Love and War

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

In which Yuuri continues to confuse himself, and there is much death…

Just a little extra warning: The second half of this chapter would be when things start going further down hill as far as the kingdom is concerned, and while the descriptions are not extremely graphic (at least not by my standards) some people may find certain aspects a little disturbing.

Love and War
by Mikage

Chapter Eight

The bells in the highest towers of Blood Pledge Castle could still be heard chiming as the evening went on, as well as the faint burst of fireworks that lit up the sky, marking this evening as one of celebration. Outside, the people of the capital city immersed themselves in merry-making, carousing and partying as if this night brought with it a grand festival, overjoyed at the prospect of their king’s marriage. Inside the majestic palace, noblemen and high ranking military officials were absorbed in their own form of gala affair, taking part in a joyous reception that would be remembered by all for many years to come.

Too bad King Yuuri did not share their sentiments. He’d never been fond of the lavish parties that were thrown in this world for what seemed like almost every occasion, where huge hordes of people would gather to bow and gawk at him as if he were some sort of god, a spectacle on display. He always feared that he would one day make a fool of himself at such an event, and that the people’s imagination of what the Demon King was like - dignified, proud, and in control - would be ruined when he was proved to be nothing more than a bumbling idiot.

Tonight’s social gathering had started out easily enough. As soon as the wedding ceremony had ended, their guests had filed out of the coronation chamber and been lead to the spacious ballroom - where tables had been arranged along the walls, leaving the center of the large room open for use by dancing couples. Yuuri and Wolfram had made their grand entrance soon after, hardly given any time to reflect upon the fact that they were now married before being thrust into a room filled with wealthy nobles waiting to give their congratulations. The plethora of people had erupted with cheers and applause when the two had crossed the threshold, bowing deeply to the dark haired king and the fair haired prince.

Since then, the reception had continued to go on around him, but Yuuri hadn’t done much in the way of taking part in it. He’d eaten the fabulous dinner that had been prepared at a large table on the far side of the room - one that had been reserved for he, Wolfram, and their close friends and family - but he’d been too lost in thought to appreciate the long hours it had probably taken the chefs to prepare such a splendid feast. He’d hardly even tasted it as he’d shoveled it into his mouth and quickly swallowed, nor had he been able to keep up a decent conversation with anyone, though there had been many people who’d tried to commune with him. He’d been too distracted to think of anything to say in reply.

Once the food had been consumed and the orchestra had begun to play, he and Wolfram had taken the first dance at both Jennifer and Lady Celi’s insistence. Yuuri was sure that such a thing was not custom in this world and had probably been instigated by the many discussions the two women had had concerning weddings on Earth and Shin Makoku. Either way, their guests seemed to have no qualms about adopting the tradition as their own, and had stood around to watch as the royal couple took the floor.

A minstrel had been commissioned to sing during the festivities and had crooned a chorus of words that Yuuri could not readily remember, to a soft, soothing, tranquil melody that he knew would be stuck in his head for the rest of the night. The experience of dancing with the young man who was now his husband had been almost surreal, and he was extremely thankful that the song has not lasted long. It had been difficult to stare Wolfram in the eye now that things had changed so drastically between them, and his palms had been slick with sweat as he’d lead the blond across the floor. (1)

The dance was just another one of the many activities he’d managed to improve his skills in, but taking part in the exercise with another man instead of a woman had been a bit awkward. Luckily, Wolfram’s embarrassment and unease at being the center of attention had dampened his grace and superior abilities, so that Yuuri was not the only one occasionally looking down to make sure that no feet were unintentionally stepped on. They’d been fortunate to get through it without messing up the steps, and had both quickly returned the their seats once the song had ended.

Now Yuuri was sitting by himself, forcing a smile to those who came over to offer him their well-wishes. He allowed his dark eyes to scan over the crowded room as he took a few sips from his glass of wine, which had recently been refilled by a passing maid. Most of those present were well on their way to a drunken state - if they weren’t there already - smiling away as they alternated between conversing, dancing, and munching on the light snacks that were being carried around on silver platters. Even Shori had loosened up, and was currently flirting with the daughter of Lord von Mannheim, Lady Elise.

Despite all the laughter and cheer, Yuuri didn’t very much feel like celebrating at the moment. His mother and Greta had tried to lighten his spirits plenty of times over the course of the evening, but Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to feel as happy as all the others. Now that the wedding was finally over, he knew he had a lot to think about and work through, more than he’d had during the weeks that passed by with preparations, or the years of the engagement.

The whole ceremony felt like a blur to him when he looked over it, like the event had occurred in a few seconds, though it had felt like hours while it had been taking place. It almost seemed as if it hadn’t happened at all, but the proof was there every time he looked at his friend and caught sight of the crown that still rested atop his head.

Outwardly things didn’t appear any different than they had been before, though Yuuri was sure that was because the ceremony had just ended a few hours ago and the newlyweds hadn’t been given the opportunity to talk or be around one another without more than a hundred pairs of eyes following their every move. Besides the five or so minutes in which the two of them had shared a dance, they’d hardly interacted in the least. They’d barely said a word to one another all evening, too preoccupied with making sure their guests were well fed and entertained to worry about the current state of their relationship.

Inwardly, however, some part of the young demon king had gone through a metamorphosis of sorts. His emotions were running wild, and he was infinitely surprised that he managed to appear calm despite the inner turmoil he was going through, thanking the alcohol he was consuming for it’s ability to make him become somewhat detached from everything else. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think clearly and sort through his various thoughts - which was fine by him, since they confused the hell out of him more than anything else.

His feelings were a jumbled mess. Ever since the culmination of the ceremony and the timid kiss he and Wolfram had shared, the strangest feelings had begun the surge through him, ones he had little to no hope of identifying. He felt different somehow, but he couldn’t be sure why exactly that was. Everything was too obscure, too perplexing for him to be able to figure it all out.

When he’d once dreaded the idea of marrying so young, especially for the reasons that had prompted today’s wedding, he found now that he was oddly apathetic about the whole ordeal. While everything had been going on, and while the preparations were being made, it had been a frightening experience, too fast for him to be able to keep up with. Now that it was over and done with and he no longer had to worry about what would become of their engagement, however, the stress that had built up slowly began the leave him. The weight that had been set on his shoulders had lifted, only to leave him with a new form of burden, one he felt like dealing with even less than the previous one.

It was disconcerting to be staring at Wolfram as the blond moved with their daughter along the dance floor and thinking of all this as normal. Looking at it that way made it seem as if he’d expected things to turn out this way all along, when that was most certainly not the case. If someone had told him a year ago that he’d be marrying Wolfram before the winter set in, he would have laughed in their face and made sure to remind whoever it was that he and Wolfram were friends, nothing more, nothing less. Two months ago, marriage had been the furthest thing from his mind, especially when he had so many other things that captured his concern and attention.

So then why did thing feels as normal as they did now? Shouldn’t he be a little more upset than this? Shouldn’t he continue to complain about how unfair this was to the both of them? Shouldn’t he be angry that something like this had been practically forced upon him, that he’d had to give up the future he could have had for one that he may not even want? He was now tied down before he’d really been given the chance to live. He’d never even been on a single date and he was already married. Now there was no chance of him ever meeting and getting together with a pretty girl, having a normal life, having children. He was stuck where he was, with no way out, no way to change anything or go about fixing this mess.

“You have a choice,” he remembered his older brother telling him just a few nights ago, when he’d come to his family with the news of the wedding. “You don’t have to go along with anything if you don’t want to.”

“We think it’s a good idea,” Gwendal’s deep, somber voice reverberated within his head. “These are serious times we are in now. Even if we do not plan on a war, the situation with the humans is tense. The marriage of our king would give the people more insurance to believe that you have every intention of ruling this country properly. It would boost morale and make you appear to be a more stable ruler.”

“I’ve been to Shin Makoku. I know what it’s like there, and I know how the Mazoku in that world think.” It was Shori again, trying to dissuade him from making what he obviously thought was the wrong decision. “I know that they care about you and your safety, but when it comes to their kingdom your feelings become less important. That isn’t right. As their king, you should be making the decisions, not allowing them to do that for you.”

Yuuri knew that his brother was right, but he was also aware of the truth in the words spoken by his Chief of State. In the end, he had made the decision he’d thought would be the best for his people, forsaking his own wants and desires in order to protect them and the current monarchy. He didn’t see what other choice he’d had. Any number of things could occur while they were having so many problems with the human countries, to him as well as to the kingdom itself, and he knew that it was important to have an heir should something disastrous befall him, else his country fall apart.

But there was something other than that that disturbed the black haired half-human, something he came to realize as he finished off his second glass of wine.

The idea of staying with Wolfram for the remainder of his life, of never marrying a woman, didn’t bother him as much as it originally had.

Before, he’d always used “I like women” as an excuse not to follow through with his accidental proposal, but when he took a moment to reflect on it now, he discovered that he’d never had much of a real interest in women in the first place. Baseball had always been what was on his mind before he’d become serious about being the Demon King, and before that he’d been too young to care much for a steady relationship with a member of the opposite sex. Even after he’d adapted to life here, there had been no female that had attracted his attention for very long, and the way many of them had pined after him had been more than a little disturbing (not that Wolfram’s foreword approach had been any better). He may have thought that some of them were pretty or attractive, but that was it.

In the past, when he’d tried to imagine himself with a girl, envision what it would be like - for the sake of seeming like any other ‘normal’ hot-blooded male - he’d always met some form of resistance. Embarrassment and inexperience had both been major factors in his failures to keep the fantasies alive, but Wolfram’s voice had occasionally been there to snap at him in his mind, accusing him of cheating and cursing his perversions. He was so used to hearing the blond’s loud, angry voice every time he so much as glanced at someone with the slightest interest that he heard it in his dreams, which prevented him from getting any farther than first base with any of his imaginary girlfriends.

It was troubling to him that Wolfram seemed to hold so much power over his thoughts and actions, and even more so that he found himself thinking of his friend more often than he thought about a pretty girl that happened to catch his fancy, especially recently.

Shaking his head, Yuuri turned to gaze at the young man in question, watching as he continued to spin around with their adopted daughter, the movements coming to him effortlessly now that he was not so distressed. Something the fourteen year old human girl said brought a smile to Wolfram’s face, the kind the young noble reserved specifically for her - and Yuuri, when he was lucky enough not to fumble with his words and anger the other boy. The king found that he rather liked the fair haired mazoku’s smile, how his eyes lit up and his defenses lowered, how he seemed so free of worries. It was a nice change from the scowl that usually marred his features, a smile Yuuri wished he could see more of.

‘He really does look beautiful,’ he allowed himself to think, still gazing at him across the room, absentmindedly fingering the crystal goblet set before him. His black eyes widened once he realized the unwanted journey his mind was beginning to take, and he had to shake his head again, as if that movement alone could somehow fix his thought process. ‘He’s pretty, yes,’ he inwardly told himself, ‘but what does that have to do with anything?’

‘Perhaps you find him attractive,’ another part of him whispered.

‘Of course I think he’s attractive. I don’t have any problem admitting to that. I’ve never had a problem with that. But…’ the young king paused in his musings, frowning deeply. ‘How do I feel about him? How are we supposed to make things work? Was this really the best choice, or am I eventually going to screw things up? What happens now?’

‘Where do we go from here?’

It was at that moment that Yuuri found himself being distracted, and he was thankful for the unexpected interruption. He’d been letting his eyes trail over the guests in an attempt to keep himself from staring at Wolfram, when he caught sight of Yozak entering the ballroom from the opened double doors on the opposite side of the room. The orange haired man was fairly noticeable among all the sparkle and glamour, no where near as well dressed as everyone else, his tunic torn and tattered. He tried to make his way through the crowd as inconspicuously as possible, but his rugged looks inadvertently drew some attention. The broad shouldered spy only smiled at those who spared him a curious glance, and continued to make his way to where Gwendal was conversing with Mikhail and Günter in one corner of the chamber.

Yuuri was instantly on alert, quirking an eyebrow as he noticed the look of anxiety Yozak was trying his hardest to conceal. Others may not have been able to pick it up, as the well built man was surprisingly good at hiding his thoughts and emotions when the need arose, but Yuuri had spent so much time around him over the years that he’d learned to read the small signs. His steps were a bit rushed, and though he could still force a friendly, nonchalant smile, there was a seriousness in his blue eyes that revealed his true state of mind.

It was obvious to the black haired man that something was going on, as Yozak had been put in charge of security for the evening and wouldn’t have left his designated post unless something important had come up. Seeing this as a good opportunity to get his mind off of things he’d rather not think about at the moment, Yuuri stood to his feet and abandoned his empty wine glass, heading towards the area in which the others were currently located. As he moved, he noted that Conrad seemed to have caught on as well, heading away from where he’d been quietly chatting with Lady Celi to stand by his older brother.

“Shibuya,” he heard Murata calling to him, stopping him in his tracks momentarily once he’d reached the center of the room. The sage was gazing at him gravely, giving him a look that requested he stop and refrain from drawing any closer to the obvious signs of trouble.

“What?” Yuuri wondered, shooting the other black haired man a look of confusion, wondering why his friend would prevent him from discovering what was going on that would require Yozak to come in and speak with Gwendal in the middle of the reception.

“Wait,” Murata told him, taking a step closer to stand by the other double black. “If it’s something important, they’ll tell you.”

“Then I may as well find out now,” he reasoned, “and save them the trouble of coming to me later.”

“Shibuya,” his friend tried again, that all-knowing look entering his dark eyes, leading Yuuri to wonder if he had any idea of what was going on. Knowing Murata, he probably already knew exactly what the fuss was about, could have even been expecting it.

“You know,” the king observed, watching as the other man shrugged casually. “Tell me.”

“Why? Me telling you isn’t going to change your reaction at all, nor is it going to fix anything.”

“Has something bad happened?”

“That depends,” Ken replied, peering at him through his glasses, his lips lowered in a severe frown. “Bad things have been happening for the last half a year.”

“Are we under attack?”

“Are you willing to retaliate if we are?”

Yuuri’s frown deepened. He wasn’t sure he liked the other young man’s tone of voice, or how it seemed as if Murata were accusing him of being negligent and skirting his responsibilities. Whatever his friend was getting at, the king wasn’t in the mood for playing guessing games to try and pull the information out of him. He turned his back on the bespectacled man before anything else could be said, though he knew Murata was following him through the crowds of people who bowed at them as they passed. He ignored him when the sage called his name again, and continued to head towards his original destination.

Two glasses of wine were enough to make him act out in situations where he may not have done so before, so instead of waiting for his advisors to come to him with the information they felt was necessary to tell him, he was going to get the answers on his own and ask the questions he would have otherwise held back.

“Where?” he heard Conrad inquire once he’d drawn close enough, the brown haired man staring at his childhood friend with a gloomy look replacing the smile that had been there just seconds before.

“To the north,” Yozak replied, keeping his voice low enough so as not to alarm the guests around them. “Fane.”

“Fane?!” Lord von Karbelnikoff appeared surprised, light brown eyes widening. “That’s only an hour’s ride from here!”

Yuuri watched as Conrad turned to his long haired brother, brown eyes hardening while he shot him a questioning look, as if silently asking him what course of action they should take to deal with these sudden turn of events. The Demon King himself continued to slowly draw closer, and though he was deeply concerned about the current crisis, he was a little thankful for the opportunity to possibly get out of here. There were only so many smiles he could force before it all became boring and monotonous.

“We’ll set out immediately,” Gwendal answered after a moment of quiet contemplation. Turning to Yozak, he added, “Have one of our units prepare for departure.”

The orange haired man nodded, then turned to leave, exiting the ballroom at a quicker pace than what he’d used to make his way in, heading out to round up some of their soldiers and follow the orders given to him by Lord von Voltaire. At this point, some of their guests began to look their way curiously, those who were not drunk starting to whisper between themselves, and Yuuri knew it was only a matter of time before the rumors started to spread. Gwendal and the others didn’t bother to take the time to explain anything to anyone, and made their way to the open doorway, intent on joining Yozak and their troops to the northern village.

Yuuri followed them out, swiftly pushing passed guests as he quickened his steps in order to catch up with them, attracting even more attention and causing the level of whispering to increase. He stumbled into the near empty hallways, Murata calling after him one last time, but Yuuri paid him no mind, going after the others as they hastily made their way down the hall, heading for the exit of the castle. The torches and candles affixed to the stone walls were the only source of light, the stars and moon outside now covered by a layer of clouds, darkening the world around them.

“Hey, wait a minute!” he called to Gwendal, Conrad, and Mikhail, forcing them to stop in their tracks as his voice reached their ears. They turned to him, and when he stopped in front of them he could see the grim expressions on each of their faces. “Aren’t any of you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at the thought that they’d simply up and leave without explaining the reasons to their king.

“Please, return to your guests, Your Majesty,” Conrad politely requested, though there was a sternness in his voice that made Yuuri momentarily think twice about arguing with them. “We’ll give our report when we return,” he said, as if to reassure him that he would not be left out of the loop.

“You can at least tell me what’s happened,” the double black told him, giving them all a determined look that clearly said he wasn’t about to back down. “What did Yozak tell you? What’s going on in Fane?”

“We’re under attack,” Gwendal replied, glaring as he did so, frustrated.

‘I knew it,’ a part of the dark haired king thought, his shoulders slumping at the idea of his people being hurt.

“We’re heading out now in order to investigate and estimate the damages.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“It would be for the best if you were to stay here, Your Majesty,” Mikhail said solemnly. “We are unaware of just how serious the situation is. It could still be unstable, and we cannot afford to put you in any danger. It is safer here, where you have more fitting protection.”

“But this is my kingdom!” Yuuri exclaimed. He could still hear the occasional burst of laughter from within the dining room, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. There was no way he could act that happy and celebrate when trouble was brewing elsewhere. He ignored the signs of jubilation to the best of his abilities, paying no mind to the tapping of foot steps as someone came up behind him.

“This is your wedding,” Conrad gently reminded him. “Stay here and continue to entertain your guests. If they notice that you’ve left, they’ll begin to wonder what’s going on,” he explained. “We’ll report in as soon as we return to the castle.”

“No,” the younger man shook his head, feeling as his crown was jostled slightly at the motion. “This isn’t important,” he told them, not wanting to go back and sit around drinking and plastering on fake smiles when there were people who may need his help. “The guests won’t miss me at all. I should be going with you to make sure that things are okay!”

“Things are not okay!” Gwendal barked, earning a flinch from the shorter man, “and the longer you delay us, the longer it will take us to get to the scene and find out exactly what went on!!”

“Please, Your Majesty,” Conrad tried again, calmer than his older brother, but still a bit forceful in his request, “go back to the ballroom.”

Yuuri’s frown remained, disliking the fact that they were attempting to keep him behind. He was well aware of the fact that he could easily use his authority as king and order that they let him join them, though he had a feeling that in this instance they may not follow his demands. Of course he knew he could always deal out some form of punishment should they refuse, but he also knew that not only would his feelings prevent him from going through with it, but they were requesting that he stay for his own safety. It was much less dangerous for him to remain in the palace than it would be for him to ride out to the sight of the attack.

“Fine,” he relented with a sigh, his shoulders drooping again in his defeat. “But I want a report the second you come back. I don’t care how late it is,” he said.

The three of them nodded curtly, silently agreeing to his conditions, then turned to continue their journey out of the castle and to the stables.

Yuuri watched them go, feeling helpless as they disappeared around the corner, wishing there was something more he could do than laze around and rejoin the party. Momentarily he thought of rounding up another small group of men and setting out on his own, but stopped himself with the thought of how worried everyone would be in the off chance that something happened during the journey. For all he knew, their enemies could still be out there, waiting for him to slip up and do something stupid before going after him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time his life had been threatened, but the circumstances had never been as pressing as they were now.

Slowly shaking his head once more, Yuuri moved to begin heading back down the hall towards the ballroom - where the celebration was still going on as if nothing were amiss - but stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of the blond figure standing just a few feet away. His dark eyes widened at the realization that Wolfram had probably heard every word that had just been said, most likely taking it the wrong was, as he was often prone to do, and he felt like a fool for wanting to leave without taking at least one second to consider the other young man’s feelings. It was easy to pick out the sadness within the blond’s emerald orbs, as well as the look of dejection that crossed his soft face.

Though, to be fair, Yuuri hadn’t been expecting Wolfram to be out here, hadn’t thought his friend had been aware of Yozak’s interruption or his brothers’ departure, as he’d been so consumed in dancing with their daughter. It was true that the king had heard his footsteps as he’d come up behind him, but he’d thought that it had been Murata still following him, that the wise sage had come out to say “I told you so” with his ever present look and tone of omniscience. He hadn’t meant to offend the boy by wanting to skip out on the remainder of the reception that was being held in their honor, even if, in actuality, he wanted nothing more than to leave.

“Wolf…” he began, but trailed off when he realized that he really didn’t know what to say, which was nothing knew at all.

“This isn’t important?” the newly crowned prince wondered softly, the fire burning from the lights affixed to the walls causing his golden hair to glow as the fire that usually burned in his deep green eyes slowly went out.

“That’s not what I meant,” Yuuri was quick to reply, only now realizing how awful some of his former statements must have sounded in the ears of his friend. He’d spent the last three or so weeks trying to reassure the other male that he cared - somehow, he cared - only for all of his efforts to suddenly come crumbling down.

“Isn’t it?” he was asked in return. “None of this means anything to you.”

Yuuri had to admit, Wolfram was right to a certain extent, but there was no way the king was going to say so out loud and purposely hurt his friend’s feelings. “Look,” he tried again, moving a few steps towards him, “this isn’t about that and it’s not about you, either. Another village was attacked,” the king said, though he was sure the other was already aware of that fact. “I just want to make sure the people there are okay.”

“And you didn’t think to leave that up to your advisors? I understand that you want to help, Yuuri, but you going out there now isn’t going to make things better or change the outcome. Regardless of how worried you are, you have to stay here.”

“What, and sit around watching as everyone else has a good time? I’d be more useful to the people who need me than I am to anyone in there,” he spoke, motioning towards the opened door of the ballroom with a sweep of his hand.

Wolfram frowned, golden eyebrows arching downwards as his eyes narrowed in clear disapproval. “Don’t be such a jerk,” he said. He kept his voice lowered so as not to be heard by any of the people who may randomly wander into the hall, or the guards stationed nearby - who spared them the occasional surreptitious glance, as if making sure there were no signs of trouble in the immediate area. “You could be having a good time, too, you just choose not to. Your mother is looking for you,” he informed the darker male, “and Greta’s been waiting all night for you to dance with her.”

“I don’t feel like dancing.”

“Because of earlier?” the blond wondered. “Are you trying to escape because you don’t want everyone to try and get us to dance again?”

“No!” the king exclaimed, shaking his head back and forth. “I told you, me wanting to go has nothing to do with you or the wedding!” he half-lied. “I’m just concerned about the people in Fane! Is that so wrong?” he asked him, and then made the stupid mistake of saying, “You’re not the only person in the world.”

Wolfram visibly flinched, as if those words alone had done him physical harm, his lips drawing down even more, and Yuuri could see his pale hands trembling by his sides. Instantly the king clamped his mouth shut, mentally berating himself for being moronic and cruel enough to say something so insulting on such an occasion. He felt like an ass for not thinking before he let the words tumble out, and cursed his inability to say anything right. He hadn’t meant to sound so dispassionate, or make light of the fact that they were now married. It wasn’t right that he take all of his sudden frustrations out on the other boy.

“You think I don’t know that?” Wolfram asked, quiet in the dim light of the corridor, the jewels of his crown still sparkling despite the lack of adequate lighting. “You think you don’t make that clear with every day that passes? I know I’m not at the top of the list of things you care about -”

“That’s not true,” Yuuri ventured to cut him off. “You know I care about you; you’re my friend.”

Wolfram simply shook his head, as if that meant nothing to him. “I know that when it’s between me and the kingdom, I’ll always come in second place. I don’t blame you for being concerned, even if I am a little jealous. I won’t deny the fact that I wish you’d pay just a little more attention to me. I love you, and I want to be with you. I like when we spend time together,” he continued, and he moved so that he was standing directly in front of the half human king, not even an arm’s length away from him.

“But right now, I’m not thinking about myself,” he told him, his golden hair tumbling about his pretty face as he slowly shook his head. “If you leave now and the guests find out that we’ve been attacked, they’ll start to panic.”

“They’re going to find out eventually,” Yuuri replied. “There’s no way we can hide this from them for very long.”

“But at least when they do find out, they won’t be drunk and half out of their minds,” the blond said in return. “You have to go back in there and act like nothing’s wrong. Your parents are here,” he reminded the other young man. “Do you really want to make your family worried by running off?”

“They know I have certain responsibilities.”

“They also know how careless you are. You constantly risk your life without stopping to think about the consequences. What am I supposed to tell your mother if something were to happen to you? At least here you’ll be safe.”

Yuuri knew he spoke the truth. As much as his family supported him in his role as king, they all knew how dangerous it was in his position, particularly in these troubled times, and though they could hide it well behind cheerful smiles, there was not a doubt in his mind that they worried over him, especially his brother. He didn’t enjoy feeding what feelings of anxiety they may have, but he didn’t relish the thought of his people being harmed either.

He couldn’t dampen his desire to assist them in any way he knew how, even if it meant leaving the relative safety that was provided to him in the castle. His compassion was not compromised just because his own life was at risk. If sacrificing himself meant saving someone else, then it was worth it to step in and do something.

“What about you?” the king asked his companion, thinking they were really somewhat similar in that respect. “You’re the exact same. How many times have you risked your life to save me?”

“That’s completely different,” Wolfram said, sounding defensive. “You’re the king. It’s my duty to protect you, no matter what the outcome. My life belongs to you.”

“Being king doesn’t automatically make my life worth more than yours, or anyone else’s. It’s just a title. In the end, we’re all the same”

“But who’s supposed to take care of everyone if something happens to you?” the blond asked him. His emerald eyes narrowed a fraction, but Yuuri knew it wasn’t in anger; it was to keep the tears form filling them at such a thought. “I know that’s the whole reason we got married today, but… but I’m not ready for that,” he whispered, his voce filled with so much emotion the black haired man felt his heart twisting in his chest. “I’m not like you. I can’t face something and go along with it like I was expecting it the whole time. If… if something happened to you, I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Wolfram…” Yuuri began, hating himself for making his friend feel as he was right now. “I’m sorry,” he immediately apologized. “I’m stupid; I wasn’t thinking,” he said by way of explanation, though it wasn’t exactly the truth. He had been thinking, he just hadn’t been very considerate to his best friend’s feelings. “I’ll stay here, okay? I’ll even dance with you if that’s what you want.”

It was only a second or two before he realized that he could have worded that statement better, watching as Wolf’s eyes narrowed even more, this time in anger, his face reddening in rage.

“I don’t want your pity!” he spat harshly, backing up a step, looking at the king as if he couldn’t believe he’d say such a thing and be so heartless about it. “I don’t care if you dance with me or not! Don’t do it just to humor me!”

“Wolf, wait,” the double black tried again, reaching out to grab onto one of his arms, preventing the blond from turning away from him.

“Let go of me!” the young prince demanded, struggling to pull his limb out of the king’s grasp.

“Then stop and listen to me,” Yuuri pleaded. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pity you, I just thought that-”

“You’re always sorry!”

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I know you’ve given up a lot for this - for me - and I’m sorry for seeming so inconsiderate.”

“Apologies aren’t going to fix anything,” the fair haired mazoku told him. “I know you don’t love me. I’ve accepted that. I know that none of this means much of anything to you.”

“You’re wrong!” Yuuri said, tightening his grip. “I do love you!” he blurted out before he could think better of it. “Just… not the way you want me to.”

“And that’s the whole problem, isn’t it?” Wolfram wondered pitifully, momentarily ceasing his struggles to glance up at the taller male. “I’d be lying if I said that was enough.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Yuuri replied with a question of his own, looking troubled as he tried to sort everything out. But like the other mazoku had said, it wasn’t enough, and he dreaded the thought that it never would be, that they’d spend the rest of their lives tangled up in this mess that had been created by one careless slap. “I can’t force myself to…”

“I know that,” the green eyed noble assured him, “and I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to love me because you feel guilty. That’s why we’re here tonight, right? Because you were too guilty to turn me down, and I was too… too weak and selfish to give up on you.”

“Wolfram…” he breathed, slowly releasing the hold he had on his arm.

“Don’t say anything,” the pale skinned young man told him, shaking his head again. “It’s true. If I were stronger, if I were a better man, I would have been able to let you go. Instead I’ve tied you down and kept you from doing what you want.”

“I agreed to this, too.”

“But your reasons weren’t selfish like mine are. I didn’t do this for the kingdom,” he confessed, voice still low in the shadows of the hall, unheard by the guards who still kept a close eye on the two of them. “I did this for myself. I did this because I want to be with you. I’ve told you before, I’ll do anything,” he reiterated a past statement. “I’d lie, or cheat, or kill for you.”

“Wolf,” Yuuri tried to interrupt his speech a second time, but had no more success than he had in his first attempt.

“I’m a fool; I know I am. I let my feelings control me, instead of thinking objectively. I’ve always been like that, and even though I know that, I can’t change. I always act like such a child,” he went on, frowning at his own behavior. “I keep hoping that one day you’ll grow to love me the way I love you, even though, deep down, I know you never will. When your mother gave me this ring, I was so happy,” he held up his left hand for both of them to glance down at the piece of jewelry in question, one Yuuri had seen gracing his finger for the past week, but hadn’t conversed with him about, knowing exactly where it had come from.

Looking at it made him feel a little awkward, but he hadn’t voiced any negative thoughts on the fact that Wolfram seemed to enjoy wearing it. It was important to his mother and, obviously, to his friend as well.

“It made me think, for a little while, that I actually stood a chance.,” the blond continued. “But I know that’s just wishful thinking. You want a woman, and I can’t be that. So…” he paused, peering up at his dark haired counterpart. “I won’t bother you anymore. I won’t try to force you to care when you really don’t. The only thing I want is for you to act like you give a damn, just this once. Make this wedding seem real to the people who’ve traveled all this way to be here tonight. They don’t need to know that there isn’t anything between us.”

It was only then that Yuuri realized that to some people this wasn’t merely a marriage of necessity. For the last month, Lady Celi and the others had been preparing for this as if it were a true, honest-to-goodness wedding. They’d set it up so that their enemies, as well as the least trusting of their allies, wouldn’t see it for what it truly was and think Shin Makoku vulnerable or it’s king unable to function. If anyone were to ever discovered just how worried the king and his advisors were about the state of their kingdom, such information could easily be used to Shimeron’s advantage.

Wolfram was right, then, when he made the claims that he would have to stay and leave the incident in Fane in the capable hands of his advisors and their men. He running off now would look suspicious, especially after he’d already spent a good deal of the evening sitting by himself and having absolutely no interaction with the man who was supposed to be his husband. Returning to the ballroom as Conrad had requested not even fifteen minutes ago, and going about his business with a pleased smile on his face was the only thing he could do to prevent any kind of adverse rumors from spreading.

“The demon king is weak,” he could already hear them saying, whispering to one another behind raised hands in order to hide the movements of their mouths. “He can’t rule on his own. He has no intention of seeing to his duties and protecting his people. That’s why he married, so someone else can take his place and do his work for him.”

“We’re heading towards ruin.”

“Okay,” Yuuri was quick to remove such thoughts from his mind, and accepted the fact that at least for one night he’d have to put his worries and concerns aside in order to appease everyone else’s. “You’re right, Wolfram. I wasn’t thinking,” he said with another sigh. “Let’s go back.”

The blond nodded in agreement, his features instantly relaxing as Yuuri acquiesced without putting up more of a fight. Even though Wolfram had admitted to agreeing to this marriage as a way of satisfying his own wants, he was still sticking by his duty as the prince, and as a protector of the kingdom. For a short moment, Yuuri could only stand there and admire how much his friend had matured over the years.

The nineteen year old demon king watched as the boy he’d married turned to head back down the hall, towards the doors that led into the crowded room they’d previously exited, the bright lights from within spilling out. Yuuri followed after him, and reached out to reestablish his hold on his upper arm, pulling him back a couple of steps before he could cross over the threshold. Wolfram looked up at him curiously, and with just the tiniest bit of hope shining in his vibrant green eyes, causing Yuuri’s chest to tighten even more, not wanting to let him down, but unwilling to face change.

This was all too much for him, the wedding, the hordes of oblivious, smiling people, the sudden attack, the arguments and the constant misunderstandings, and his erratically shifting emotions.

“Hold on,” he entreated, pulling the pale boy closer, not wanting to give anyone the opportunity to hear what he had to say. “Just hear me out for a second, please. There’s something… there’s something I have to say, even though it probably won’t make anything better.”

“What is it?” his friend asked, truly curious.

“I meant what I said a few weeks ago, about how I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else but you,” Yuuri said, forcing himself to calm down and keep from stuttering, a determined look hardening his dark eyes. “I know sometimes it seems like I’m being inconsiderate and taking advantage of you and your feelings, but I’m grateful. I probably wouldn’t have been able to stand up there with that priest today if you had been anyone else.”

“You don’t have to say all this to make me feel better. I’ll be fine.”

“But I mean it!” he continued forcefully. “I don’t know what I feel right now or how I’ll feel in the future, but it means everything to me to know that you’d do this for me. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and you’ve done more than I could have ever asked of you. If there was anyway I could somehow make this easier for you, for us, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but… I… I can’t… I can’t promise you anything. I don’t want to lie to you. You don’t deserve that from me, not after everything else I’ve put you through. I just… I just want you to be happy… that’s all.”

It was silent for a few seconds as they stood there staring at one another, Yuuri trying his best to make Wolfram understand and Wolfram carefully absorbing the information he’d just been given. As the silence stretched - occasionally interrupted by a burst of drunken giggles or a loud comment made by those in the room they were just about to re-enter - Yuuri began to think that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

A wave of relief washed through his system when the corners of Wolfram’s lips quirked into a tiny smile. He could still pick out the trace of sadness that had yet to go away - and probably wouldn’t for quite some time - but at least, for once, he’d said the right thing, and had gotten the reaction he desired.

Wolfram said nothing in return to his admittance, but the smile remained as they once again made their way back to the ballroom, and when a small, pale hand slipped into his own just as they crossed in, Yuuri didn’t flinch or shy away. He held on to it, just as he had throughout the entirety of the ceremony earlier that evening, and he managed a light squeeze of reassurance as more than a few people turned to bow deeply towards them. He knew that his words hadn’t been what the other boy wanted most to hear from him, but at least they had served their purpose, and temporarily eased the guilt that had previously been churning in his gut.

He didn’t know how long it would take him to fix everything, or even if he could, nor did he know how many months or years would pass before he found out exactly what it was he was feeling, but the most he could do was try.

He would try for Wolfram’s sake, as well as his own. Right now that’s all he could do.

* * *

Hooves thundered against the dirt paths that snaked through the countryside, the only sound that reached the ears of the traveling troop of soldiers and medics. They’d set out from the palace at a swift gallop, speeding through the night in an effort to reach the village and citizens in need.

The night was dark. The fireworks that had still been exploding overhead upon their departure, lighting up the sky in a rainbow of colors, had faded in the distance, no longer visible in the horizon. They saw only by torch light, the stars and glowing crescent moon hidden by thick clouds, black, threatening wisps that rumbled every few minutes, hinting at what was to come. The temperature had dropped to below average for this time of year, the gales blowing against them reminiscent of the winds of late autumn or early winter and not of late summer, prompting a few of the men to adjust their cloaks, pulling the material more securely around them.

No one spoke. A word had not been uttered between them since Yozak had come to them with the information, since they’d made a hasty retreat and left their young king and prince standing in the hallway.

‘Too young,’ Lord von Voltaire was beginning to think, second guessing himself on the issue of their marriage, less confident in them than he had been when the idea had first been proposed.

If Gwendal had not been so used to deafening silence, he would have been disturbed by the lack of communication between himself and his companions. As it was, he had too many things on his mind at the moment to be even remotely bothered by the absence of speech, too concerned about what was now taking place to deem anything else important.

Already two of their villages had been subject to an attack by their human enemies: Latimer in Karbelnikoff and Soren in Voltaire. Fane made the third village to sustain damage in the last five months, and though Gwendal had known that tonight’s celebration would give Shimeron ample opportunity to surprise them with a raid, he hadn’t thought Belal would move his forces so close to the capital and seek to invade their main territory. It was worrisome how the Shimeronian soldiers had propelled themselves into such close proximity to the castle, and the dark haired man could only pray that they refrained from moving any closer until they had time to prepare a defensive.

Out of the corner of his blue eyes, Gwendal could see the others riding beside him, each of them anxious to get to the scene of the ambush as quickly as possible, in the hopes of pushing Shimeron back and reclaiming their land, and preventing any more needless casualties than there no doubt already were. Yozak lead the way a couple of paces ahead, along with the soldier who’d originally come to him with the distressing news. Mikhail rode to Gwendal’s right, Conrart to his left, spurring their horses faster, though the poor animals were already going as quickly as their legs could carry them.

Gisela had been summoned along with many others nurses and aides, and the green haired woman was close behind them, still in her satin evening gown. She hadn’t taken the time to change into her uniform before leaving, too focused on her duty to waste even a minute before setting out, and had bounded on her horse as if she rode every day while so elegantly clothed, more concerned about wounded civilians than her current state of dress. She had a satchel of herbs by her side, hastily picked from the gardens in the midst of their embarkation.

Noting the look on her face, which mirrored the dark, serious expressions presently being worn by every member of their party, Gwendal internally told himself that it was good that none of them had allowed the king to talk them into warranting him accompanying them. Not only would it have been much to dangerous for their monarch, but some of those in their group would have likely placed a certain amount of blame onto the black haired man’s shoulders. Even Gwendal was having a hard time warding off thoughts of a similar nature, and he found himself cursing the boy in his mind, angry over the disregard he’d shown in the last couple of months.

Yuuri was truthfully one of the better kings in their long line of monarchs; he’d brought about a change that many among them and abroad had hoped for, but had not thought possible. He was compassionate to the common man, trusting to his allies - whether they gave him reason to trust them or not - willing to work with others to better the lives of his own citizens and those living in other parts of the world. He had done more things in his short reign than what Gwendal had thought him capable of in a lifetime, and was still working towards strengthening the tenuous relationship between the mazoku and the humans.

Over the recent year, however, as much as Gwendal had come to respect him, his confidence in the younger man had been tested, and he found himself losing the optimism that His Majesty had built within him. He was a man of action, and there was only so much waiting he could do, only so much peaceful diplomacy he could engage in before their failed attempts at talking left him with the desire to draw his sword and use force as a means to solve their problems with the humans who still sided against them.

He would agree with the king on the idea that wars caused suffering, and that the world would be a better place if such heartless violence was put to an end, but he also knew that there were instances in which they had no other alterative. The events that took place twenty-four years ago were a good example of a senseless war, one Stoffel had instigated through the prejudices that had, at one time, plagued all of them. Even now they were still paying for it. Their armies, their lands, and their people had yet to completely recover from the battles that had seen the end of hundreds of thousands of lives, mazoku and human alike.

But now… now there was a need for their armies, a cause more worthy to fight for than hatred and ignorance. They were under attack, and their people needed to be protected.

So far His Majesty had done nothing. All the while they’d been continuously reporting to the king about every event that took place regarding the human troops along their borders, and though the double black was rightly concerned about their situation, he remained convinced that they would still be able to find a peaceful solution, claiming that attacking Belal would not solve anything, and steadfastly refusing to sign a Declaration of War.

Gwendal was not normally a patient man, but he’d allowed His Majesty the time to search for that all elusive “peaceful answer,” only to be disappointed when none was found, both at the king for being unable to make the discovery and at himself for permitting things to get this far. The king’s kind words had worked plenty of times before, it was true, but they all should have known better when dealing with Shimeron. Belal would never listen, no matter how much the young demon king shouted and begged him to put an end to his evil ways. The only way to win against the king of Shimeron was to crush him completely.

The hour long ride to the north seemed much shorter than it was while these kinds of thoughts were on his mind, leading him to an anger he had not felt towards the twenty-seventh king since the boy had first arrived, and a frustration towards himself that caused his blood to boil in his veins. He should have suspected that something like this would happen, should have realized that there was only so much His Majesty’s kindness could do before the world became immune to it. They all should have learned that there were some in the world who’s hunger for power and control outweighed their sense of right and wrong.

‘I should have done something sooner.’

His anger only increased when they finally arrived at the scene, blue eyes widening slightly at the sickening sight that met them.

Their other villages, at least, had been able to hold off the attack long enough for a battalion of their own troops to arrive and force Shimeron back, saving their homes and businesses from any major damage. In Latimer, only 18 civilians had been killed, along with three soldiers; thirty-seven had been injured, nine seriously, with only six families left homeless when their houses had been burned to the ground. The destruction in Soren had been slightly worse, with twenty-eight dead, forty injured, and fifteen families displaced. It could have been worse. Soren and Latimer had been lucky, despite their loses.

Nothing could compare to what they saw in Fane.

“Shinou, help us,” Gwendal heard Mikhail’s breathless exclamation from behind him, and the Chief of State could not help but think that they were beyond any form of help.

If he hadn’t known that this was supposed to be a village, he wouldn’t have been able to tell it apart from a pile of rubble.

There were hardly any buildings left standing, and those that had been lucky enough to stay upright were covered in red hot flames, smoke and ash rising into the cool night air. It was no longer possible to distinguish a family dwelling from a shop, or a church from a pub. There was nothing left of the structures but charred wood, the glass from the windows littering the ground, broken into a million shards, the bricks from chimneys split and crushed. There was not a single building suitable to live in. Everything had been destroyed.

The scent of death filled the air, strong and pungent, causing many to raise their hands to cover the lower halves of their faces, though the smell still reached their noses, prompting the desire to retch. Bodies were scattered everywhere, corpses that had no hope of ever seeing the light of day again. Some of them were blackened, burned by the fires that took their homes, unidentifiable now as any living being. Most of the women lay in tattered clothing, bleeding from places where they should never have to feel so much pain, stripped of their virtue and dignity before being sent to the afterlife, bruised and broken, tortured before finally being granted an end to their suffering.

The men had been mutilated, some of them missing limbs, others cut open so that their innards spilt out along the ground. A few still clutched swords in their hands, having been killed in their futile attempts to fight back. Many had fallen with their eyes still wide open, staring into the heavens, their faces twisted in masks of agony. There were none among them wearing the standard uniform of the Shimeronian army. All of the deceased were peasants, farmers and shopkeepers, none of them soldiers, none of them able to protect themselves or their fellow man.

Though it was a horrible sight to behold, worse than any he’d seen in the recent years, what angered Lord von Voltaire the most and left him feeling sick with the strong taste of bile rising in the back of his throat, were the miniature bodies floating in the water of a nearby stream.

They hadn’t even spared the children.

“Look at this place,” one of the soldiers in their group breathed, unable to turn way. “It’s a massacre.”

That it was. There was not a soul sifting through the debris or crying out in anguish for the loss of their loved ones.

No one had been left alive.

“Who could have done this?” Mikhail von Karbelnikoff wondered, sliding from his saddle as his eyes continued to scan the carnage before them. “Belal couldn’t have possibly gotten a force big enough to cause this level of destruction over our borders without us noticing.”

Whispers began to spread through their men at that statement, many a hardened soldier speaking with a hint of panic in their voices.

“What does this mean?”

“They didn’t have any warning.”

“Shimeron is going to wage war on us, I just know it.”

“How could they kill so many people?”

“Where are they now? What if they strike again?”

“How can the king just sit back and let this happen? Why didn’t he do something to prevent this?”

“His Majesty let them attack us!”

“Silence!” Gwendal bellowed, terminating their speech before they could continue any further with those sorts of thoughts. “I want everyone to begin looking for survivors,” he said, though he had his own set of doubts, ones that told him such a task was useless. “Keep on alert. The enemy may still be out there.”

“Yes, sir!” the military men responded, raising their hands in a quick salute before moving to follow the orders that had been given to them, separating into smaller groups and searching through all sections of the village.

Gwendal held back, letting his eyes scan over the scene a second time, slowly dismounting as he did so. Rage was quick to engulf him, burning like the fires still crackling around them, his sapphire orbs narrowing dangerously as his lips set themselves into a deep frown. ‘His Majesty let this happen,’ his thoughts mirrored those that had been voiced by a soldier just a few seconds ago. ‘He and his weak ideals. His desire to talk to Belal has put our country in jeopardy.’

The thunder that had been resounding off and on throughout their journey was beginning to pick up strength, and the cool breeze carried with it the scent of rain to mingle with that of smoke and death. A flash of lightning erupted in the horizon, the dark, ominous clouds shifting as the distant storm moved closer, a perfect backdrop for what they now faced.

“We haven’t seen devastation like this in a good while,” Yozak observed, coming to stand beside the older, dark haired man.

“How can you speak so casually?!” Lord von Karbelnikoff asked him, body tense with worry and brown eyes narrowed with an anger he was usually so adept at hiding. “Look at what’s happened! An entire village, gone, without any clue as to who did this and how they managed to evade our sight!!”

“I’m not making light of the situation, Your Excellency, just stating a simple fact,” the orange haired spy replied. “This doesn’t look like Belal’s work,” he added, electric blue eyes peering around.

“Are you suggesting it was someone else?” Conrart queried, stepping down from his own horse, seeming a bit out of place in his blue dress uniform, but no less prepared for action than usual, half paying attention to the conversation, half paying attention to their surroundings.

“It’s a possibility. We haven’t detected any movement from Shimeron’s army since Belal went to play nice with the king of Isidore,” Yozak explained, far more serious than he would be on any other occasion. “Of course, we’ve been so focused on making sure Shimeron stays put that there’s a chance someone else managed to sneak their men in.”

Mikhail looked startled at that idea, his eyes wide, red hair blowing in the wind. “We’ve allowed ourselves to become distracted.”

“So it would seem.”

“Has there been any suspicious activity in any of the other human countries recently?” Conrart questioned again.

“Besides the fall of Franshire and a resistance group that’s sprouted up in Caloria, everyone else has been surprisingly quiet. Belal’s got half of his army stationed at our front door, and the other half is crossing over the mountains separating Franshire from Cavalcade, but with the autumn and winter approaching he’d be a fool to try and move in any further. I’m sure we’re all well aware that Belal is crazy, but he’s no fool.”

“Then who…?” the red haired aristocrat trailed off, as if he weren’t expecting an answer, but had wanted to ask the question anyway.

“I don’t know,” Yozak said. “Whoever it was…” he paused, looking around once more. “Whoever it was used this as a warning.”

The four of them grew quiet at that, each lost in their own thoughts, trying to make sense of the situation and come up with ideas to determine who was responsible and explain how they’d managed to cross into Mazoku lands undetected. True, they had all been distracted over the recent months; the Aristocrats joining together for the first time in two decades had been on the minds of everyone, as had the evening’s wedding. However, Gwendal couldn’t believe that they’d been so focused on such things as to completely miss something this dire and important. They should have at least had some type of warning, some sort of hint to their enemy’s intentions, whether it was Shimeron or not.

And what if Yozak was correct in assuming that Belal had nothing to do with this? Who else could have been so bold as to sneak into their country and massacre an entire village in the dead of night, while the rest of their people celebrated the union of their king and prince? How had they managed to get so close without being spotted by someone? Shin Makoku had soldiers and spies stationed in almost every village, who should have been alerted to this kind of suspicious activity. Who would do something so repulsive, so heinous, as mutilating hundreds of men, women, and children? Even Belal could not possibly be so evil, could he?

Lord von Voltaire’s thoughts were disrupted by a faint sound off to his right, bringing his eyes to glance in the direction of a house that had long collapsed in on itself. A few bodies were pilled in front of it, left to rot in the doorway, skin half burned and smudged with blood and dirt. At first he thought he’d been imagining things, or perhaps he’d heard the noise created by one of the soldiers as he sifted through the debris in another house nearby, but when he let his eyes trail to a small figure a few feet from the pile of corpses, he saw a little hand twitch, then move. A whimper met his ears then, soft and filled with the pain of a child, hurt but blessedly alive.

“Over there,” he said to the others, directing their attention to the tiny person. Quickly he made his way over, followed closely by the other three, who seemed just as surprised and relieved as he was to see that someone was alive, albeit in bad condition. Carefully Gwendal eased himself down at the child’s side, saying a silent prayer that it was not too late, and that at least one of these people could be saved.

Lord von Voltaire was not a heartless man. He was stern, often times aloof, could seem cold and distant, but he was in no way cruel towards those who were not deserving of his anger. He looked at everything seriously, and did not usually allow himself to be carried away by extreme emotions; he’d spent a great deal of his life conditioning himself to hide his thoughts and feelings so that his enemies would have little to use against him. He allowed himself only a few attachments, so as not to bring harm upon himself and others. It was better this way, less dangerous for everyone, and it had helped to keep him sane during terrible hardships.

But like every living being, he had a weakness: all things cute, and children. He supposed the two went hand in hand, really, as most children were adorable - he’d never in his life seen a truly ugly child - and played with adorable things. It angered him beyond imagination to see life’s most precious things tarnished and destroyed. Things like this, children beaten and little bodies floating in the water, made him question peoples’ sanity. He had taken many lives in his time, more than he could ever hope to count or even remember, but he had never once laid a hand on or raised his sword against a child.

The young one he kneeled next to now couldn’t have been more than fifty years old, perhaps even younger, smaller than Greta had been when His Majesty had taken her in. This child was a boy with straight dirty blond hair, matted and caked with dried blood, and teal eyes that fluttered open dully. His skin had paled as his life slowly drained away from him, white against the dirt he rested against, bleeding profusely from a wound on his side, his left arm bent at an odd angle, his bottom lip swollen and split. Death was reaching out to him, waiting to circle him in it’s dark embrace.

Gwendal schooled his features into a mask of calm, not wishing to frighten the boy, knowing he’d already been through more in one night than in all the years passed. The tiny blond looked up at him, confused for a moment before the pain finally registered and tears welled in his eyes, a pitiful wail escaping cracked lips. Pushing down the anger he felt for whoever had done this, Gwendal checked him over for any other wounds as quickly as possible, barely hearing Conrart’s voice as he called out for Gisela, who had gone to help the soldiers in their search.

“Mama…” the child whimpered, face twisting in the effort to speak louder. “Mama! Where’s Mama?”

“I don’t know where your mother is,” the gray-black haired man replied, keeping his voice from sounding harsh. He didn’t have the heart to tell the boy that his mother was most likely dead. “But we’re hear to help you,” he reassured him. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Alexei,” the child croaked dismally. “Alexei Lowell.”

“What happened here?” Gwendal tried, guilt entering him at the sight of fresh tears, falling harder now than they had been. “You don’t have to be afraid. You’re safe.”

“They hurt Mama!” Alexei wailed, the sound attracting the attention of a few more soldiers, who gathered around to stare down at him sadly. “They hurt Papa, and then they hurt Mama! I could hear her screaming!”

“Who? Who hurt them?”

“Bad people. The bad people came when I was asleep. They broke the door and came into the house. Papa… Papa took Grandpa’s sword out of the case and tried to stop them, but… but he couldn’t. He got stabbed, and then the bad people pulled Mama and my sister and me out of the house.”

“What were the bad people wearing?” Conrart joined in the questioning, and the words he spoke were gentle, sensitive to his fear and pain.

“Armor. Like soldiers. But they weren’t nice soldiers at all. They were mean,” the boy replied, groaning when his arm shifted, and Gwendal knew it must surely have been broken. “They had swords, and they used a torch to make our house catch fire. Papa was still inside when it started to burn.”

“What color were their uniforms? Could you tell?”

“I… I don’t…” again he groaned, drops of saline still streaming down his pallid cheeks. After a short moment he made a chocking noise, and a thin stream of blood seeped out of his mouth at the corner and trailed down his chin.

“It’s alright,” Gwendal said before he could try to speak again. “You don’t have to talk. Save your strength.”

Again someone called out for Gisela, another soldier running off to find her in the ruins.

“It… it was dark,” Alexei spoke anyway, his breathing becoming labored, blue-green eyes haunted with memories. “It was hard to see. I don’t remember if they had a lot of colors or not. But… their clothes… their clothes looked black.”

“Black? Not gray and yellow?” von Voltaire asked, describing the uniforms most commonly worn by the men serving as officers under the rule of Shimeron.

The mazoku child shook his head slowly. “No. Black.”

That was strange, if what the boy was saying held true, although there was a possibility that he’d mistaken some other dark color, such as blue or purple, for black when there was hardly any light to see by that was not scorching fire. Gwendal couldn’t readily remember any country who’s military men wore black uniforms. It was only worn by the king and others of equally high standing in Shin Makoku, and even though it did not hold the same symbolism in human countries, it was still rare for common soldiers to own clothing of that particular hue. The dyes used to achieve that color were much too expensive.

“They took me and Nanette away from Mama,” Alexei was still talking, jarring Gwendal back out of his thoughts, “but I could… I could still hear her. I knew they were hurting her, and I tried to run and save her, but one of them held my arm and made it hurt. He wouldn’t let go.” A sob escaped him. “I watched them take some of my friends and lock them into the school house. Kallen was thrown in there. We always play together after lessons.”

“Where is the school house?” Mikhail asked, and it was clear by the sound of his voice that he was hoping to find more survivors there.

Alexei lifted his good arm to point towards a building some distance away, and those hopes were instantly dashed.

There was nothing left of it but ashes and a few charred pieces of wood.

“Then they… they took Nanette, my sister… they took her to the stream. It tried to stop them. I told them she couldn’t swim, but they didn’t listen. They laughed and threw her in the water anyway,” he continued, his tiny, abused body wracked with sobs. “Mama and Papa never let me take her out to the stream unless they’re with us, but… the bad people didn’t care. They threw all the little kids and the babies into the water!!”

Gwendal’s teeth clenched tightly, and he had to struggle not to let his anger show on his face or let out a growl of frustration. “You don’t have to say anymore.”

“I tried to save Nanette, I tried!!”

“There’s nothing you could have done. It’s not your fault.”

“Am I going to die, too?” the boy asked, looking up at the dark haired man entreatingly, as if begging him to keep that from happening.

Von Voltaire didn’t know the answer to that question. “You’re safe now,” he said instead, repeating one of his statements from earlier. “Those people are gone. They won’t hurt you again.” Or at least he hoped that was the case. He had no idea where they were presently or if they planned to attack again before their party could make it back to the palace.

“I don’t want to die!”

“You shouldn’t be afraid of death. There were people in the afterlife who will take care of you.”

“Is that where Shinou is?” Alexei wondered quietly, and when no one replied - too surprised by his question to do so - he spoke again. “Mama said he always watches over us, even if no one can hear him anymore. Is that true?”

“I’m sure it is,” Gwendal said, though it was a lie. There was no telling what had happened to the Original King’s soul once the boxes had been destroyed, and the Chief of State was in no position to make or deny any theories.

“Your Excellency!!” Gisela’s voice was a welcome sound, as were the pounding of her feet against the ground as she rushed over, carrying her satchel of herbs. Immediately she fell to her knees by Alexei’s side, her evening gown ruined by a few grass stains and tears she’d sustained while searching through the ruble. She looked over his wounds, careful with his broken arm, and once she was sure she’d found all of them she began the task of healing.

“The wound in his side is deep and he’s lost a lot of blood,” she stated, a green light enveloping her hands as she placed them over the gash, using her maryoku to lessen the pain and speed up the healing process. “He’ll need stitches. His arm will have to be put into a cast.”

“Am I going to die?” Alexei asked her as well, bottom lip trembling with terror.

Gisela smiled at him softly, reassuring him as best as she could. “I’m going to do the best I can to make you all better, okay? All I want you to do is lay still and tell me if it hurts anywhere else,” she replied, then turned to glance at the man currently in charge. “We’ll have to move him somewhere warm, Your Excellency, once I’m able to stabilize his condition.”

“Take him to the castle. There’s nothing left for him here.”

The green haired woman nodded before returning to the task at hand.

Figuring there was nothing left for him to do and no other questions he could ask to make any more sense of what had happened here tonight, Gwendal began to stand to his feet, intent on putting together a small search party to go over the surrounding area in an attempt to find any other clues. He stopped, however, when a little hand raised up to grab onto his own, sapphire eyes peering down at the weakened child, who stared up at him with the most heartbreaking look on his face.

“I tried,” Alexei told him in a quiet whisper, and it was a miracle he was as composed as he was, crying silently instead of bawling after his nightmarish experience. “I tried. I really did.”

Gwendal knew he should have attempted to force at least a small smile, for the child’s sake if nothing else, but he’d never been very good at it before, and could not make himself look happy when he felt so angry. “No one blames you,” he said anyway, lightly squeezing the tiny hand before releasing it, turning away and letting Gisela continue with her work.

Looking around once again, the dark haired Aristocrat walked away from the small group that had gathered around the tiny boy, taking a walk through the rest of the village and letting his gaze trail over the wreckage that surrounded him. He supposed they should feel lucky that there was one survivor, as it did not appear as if their enemies had meant to leave anyone alive to tell their tale of the night’s events, though he knew there was a chance the child would not make it through the night. Those responsible had done all they could to get their point across, and they had greatly succeeded.

‘Death to the mazoku.’

This had been no ordinary attack, not an act of violence instigated by the troubles of war. This was an act of hatred, exacted by those of the other race as a means of striking fear into the hearts of their countrymen. News of the raid would spread with the rising of the sun, and the mazoku citizens would be forced to forget their joyous celebrations as they became aware of the bloodshed in Fane. Some would panic, some would seek revenge, and Shin Makoku would be thrown into a chaos that would not be calmed until those in power did something to rectify the situation. Gwendal could already imagine the shouting and rioting that would surely occur.

He was barely aware of his half-human half-brother coming up beside him, too focused on his thoughts, trying to come up with a plan, anything to fix this and lessen the severity of the peoples’ reaction. His eyes had trailed to the remains of what had once been a child’s stuffed animal, left on the ground a yard or two away from the school house, perhaps dropped by one of the children as they’d been dragged inside. In his mind, Lord von Voltaire could hear them screaming, memories of the last war resurfacing, plaguing him as thunder still rumbled overhead. How had he let this happen? How could they have been so blind?

“How do you suppose His Majesty will react?” Conrart asked him, watching as the soldiers went about their work, finding nothing but more dead bodies.

Gwendal snorted, his heart hardening at the mention of their king. “You should know the answer to that better than I.”

“Perhaps we should wait to inform him until we are able to gather more information.”

The older man shook his head, turning to glare at the brown haired soldier. “And let him continue to live in his little fantasy world? This has gone on too long, Conrart! I will not let him ignore this issue any longer! I should have pushed harder when these sorts of things began to happen, but I was too soft on him! We’ve allowed him to grow weak.”

“His Majesty has nothing to do with this.”

“He has everything to do with this! If we had fought back at the first sign of trouble, no one would have had the opportunity to do something so heinous!!”

“You don’t know that. This could have been planned months, even years ago, and by someone other than Shimeron,” Conrart told him, narrowing his own eyes. “Yozak was correct in saying that this does not look like the work of Belal. If I know him half as well as I hope, the king of Shimeron is not capable of the kind of planning required to pull this sort of thing off. Even now many of his men are rebelling against him. I can’t imagine they’d agree to murder so many innocent people in the name of a king they no longer trust and believe in completely.”

“Even if they do not trust him, they’ll follow him as long as be speaks out against the mazoku. Their hatred for us greatly surpasses their hatred for him.”

“That is true,” the younger brunet agreed.

“And Belal may not be a superb strategist, but that does not mean he lacks friends who are. He could have easily coerced one of his allies into coming up with this act of tyranny. Machiavelli of Anselm is cunning and shrewd enough, and Balderic’s forces are crafty.”

“We cannot yet rule anyone else out.”

“Of course not,” Gwendal agreed. “As of now, everyone is suspect. Even some of our allies cannot be trusted. The peace agreements we have made with them are not perfect, and the relationships we’ve built could easily be compromised.”

He didn’t say it, but Lord von Voltaire knew that there was a possibility that there had been inside help, someone working within their borders and relaying information to their human leaders.

“Your Excellency!! Captain!!”

The two brothers ceased their conversation as their respective titles were called, looking up to watch as a pair of soldiers raced towards them with matching looks of concern marring their visages. They were dirty and appeared a little tired and disheveled from shifting through countless piles of debris, a few splotches of blood visible on their clothing. One of them, a youngster who’d probably only been serving for less than a year, held a rumpled sheet of parchment at hand, clutching it tightly to make sure it was not blown away by the steadily strengthening winds.

“What is it?” Gwendal asked as his long, dark ponytail began to sway, his loose bangs whipping about his stern face.

“We found this attached to one of the bodies, Your Excellency,” the young soldier explained, holding out the piece of paper. “It’s addressed to His Majesty.”

Von Voltaire quickly snatched it away from him, holding it up for he and the half-human to read. His eyes widened as they scanned over the fluid human script, a heaviness weighing his shoulders down as his anger elevated ten fold.

“To His Majesty Yuuri of Shin Makoku:

A wedding gift, selected with the utmost care, I now give to you
All dead are they, your men, your women, and your children, too
‘Tis but a helpful hint for what’s to come, and all I have in store
Long live the Demon King and his Demon Whore.”

Gwendal’s frown deepened as he once again raised his gaze, though he refused to look at those around him, and stared instead into the horizon.

Perhaps they should have allowed His Majesty to join them after all. Maybe then he would have finally done something about the mess they’d found themselves in.

TBC…

Notes:

(1) If you’re looking for a specific song, I do have one in mind. Det Vackraste Jag Vet by Cecilia Vennersten. Unfortunately, I do not know Swedish, and I have been unable to find a translation of the lyrics (and it didn’t sound right at all when I put it through an online translator… figures). But the melody is nice and soothing, and it has the kind of sound and feel I was looking for in a wedding song for the two of them. I do know that the title translates to ‘The Most Beautiful Thing.’

And as a quick side note - I got the name Alexei Lowell from the heir to the Romanov throne (Anastasia’s younger brother) and Mike Lowell (the current third baseman for the Boston Red Sox - I know, I’m such a freak - GO SOX!).

The next chapter is Rêver, which means ‘to dream.’