the prepared tub over there?” Eldara pointed at the tub in the middle of the baths. “He particularly warned you that, in your state, the hot steam is dangerous. Now, if you don’t release him, I’m going to charge you with treason against Kardera. And I’ll personally execute you while your family watches.”
“I must warn you that he’s not kidding.”
Frowning, Wolfram turned his head to look at a young man who had appeared in the doorway. The man wanted to enter the baths, but the duke bodily blocked the door. He growled something out for the youngster. He was somehow familiar… That voice and the blue hair…
“Athara?”
The blue-haired youth turned to look at Wolfram. With that came the realization that resistance was futile – as far as Wolfram remembered, Athara von Reginald had been one of the strongest newcomer Demons to ever attend the Military Academy. Even if he had been two years behind Wolfram, the blond knew that in his weakened state he was no match for Athara’s water element. If they wanted him dead, he would be dead.
Wolfram rolled off the servant. The man scrambled to his fours and shot out the door.
“Well, finally.” The duke turned to a handful of soldiers who were flocking outside the baths. “Get Rigon to the nurse,” he ordered to one of them. “Tell her to come here with some sedatives after she’s done with Rigon.” Then he turned back to Wolfram. His eyes settled on the blond’s bleeding hand – Wolfram was carefully picking the shards out of his skin; breaking a bottle just right was more difficult than naive youngsters believed. Eldara rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe this was happening; von Bielefeld was a total and complete nutcase.
“I fully expect you to apologize to Rigon,” Eldara demanded.
Wolfram chose to simply ignore him. He rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling while counting slowly to ten. Wolfram was starting to suspect that the duke hadn’t lied about him falling asleep in the pool. The servant had also been mumbling something non-stop. The blond was vaguely aware of Athara’s voice floating in the baths. He could not understand what he and the duke were talking about. But, at this moment, the topics were limited. Wolfram chuckled.
“I think he’s lost it,” Athara said, watching the blond lying on the floor, grinning at the ceiling. “What the hell is wrong with him? Why did he attack Rigon?”
“You!” the duke snapped at his brother, having reached the limits of his patience. “Why are you here? This is dangerous!”
“Wolfram knows me. He knows I’m a serious threat, so he released Rigon. I want to talk to him.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Eldara’s voice turned into pure silk. “All you’re missing are a few burned holes in you. Thank you very much for coming. Now go back!”
“I’m eighteen already and you’re still treating me like a six-year-old.”
“It’s because you act like one!” Eldara growled at him. He raised his hand as Athara’s mouth opened with an obviously snappy comeback. “Not now,” the duke warned in a voice which made his brother seal his lips.
Athara glared at him. Sometimes, he hated Eldara. “I simply want to talk to him.”
“Just leave him alone,” the duke answered, his voice losing its sharp edge. He was starting to calm down. “You can talk to him all you wish after he has slept it off. Recently, his life has been difficult; he’s too confused right now.”
“What are you doing here?”
With a triumphant look in his eyes, Athara turned away from his brother to Wolfram, who now was sitting on the tiles and cradling his hand in his towel-clad lap. The blond’s face didn’t seem much clearer, though. He looked tired, half-asleep. Athara realized that his brother had been right.
“I live here.”
“In Raizgad? With Humans?”
There was a lot of distaste in those words and Athara frowned. “One would think that you would have warmed up to the thought while being engaged to a half-breed for five years!” he spat viciously.
Eldara’s eyebrows rose at this. He looked at Athara, who suddenly realized that at the moment his best course of action would be to leave the baths without delay; Eldara looked like he could kill him. The expression on Wolfram’s face, though, was much harder to decipher: it was a mix of bitterness, regret, and anger.
Wolfram gritted out, “It has been annulled, the engagement; I really can’t get along with Humans after all.”
“What? Really? Annulled?”
“Yes, three months ago,” Eldara confirmed. “Now, if you have something else to say which would make him go berserk again, don’t let me detain you – just spill it all out!”
To his credit, Athara managed to look ashamed.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Wolfram informed the blue-haired youth moodily.
“Von Reginald was my mother’s maiden name before she eloped from Shin Makoku to marry my father,” Athara explained. “I don’t think that my grandparents were very pleased but they did allow me to borrow the surname to go to the academy. For obvious reasons.”
Hazily, Wolfram stared at Athara for a few seconds. Then his eyes, with an obvious question in them, shifted to the duke.
“Yes,” Eldara said, “me too. And Halea as well.”
This was said in a voice which left no doubts that the duke and his family were not particularly proud of their Demon heritage.
“Ah. Half-Demons. Then it’s alright,” Wolfram said before slumping over on his side in a heap of limbs.
Athara stared at the blond’s half-covered backside in disbelief. “I think he’s asleep,” he said finally.
“He’d better be.”
Tbc
- 6
- 7
- 8
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