Love and War

A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry for the delay. Things have been getting a bit hectic again as far as school is concerned, so… yeah. That, and I refuse to post anything on or around Valentine’s Day - my least favorite holiday of the year. So, now that that lovey-dovey bull is over, I give you chapter nine.

IMPORTANT: Unfortunately, updates will be coming more slowly between now and May, so I’m going to go ahead and apologize ahead of time. I feel kind of bad for it, since it’s just now getting to the part in the story where things start happening, but I’ve got six costumes that I’ve got to get done before Animazement in May and I really need to get started on working on them (actually, I think it’s recently been upped to eight). That, plus tons of school work is going to put a crimp on my writing. Again, I’m sorry, but I hope to get them all done before May, so that when I get out on the second for summer break I’ll be able to write like mad!

Anyway… onward!!

In which the amount of arguing increases, and Yuuri gets a bit… crazy?

Love and War
By Mikage

Chapter Nine

It was late by the time the reception finally ended; too late for Yuuri’s liking, but it would have been rude of him to leave his guests when he’d already isolated himself from them for a majority of the evening.

The midnight hour was upon them when the last of the drunken nobles made their way out of the hallway, laughing as they headed towards their rooms, intent on sleeping off the vast amounts of alcohol they’d consumed. Yuuri himself had seen his family off to bed, then went to make sure Greta was comfortable - at which point she had complained that he was still treating her like a little girl - before making his way to his own room, stumbling down the hall on tired feet, his eyes threatening to slide shut before he even arrived. It wasn’t as if he were unused to staying up late into the evening, but the little sleep he’d gotten the previous day definitely wasn’t helping him.

Wolfram was already in bed when he got there, clothed in his pink nightgown and curled up under the covers, dead to the world as he effortlessly tumbled off into dreamland, like this was any other normal night spent in the king’s bed. Yuuri felt a little odd climbing in beside him after changing into his pajamas, unable to get his mind off of all that had happened today. He forcefully pushed those thoughts aside as he flopped down onto the mattress. The less he thought about it, the less stressed out he would be. It would be better not to make such a big deal out of the situation, and simply let things run their course.

They hadn’t spoken much at all since their confrontation in the hallway, and though Yuuri was a bit glad for that, it didn’t stop the guilt that was slowly returning, the regrets he’d been having for the past weeks. The wine he’d been drinking all night had helped to numb those emotions for a while, but now that it was beginning to wear off, and now that he didn’t have anything to successfully distract himself with, they were coming back full force. Knowing that the source of such feelings was only about a foot or so away did nothing to comfort him, and he rolled over with his back facing the other boy in an attempt to not look at him.

He’d never felt so guilty for hurting someone before. Of course, he hadn’t caused the blond any physical harm, but that didn’t change the fact that Wolfram was upset. He’d put up a good front in the presence of everyone else, but Yuuri had been able to see the weariness in those green eyes, the defeated slump pf his shoulders, and how his once genuine smile - which he’d shown in the earlier hours of the reception - had become strained. The black haired boy wanted desperately to make things better, wanted to apologize and take all of his friend’s anxieties away, but he knew that a simple apology wasn’t going to do much of anything.

Wolfram didn’t need an apology. He needed an answer from him, one way or the other. The only problem was, Yuuri didn’t know which answer he should give.

There was no magical solution for this, as much as he wished there were. It would have been so much easier if he could just wave a magic wand and fix everything, or flip a switch and find all of the answers. He couldn’t very well change Wolfram’s feelings for him, nor could he change his feelings for Wolfram - whatever they were. Forcing himself to do something for the blond’s sake would potentially make things worse, but making the boy wait any longer would be cruel, especially now that they were married.

‘But what can I do?’ he asked himself, a heavy sigh breaking through the silence of the bedroom.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing but sort out his feelings - which was proving to be the most difficult task he’d ever had to undertake in his life - and hope that the end result would not hurt Wolfram even more.

It was a long time before sleep claimed him, pulling him into the comforting dark void of unconsciousness, where his worries melted away and the problems currently facing him no longer mattered. He drifted in the darkness for what seemed like hours, though it could have been minutes; it was hard to tell just how much time was passing while one slept. It was as if the world had come to a complete stop. There was no light, no sound, no sense of touch or smell, just peaceful emptiness, enveloping him in it’s embrace, taking him away from all that troubled him, allowing his mind and weary soul the opportunity to rest.

Until the dreams came.

Normally he dreamt of pointless, mundane things, baseball games that he would either win or loose, trips into town, childhood birthday parties or long hours spent at school. Occasionally a nightmare would come up to disrupt the endless cycle, dreams of fire, of Conrad loosing his arm, leaving him behind, dreams of falling down a deep chasm in the earth with no one there to catch him and pull him back up. Other times he’d dream of being alone, walking through the darkness that was sleep, calling out for his friends and family, but unable to find them.

Tonight, the pictures that flashed through his head weren’t necessarily different from those brought on by normal nightmares. It was the sounds and voices accompanying them that disturbed him.

He was standing alone in the middle of blackness. There was no illumination, save for a column of white beaming down upon him like a spotlight, and when he moved it followed him, though it did nothing to help him see beyond a foot in front of him. At first he couldn’t hear anything, not even his own heavy breathing, labored as he anticipated what was to come, a small part of him knowing that this was no ordinary dream. A tingle ran down his spine, and he turned his head from side to side in response, looking around but seeing nothing that should cause him to feel so uneasy. He wondered for a moment if he should even waste his time worrying, sensing nothing that posed any sort of threat.

He paused in his walking when his right foot sunk into something thick and warm, liquid oozing between his toes and rising to his ankle, soaking the hem of his blue pajama pants. Immediately he gazed down, only to gasp and quickly step backwards as he caught sight of the pool of blood, a splotch of red against infinite shadow. His foot was covered, stained, making scarlet footprints as he took a few extra steps back, onyx eyes widening as the blood spread out and seemed to follow him, moving closer as he continued his futile effort to get away, until both feet were submerged in the substance.

“Yuuri…” a voice whispered to him then, sounding vaguely familiar, though he was not able to place exactly where he’d heard it before. He looked around again in the hopes that he could find it’s source, squinting in the direction from which it had come - to his left.

“Yuuri…”

Behind him this time, and he swung around quickly, as if whoever it was would disappear before he was able to see them, and when he looked the space behind him was empty. He had no way of knowing if anyone had been there at all.

“Yuuri…”

“Who are you?!” he asked, swiftly becoming frustrated. The voice sounded as if it were coming from all directions now, echoing in the emptiness of the void he was currently caught in. “What do you want?! What is this?!”

He received no answer.

Slowly the darkness around him began to shift and ripple. A blur of colors took it’s place, the pillar of light around him fading away as the scene began to change. He wasn’t able to make out anything clearly, and it seemed as if he were gazing through a thick fog, one that was dissipating at a snail’s pace. His other senses, however, were working far better than his vision; he could hear the crackling of fire, could feel it’s heat licking at him, sweat breaking out along his brow and dampening his night clothes. He could smell ash, smoke entering his nose as he breathed, filling his lungs and eliciting a harsh cough. He brought one of his hands up to his face, like that could prevent him from inhaling anymore.

The picture suddenly sharpened, the fog vanishing, and he found himself standing in the middle of a village square, the buildings on all sides of him burning and toppling over. People were running around, screaming in terror and fleeing from an enemy that was no more than shadows, black shapes that floated after them, laughing at and taunting them as they dragged them to the ground and cut off their wails with the deliverance of death. Corpses lined the streets, hundreds of them, some piled on top of one another, left burned and rotting, every single pair of eyes trained on him, dull and lifeless.

Yuuri suppressed the reflex to turn around and retch, averting his eyes as he moved to run, bare feet slapping against the cobblestones of the streets, stinging with every impact as he tried to get away. He turned a corner, then another, then another, looking for a way out of this madness, but there was no end to the destruction, no end to the line of bodies. Debris fell around him, hot flames dancing in the air, coming close to burning him as he stumbled around. He was lost in this maze of death and despair, didn’t know where he was or what was going on, only that he couldn’t stand to see much more of this without becoming violently ill.

Turning onto a narrow street to his right, the young king halted as a hand shot out and grabbed hold of his ankle, which was still stained by blood. He flailed for a moment, then cried out as he slammed into the ground, his breath forced from his lungs. Looking down, he let out a startled shout at the sight of one of the corpses clutching at his limb, holding on tight enough to leave a ring of bruises. He kicked at it wildly, but the hand refused to budge; his efforts only seemed to instigate a tighter grip, and a lightning bolt of pain shot from his ankle up his leg. He could have sworn he heard the cracking and crunching of bone.

“It’s your fault!” someone shouted, different that the voice from before, louder, accusing, drowning out the sound of the fire and crumbling houses. “Your fault!” a hundred different voices seemed to say at once, angry and betrayed. “You did this! You! You!”

“I don’t understand! What is this?!” he asked again, heart pounding in his chest as his movements to release his foot stilled.

“This is what will become of the world. All of it will fall to ruin.”

“Why? What’s going on?!”

“War,” one voice said. It sounded so close, like something was whispering in his ear, warm breath tickling the side of his face, but when he looked there was nothing there.

“But there is no war! I won’t let there be a war!”

“Hate,” someone else said, as if they hadn’t heard what he’d just finished saying.

“This doesn’t make any sense!” he shouted, his head beginning to hurt, his mind spinning as he tried to comprehend all of this. “What does that have to do with anything?!”

“Everything.”

Then the world around him shattered at that single word, a million shards of glass scattering around him, only to disappear once they hit the ground. One by one the mangled corpses faded away, leaving him alone on the street, before the ground opened up below him and his fell into the rift, watching as it closed up above him.

He didn’t fall for long. It was only a few seconds before he crashed into another solid surface, his eyes squeezing shut as pain shot through his entire body, his head snapping back and colliding with a stone floor. He saw stars for a moment, and his head ached even more as he slowly pushed himself up, wincing as his strained muscles twinged. A second passed before he was able to open his eyes, and when he did he was a little surprised by his new surroundings.

He was in his room, the one he’d taken up residence in since he first came to Shin Makoku, the private bed chambers of the Demon King. It was dark, still nighttime, but it seemed different that it had when he’d climbed into bed. The curtains were now open, allowing the light of the large full moon to spill in, it’s beams illuminating the large canopy bed with it’s green drapes tied to each bedpost. The air was cold, and he could hear the wind blowing outside, rustling the leaves in the trees, howling as it beat against the enormous stone palace.

None of the candles were on, but he could see just fine without them, although certain parts of the room were shrouded in darkness where the moonlight couldn’t reach. The bed was completely empty, although the bedclothes were rumpled, pillows askew, and blood stained the white silken sheets a sickening crimson. He didn’t look at it long, not wanting to know who’s it was or how it had come to be there, though in his mind he thought all sorts of disgusting things, violent images that he tried to force away. He didn’t want to think like that, didn’t want to have to envision anything so awful.

Gazing around, he noted that everything else seemed normal and in it’s proper place, except it was devoid of any people - besides himself, that is.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t hear anything.

There was a scuffle in the corner to his left, but when he turned to look there was nobody there, just as there had been at almost every other point in this bizarre nightmare.

A man chuckled, an amused laugh that he did not recognize as belonging to anyone he knew.

“Stop struggling and we won’t have to hurt you.”

“Let me go!!” That was Greta, crying hysterically.

“Greta!!” he tried calling out to her, even though he had a pretty good feeling he wouldn’t be answered.

He was surprised, then, when someone called his name. “Yuuri!!” Wolfram this time, voice filled with barely contained fear and panic. “Yuuri!!”

“Your King isn’t here to save you,” another voice taunted, chuckling darkly. “He doesn’t love you, doesn’t want you. He abandoned all of you, left you all alone.”

“That’s not true!” Yuuri tried once more. “I didn’t leave! I’m right here! Wolfram! Greta!”

The man who’d spoken to Greta grunted then, and the black haired boy could hear the pitter-pattering of feet against the floor. The wooden door to his left burst open seconds later, startling him with it’s suddenness.

“Grab her!” the one who’d been talking to Wolfram demanded as the princess began to shout out in the hallway. “Help!! Someone, help!! Guards!!”

“Greta!” Yuuri said her name a third time, moving to follow. He stumbled through the doorway, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, anyone, only to gasp when he found that he’d returned to the black void he’d started in. Turning, he watched as the door slowly closed, it’s hinges creaking the entire way. It clicked shut just as one final, bloodcurdling scream met his ears, and it brought tears to his eyes to know who it was.

Wolfram…

“Your fault,” the strange voices from before were whispering again, angry and full of hatred that could barely be kept in check.

“No…” he denied, but it was weak, and he no longer sounded as if he were too sure of himself.

In his mind he knew this was nothing more than a dream, a figment of his imagination, something his subconscious had spawned from all the issues that were troubling him presently. He knew none of this was real, that whatever had been going on inside of the room he’d just exited hadn’t truly happened. As soon as he woke up, everything would return back to normal. That did not, however, stop his heart from hurting, or his stomach from twisting up into tight knots as the memories of what he’d seen and heard so far came back to him. Even if it wasn’t real, it has still seemed as if it were, and it frightened him.

He fell to his knees on the ground below him, taking deep breaths as he attempted to gain control over himself. His arms wrapped around his upper body, as if to protect him from whatever else he would have to face, and he had to try very hard to keep his tears at bay. He wanted to wake up, he didn’t want to see anymore, not if it was only going to get worse. There’d already been too much blood, too much pain, and too much death. Anymore and he’d surely be sick, anymore and he’d snap, anymore and he’d go crazy with anger and rage.

The voices still whispering to him did nothing to make him feel any better. What was even worse than the ones continuously repeating “your fault,” where the ones overlapping them, the voices of his friends and family.

“We’re under attack, Your Majesty,” GegenHuber, informing him of the Shimeronian troops invading a village in Voltaire.

“Belal has reinstated his World Unification Movement.” Gunter. “He’s sending his men into battle against Lesser Shimeron. At this rate, Caloria will be caught in the middle of a disastrous war.”

“Baldric and Anselm have signed treaties with Greater Shimeron.” Murata, cold and serious, far more distant from his king and friend than usual. “Belal already has many more allies. His armies are growing larger by the day.”

“Lesser Shimeron has fallen to it’s enemies. Lady Flynn had been captured and is being transported to the capital of Greater Shimeron.” Yozak, having just come in with reports from his reconnaissance missions.

“Our village of Latimer has received heavy damages. Lord von Karbelnikoff requests aid.” Gwendal, unable to conceal the fury blazing in his eyes. “Furthermore, Belal is sending his men into Franshire. It’ll only be a matter of time before they take over.”

“We think it’s time to discuss your marriage to Lord von Bielefeld.” His lavender haired advisor again, unsmiling and stern.

“Franshire has fallen, Your Majesty.” Conrad, without the friendly smile that worked so well in putting Yuuri’s mind at ease.

“I love you, Yuuri!” Wolfram, upset and on the verge of breaking down, spitting those words at him like they were weapons used to tear at his heart, tears gathering in green eyes.

“As the king, you should be making the decisions, not allowing them to do that for you.” Shori, still distrusting and suspicious of his younger brother’s Mazoku friends, wise eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses.

“Seal your promises to each other with a kiss.” The priest from today’s ceremony, aged face set in a pleasant smile.

“Fane? That’s only an hour’s ride from here!” Mikhail, clearly distressed by the current state of their kingdom.

“That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? I’d be lying if I said that was enough.” Wolfram again, with that same hurt look from before, the one that made Yuuri feel like the lowest form of scum on the face of the earth.

And all the while those same voices repeated over and over again, “Your fault! Your fault! Your fault!”

“No,” he denied again, bringing his hands up to cradle his head as he shook it quickly, trying to force them away. He didn’t want to hear anymore of this.

But the more he fought against them, the louder they became.

“You’re a failure as a king.”

“Failure.”

“You let your people down. You don’t really care about them, not as long as you get what you want. You’re the same as everyone of those kings fighting against you.”

“That isn’t true!” Yuuri said, squeezing his eyes shut against the enraged chanting. “That isn’t true at all! Everything I’ve done over the last four years has been for the people!”

“You’re weak.”

“Weak.”

“You’re going to lead the Mazoku to their deaths! The war will kill us all!”

“There isn’t going to be any war! I won’t let that happen!”

“You’ll suffer.”

“Suffer.”

“You’ll abandon them all. It’ll be all your fault!”

“No!!”

“Yuuri…”

“Yuuri…”
…

“Murderer…”

Yuuri’s eyes snapped open, tears building within them again as that one word reverberated within the blackness, mocking him. “No…”

“Murderer!!” the voices chorused as one, laughing uncontrollably.

“No!!” the king shouted. “Shut up!! I didn’t do anything!! I haven’t killed anybody!! Leave me alone!!”

“Murderer!”

“Get out of my head!!”

Quickly the young black haired man sat up in bed, his body covered in a cold sweat, blue pajamas and raven hair dampened by perspiration. His breaths came out in heavy pants, the world around him spinning as he tried to focus. He could feel his hands shaking uncontrollably, and the tears that had built in his eyes during the entirety of his ordeal still blurred his vision. The nightmare had left him shaken, frightened at the thought of falling asleep again.

‘What the hell was that?’ he wondered, unable to convince himself that it had been nothing more than one of his ordinary dreams.

“Yuuri?” someone called out to him, and when the king was able to turn towards his left, he saw Wolfram sitting up in bed.

The blond looked almost completely awake, as if he’d been up for some time now, an uncommon occurrence for this time of night. His golden hair was mussed from sleep, and his large green eyes shone with worry, watching him carefully as he tried to gain control of himself. One of the sleeves of his nightgown was out of place, sliding down his arm to reveal more pale skin that what was typically exposed, but Yuuri didn’t allow himself to stare for long, turning away again mere seconds after glancing in his direction. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone at the moment, least of all Wolfram, who’s dream scream stilled plagued him.

‘That wasn’t really him,’ he mentally reminded himself, forcing such thoughts from his mind. ‘It wasn’t. It was just your imagination. You must have had too much to drink tonight.’

Somehow he didn’t think that was the case, but it was better to think that than something else.

“Yuuri?” Wolfram tried again, but the king refused to look at him. “You were shouting in your sleep and twitching all over. I tried to wake you up, but you wouldn’t…” he trialed off, emerald orbs still trained on the darker man. “Are you okay?” he asked, obviously concerned.

Yuuri supposed he had every right to be. It was rare that his dreams would wake up the boy beside him, after all. More often than not it was the other way around, with Wolfram accidentally kicking or punching him in his sleep, occasionally knocking him completely off of the bed, tormented by his own set of nightmares. Yuuri had gotten used to it, resigned himself to the fact that he’d always have to deal with Wolf’s less that peaceful sleeping habits, not even realizing that he could be doing similar things while in a state of slumber.

His nightmares had come more regularly over the last few years, making Yuuri wonder if his friend had witnessed something like this from him before, or if this was the first time he’d unintentionally awakened him - a task that was near impossible. If that was the case, he hoped Wolfram hadn’t been able to make anything out of his unconscious ramblings, as he’d rather not explain the words he’d spoken or the scenes that had prompted him to say them. It was still too fresh in his mind, the accusing voices having faded, but still there under the surface, waiting for the opportunity to pull him in again.

The scent of blood, also, still lingered, and when the nineteen year old glanced down at the silk sheets that his left hand was clutching for dear life, the image of the bedroom scene swam before him, and for just a second he thought he saw red staining the smooth white fabric.

Almost instantly he felt sick, lifting his hand from the sheet to cover his mouth as bile began to rise. He threw the covers off of him as he near jumped out of bed, dashing towards the washroom where he proceeded to retch into the chamber pot, his stomach forcing up all of the food he’d eaten at dinner that evening.

After everything had come up and he was left dry heaving for a few seconds, he stood on shaky legs, moving towards the washbasin and standing there just long enough to splash some of the lukewarm water onto his face and wash the sour taste from his mouth, feeling better now that he’d gotten that out of his system, though only slightly. He continued to breath heavier than normal, and he could still see all of the death in the back of his mind, but it seemed less real somehow now that he’d reacted to it.

“Yuuri?” he heard his name being called again, and he turned a little to his right to see Wolfram standing in the doorway, a candle at hand, dimply lighting the room.

“I’m fine,” the black haired man told him, though he remained leaning over the washbasin, the palms of his hands pressed against the cool marble countertop.

He could see Wolfram frowning out of the corner of his eye, clearly disbelieving his claims. “Only a wimp would get this sick over a stupid dream,” he said, trying to hide how much the situation and Yuuri’s subsequent reaction had rattled him. “Honestly, if I weren’t here to protect you, you’d probably be screaming at the sight of your own shadow.”

“You don’t know anything,” the king replied, somewhat harshly.

That had the blond pausing in his harmless insults, looking in on him inquisitively. He took one step foreword, cautious, like he didn’t want to startle the older looking male, reaching out with his free hand to place it against his back in a comforting gesture. “Do you want to talk about it?” Wolfram asked quietly, taking another small step closer as he did so.

Yuuri shook his head. “No,” he replied, trying his best to keep the disturbing mental images from returning.

“It might help you to-”

“I said ‘no!’” he repeated, much harsher this time, dark eyes narrowed as he straightened up, feeling as the hand against his back slipped away.

“You don’t have to yell at me!” Wolfram snapped back, his voice rising as anger and slight annoyance replaced the concern from only moments ago. “Excuse me for being worried about you! If you want me to leave you alone, then just come out and say so!”

There was that guilt again, not as strong as it had been earlier in the evening, but still there. Yuuri hadn’t meant to be so cruel to him; he’d lashed out before he’d even realized it. He was just so tired and upset. He felt lost, like he was spinning out of control, and he didn’t know what to do to correct the imbalance. Of course that was no excuse to treat his friend badly when he’d done nothing but show concern, but it had been almost instinctive to push the other young man away. He didn’t want to trouble him or anyone else with his problems. He’d rather deal with them himself. Telling Wolfram what he’d dreamed would only fuel his sense of worry.

“I’m sorry I bothered you,” the mazoku prince said, sounding slightly hurt as he moved to turn away.

“Wolfram,” Yuuri immediately tried to apologize, watching his friend march back across the room, heading towards their large bed. The double black followed him, ignoring the short bout of dizziness brought on by his sudden movements, reaching out a hand to grab onto one of his upper arms, pulling the blond back around to face him. “Wolfram, wait,” he pleaded, keeping his voice low and unthreatening.

“What?” the prince asked in return, forcing himself to sound more impatient than hurt.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“Don’t be. It’s obvious you’d rather not be bothered by me. I’m sorry for disturbing you,” he tried to pull himself away from Yuuri familiar grip, but the king would not allow him to do so.

“That isn’t it,” the taller man said, refusing to let go. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your concern or anything, it’s just that…” he paused for a long moment, averting his black eyes so that he was staring down at the floor. “I… I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Why not?” Wolfram asked, setting the lit candle down onto the surface of the bedside table. “Do you think I wouldn’t understand? I have bad dreams, too, Yuuri. I know how… how frightening they can be.”

“It’s not that, either,” he shook his head again, his eyes stinging as the tears returned, and he had to squeeze them shut to keep the drops from falling. “I just… I can’t explain it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never… never had a dream like that before. There was fire everywhere, and the blood… and then I kept hearing all those voices, telling me… telling me that it was all my fault.”

“What was your fault?”

“Everything,” Yuuri whispered the word, the same one that had been hissed at him.

Wolfram frowned as he stared up at him. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” he told the king, lifting a hand to place it against his cheek, turning his face so that he could look him in the eye. “None of that was real, Yuuri.”

“I know. But that didn’t stop it from seeming real.”

“You’re just tired,” the blond reasoned, using his thumb to remove a single tear from the corner of one of Yuuri’s black eyes. “You’ve been under too much stress lately. You’ll be fine once you get some rest, and then the dreams should go away. Stop worrying about everything and just focus on yourself for a while. You’re no good to anyone if you’re this stressed out.”

“I… I can’t go back to sleep. There’s not way that I could… not after…”

His fair haired friend sighed lightly, a small, comforting smile stretching across his pretty face, the candlelight dancing within his green eyes. “Don’t be such a wimp,” he said playfully, his voice light and affectionate. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? So you don’t get scared.”

“Or so you say,” Yuuri replied with a shaky smile.

“Someone’s got to watch out for you at night. There’s no telling what kind of trouble you’d get yourself into if it wasn’t for me.”

“You just wanted an excuse to sleep in my bed,” the Demon King pointed out, the tension slowly easing out of him, though it did not vanish completely. He didn’t think he’d be able to get over this any time soon, not so easily, not after it had been so realistic and graphic, but it helped to know that someone was there for him, even if he didn’t feel like saying anymore on the matter than he already had.

Wolfram’s smile widened slightly at his statement, eyes twinkling as he lowered the hand that had been on Yuuri’s face, dropping it so that he could slide it into one of the king’s own, giving it a light tug. “Come back to bed,” he said, leading him onto the wide mattress.

Yuuri followed him, feeling anxious as he slid back underneath the silken sheets, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep not matter how much the other boy reassured him. Laying down, he couldn’t help but shiver, wanting to forget all that he’d seen but lacking the ability to do so. He couldn’t just push it out of his mind and pretend as if it had never happened, nor could he easily ignore the terror that had welled up within him. It had all seemed so real, was the thought that continuously ran through his mind. How could he possibly forget about it?

He knew Wolfram was right in saying that he was probably too stressed presently, that he’d be fine once he was able to get some rest and things around the palace returned to normal, but that knowledge did nothing to stop him from wondering if all that he’d seen while sleeping could one day come to pass. He didn’t normally have visions, but that didn’t mean it was completely impossible, right? He’d seen Lady Julia quite a few times while unconscious, had talked to her just as he would to someone while he were awake. Although he supposed it would be a bit hard to believe that he was suddenly able to glimpse the future. Talking to a woman who’s soul now belonged to him did not make him prone to premonitions.

So that’s all it was, then; a dream - or a nightmare, rather - nothing more. The village fire had been conjured up from his knowledge of Shimeron’s plans to attack, the bodies and accusing voices were a byproduct of his guilt, and the scene with Wolfram and Greta in the bedroom… that, he supposed, came from the conflict within himself, the confusing emotions that were connected to the other boy. Greta having also been involved in whatever had been happening during that part of the dream was simply because she was their daughter and had an impact on their everyday lives.

It sounded so simple and unthreatening to think about it like that. Still, no matter what he told himself or what kind of explanations he came up with, in the end he was as scared, confused, and worried as he’d been all along.

‘What’s wrong with me?’

“Yuuri,” Wolfram was calling his name again, laying beside him once more, the light of the candle having been extinguished as they’d climbed back in.

“Mmm,” the black haired man made a noise to let him know that he’d heard him, but didn’t say anything more than that.

“Don’t worry about it so much. The more you think about it, the more it’s going to bother you.”

The Demon King said nothing in return, just stared up at the top of the canopy, an activity he’d grown used to doing when sleep was hard to find.

“Yuuri?” Wolfram wondered, and the taller boy could feel the bed shifting as his friend moved closer.

“What is it?” he asked when the blond did not continue, most likely waiting for some sort of a response before finishing whatever question he was about to pose.

“Can I… I mean…I…” the mazoku prince tried, only to discover that words were suddenly hard to come by at the moment, and he ended up working himself into a fluster. When speech failed him, Wolfram settled on taking action instead, scooting across the bed so that he and Yuuri were sharing one side, sliding one arm across the other boy’s chest in a parody of a hug. When the black eyed man didn’t move to pull away or have any other adverse reaction, Wolfram lowered his head until it was resting against a strong shoulder, pressing up against Yuuri’s left side.

“Is this okay?” he was finally able to ask, voice soft and unusually timid, afraid that the other boy would only shove him away again.

Yuuri took a moment to contemplate this new position before giving an answer, absorbing the feel and careful analyzing his emotions to decided if he liked this or not, or if the other boy was suddenly too close for comfort. It didn’t feel much different from the hug they’d shared a few weeks back; Wolfram was warm, and the weight against him was oddly comforting. There was something about being pressed so close to another living being that made him feel… alive. The fact that Wolfram was a boy and therefore he didn’t necessarily consider this ‘right’ didn’t even cross his mind.

What was so wrong with it when it felt so comfortable?

“This is fine,” he eventually replied, feeling as even more of his previous tension slowly eased out of him.

Wolfram let out a breath he probably hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, and though Yuuri couldn’t see too well in the darkness, he imagined the blond was sporting one of his rare content smiles. “You know, a long time ago when I was a little boy,” the fairer boy began in a quiet whisper, “and I woke up at night from a storm or a bad dream, I used to sneak down the hall and climb into bed with Mother or Conrart, and they’d sing to me until I fell back to sleep.”

“My mom used to sing to me, too,” Yuuri said, smiling lightly at his memories of early childhood. “And I’d go into Shouri’s room and fall asleep next to him whenever I was afraid of thunderstorms. He used to tease me about it when we woke up the next morning, but one time when I stayed in my own bed, he came into my room and climbed in with me.”

A light laugh escaped the blond then - although Yuuri told himself it sounded more like a soft giggle than a real laugh - before the two of them fell silent once again, lost in their own thoughts and memories. It didn’t last long - not that Yuuri was complaining at all; he’d do anything to keep his mind off of his nightmare - and after a moment Wolfram took a breath as if he were about to start speaking again, perhaps to recount another short tale of many years ago. Yuuri was a bit surprised then when no words at all were spoken. Instead, the sound of Wolfram humming met his ears.

At first, he didn’t know what to make of it. Most people in this world had some sort of an appreciation for the arts, whether it was painting or sculpting, writing, singing, knitting, embroidering or, in Lady Anissina’s case, inventing, and although Wolfram was no exception, Yuuri had often found himself questioning the other boy’s abilities. His paintings were… unique, to say the very least, and though the king had never heard his friend’s attempts at singing, he had to admit that he hadn’t thought it would be any better.

Therefore, he was surprised by how good it actually sounded more so that the fact that Wolfram was doing such a thing. Granted, he was only humming, but Yuuri figured that if he sounded this good simply making noises, he’d sound ten time better putting words to the melody. He voice was soft, smooth, and soothing, helping to relax him almost as much as the body heat radiating from his slender frame. The combination of tranquil sounds and the warmth of touch soothed the king’s weary soul, and successfully managed to lift his spirits at least a little bit, which he figured was a great accomplishment at this point.

Yuuri remained silent and listened, and although he still did not think he’d be able to get some sleep any time soon, he was far less tense now that he had been only moments ago. He put all of his focus and attention into the sounds emanating from his green eyed counterpart, listening intently as the song continued over a period of a few minutes, and when it ended he was happy to hear the other boy start back at the beginning. He didn’t say anything, fearful that Wolfram would become self-conscious and stop if he said even a single word, even if it was in praise.

After a while the humming began to die down, Wolfram’s breathing evening out as he drifted off to sleep. Yuuri could feel it as his body relaxed and went completely limp, resting against him and using his shoulder as a pillow. He smiled then, and released a small sigh, realizing for the first time since Wolfram had moved to this side of the bed that not only was he okay with their sudden close proximity, a part of him even liked it. It made him feel safe, secure, like nothing in the world could harm either of them. It was a good feeling, one he wouldn’t mind experiencing a bit more often.

Maybe being together like this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe there was something more to it, something worth all the trouble he was having with sorting out his emotions. If just laying together like this felt so nice, what would it feel like to be even closer?

It wasn’t until Yuuri himself began to drift off on the first waves of sleep that he realized where he’d heard that melody before, and he honestly couldn’t believe he hadn’t remembered sooner. It was the song they’d danced to earlier that night, their first dance as a married couple.

* * *

Yuuri’s period of sleep only lasted a couple of hours before he was again forced into wakefulness, though thankfully not because of any more sickening dreams. His eyes slid open as a loud clap of thunder resounded above, the wind blowing harshly outside and rain pounding down upon the castle. Lightning flashed, bright and jagged in the sky, illuminating the room for a few brief moments before it quickly faded, another burst of thunder following only seconds after. The storm that had been brewing in the distance all evening was now directly over them, drowning out almost every other sound.

The Demon King remained where he was, in no way frightened by the severe weather, not like he had been as a young child, and turned his head to the side slightly in order to catch a glimpse of Wolfram when another bolt of lightning struck. The blond was still in the same position he’d been in when he’d fallen asleep, arm thrown across Yuuri’s chest, head resting against his shoulder, a few strands of golden hair tickling the skin of Yuuri’s neck. Miraculously Wolfram had refrained from lashing out in his sleep and had lane completely still instead, which came as a slight surprise to the darker man.

Had his friend actually managed to sleep the last few hours without tossing and turning?

The black haired king released a light sigh, the soft gust of air rustling a few strands of his friend’s golden hair, a tiny smile working it’s way onto his face as the thin body next to him unconsciously moved closer. It felt strange to be pressed this close together, in an embrace slightly more intimate than a simple hug - one of Wolfram’s legs tangled with his own, his slender frame locked securely against his left side - but it was not at all threatening. In fact, Yuuri found their sudden closeness strangely comforting. He rather liked the light weight against him, and the feel of Wolf’s warm breath through the cotton material of his pajama shirt.

Had he been in this very position a year ago, even as little as a few weeks - or days - ago, he would have inquired about his own sanity. Wolfram was a boy after all, and as far as the nineteen year old was concerned, boys weren’t supposed to cuddle. Boys weren’t supposed to sleep in the same room - unless they were siblings or dorm mates. There was a certain distance that must be kept between them - one he’d forced between himself and Wolfram for the past four years - a line that must never be crossed, or even straddled. It was a line he suddenly found himself dangerously close to, teetering on the edge, near enough to cross over with one quick shove.

But he failed to question himself now, nor did he pull back. The comfort he’d found was too soothing for him to pay attention to the voice in his head that was telling him to get away, warning him that he was allowing himself to become too attached to something that he didn’t necessarily want. The friendship he had with Wolfram was more than enough for him, and even that brought it’s own set of problems, more issues than he felt like sorting through, questions about himself that he was too afraid to answer. He feared what those answers would mean, and what sort of dangers they would bring about should he accept them.

Out of all the things that had happened to him since his fifteenth year - being repeatedly attacked by Adalbert, abducted by kidnappers, searching for and opening the forbidden boxes, purposely placing himself into situations that could have been fatal simply to save one innocent life - his friendship… no, his relationship with Wolfram (as confusing as it was) was the most dangerous thing he’d ever had to face. He had very little knowledge on the topic of love, and what he did know was enough to keep him from willingly stepping over that imaginary line. He knew what love could make people do, what kind of emotions it could invoke.

He already lacked control over the severest of his emotions; transforming into an alternate personality - one that had no qualms about using violence in his endeavors to seek justice - was enough proof of that. It hadn’t been until he’d come to this world that his alter-ego had been discovered, but even before that fateful afternoon there had been instances when the anger he fought so hard to purge from within himself had gotten the better of him, such as the time he’d punched his baseball coach in junior high school, or when he’d slapped Wolfram the day they’d first met. They were minor instances, all of them, but with the “birth” of his split personality it had steadily grown worse.

He’d always strived to be a peaceful individual, free of conflict, optimistic and carefree, and so he’d hidden his negative emotions away, locking them somewhere deep inside of himself, practically ignored. The Maou was then a reflection of that, his anger and hatred at every injustice in physical form, an entity he’d unconsciously created to keep his conscious self free of those darker emotions. That persona never hesitated in a fight, was confident in his abilities to defend and attack, and could use the magical powers Yuuri had never even realized he possessed. In situations where Yuuri was afraid or confused, the Maou was authoritative, cunning, and shrewd.

Over the years, he’d come to rely on that part of himself less and less, to the point where a transformation had not occurred at all within the last ten to eleven months. With his history lessons pretty much completed, his swordsmanship greatly improved, and his horseback riding now close to perfect, Gunter had spent the last year and a half instructing him in majutsu. He’d worked on controlling his maryoku, so that there were no more dramatic, near fatal bursts of uncontrolled power. Being more disciplined in the art made his need for the Maou decrease substantially; however, without that release came a buildup of the emotions he’d always hidden from, and he now had no choice but to face his anger head-on.

It was frightening to know that he could feel such things when he’d spent so much of his life free of man’s darker feelings. He wasn’t used to it and - now that he was putting some serious thought into it - his sudden moodiness could very well be caused by his unfamiliarity with it. The stress he’d been under recently was also another important factor, leading him to a much deeper fear. In order to gain control over the powers he possessed as the Demon King, it seemed to him now as if he’d given up the control he’d previously had over his emotions.

Love, then - true, deep, all-consuming love - could potentially lead to some serious problems. He knew it was very Gwendal-like to say that becoming too attached to someone was a danger, but in his case, with everything that was going on in the country and with the inner battle inside of himself, such statements could possibly be proven true. If he allowed himself to become close to Wolfram, more emotionally close to him than he already was, what would he do if something happened to the other boy? He knew that they couldn’t protect one another from everything, but the thought of someone using the blond as a way to get to him made his blood simmer.

It had happened once before, albeit unintentionally. Shimeron hadn’t meant to harm him when they’d attacked and taken Conrad, but the event had certainly put him on a roller coaster ride of emotions. He’d depended on Conrad for almost everything since his very first day in Shin Makoku, so being without his comfort and guidance had been practically unbearable. Of course he could have found such things in others as well - in Murata or Wolfram, for instance - and he had to a certain extent, but Conrad’s disappearance and following betrayal had forced the king to become much more self-reliant, and though he’d still depended on the others, he’d created a safe distance between them and himself, so that he would not be so hurt should something like that ever happen again.

It wasn’t a perfect defense, he knew, as he was bound to feel some level of pain no matter how much space he put between himself and the others, but it was the only sort of protection the knew how to employ. Even the friendship he shared with Wolfram was becoming dangerous, especially now that he was allowing these somewhat intimate moments between them. He could hardly protect the blond from himself and the emotional turmoil he faced with Yuuri’s reluctance to return his affections; it would no doubt be even more difficult to protect him from a more tangible threat. Wolfram would place himself between the king and physical harm no matter what the consequences, so Shimeron attacking further threatened not only Yuuri’s safety, but his friend’s as well.

‘So being close like this only makes it worse, doesn’t it?’ he silently wondered, turning again to stare at his sleeping bedmate. ‘If something happened to either one of us, we’d both feel the effects.’

As if it had a mind of it’s own, Yuuri’s free right hand slowly moved across the thick winter comforter the maids had recently replaced the thinner, warmer weather blankets with, trailing up the slender arm that had earlier been thrown across his chest until it came to stop on Wolfram’s shoulder, exposed by his nightgown, which had shifted out of place over night. The skin he met there was soft to the touch, though slightly chilled by the cool air that encompassed the room. Absentmindedly, he moved his hand over it in an awkward caress, moving his palm up the pale column of his neck, over his jaw line and a smooth cheek, until it tangled itself within a mass of golden curls.

‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ he told himself, releasing yet another sigh at the realization. ‘By letting Wolfram get close like this now, I’ll only hurt hum more in the end. He’s right; I get close, and then I pull away from him, and he ends up being disappointed every time.’

The king’s internal dialogue was interrupted by a banging on the bedroom door, louder than it would have been had the person on the other side not had to compete with the roaring thunder and the deluge of rain. Yuuri jumped at the sound, not expecting it so early in the morning, and winced when the sudden movement caused the male beside him to begin to stir.

“Sorry,” he muttered, slowly disentangling himself from the waking blond, sitting up in the wide bed as the pounding continued. “Come in,” he called, using a bit of his newly learned majutsu to make a few of the chamber’s candles flicker to life.

The knocking stopped as soon as he’d granted access to whoever else was up at the current hour, the doorknob twisting seconds later, permitting the visitor to enter the room. For a moment, the Japanese man thought perhaps Gwendal and the others had returned and were coming to give their report as he’d told them to upon their departure. He knew, however, that despite his orders, his advisors were more likely to allow him to sleep through the night rather than coming to him right away. Unless it was something that absolutely could not wait to be discussed, they would have waited until they were sure he’d awakened.

Instead, it was his earth friend who crossed over the threshold, dressed and ready to greet the day as if he awoke before the sun every morning.

“Murata?” Yuuri wondered, lifting a hand to rub the remainder of sleep from his eyes, watching as the other double black stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

“What does the Sage want?” Wolfram mumbled somewhat angrily, annoyed at the unexpected intrusion, though he still appeared more asleep than awake, remaining close by the king’s side.

Yuuri had no answer for him, and could only continue to ask questions of his own, staring at the bespectacled man in confusion. “What are you doing up? The sun hasn’t even risen yet.”

“It will,” Ken replied, walking across the room to stand by one of the high windows, pushing a curtain aside in order to look out at the violent weather that was assaulting the capitol. The serious look that adorned his face and the harsh set of his jaw was enough to have Yuuri sitting up a bit straighter, pushing the sheets and blankets away as his legs dangled over the side of the mattress.

“We’re trying to sleep,” Wolfram spoke again, refusing to grant the Sage any more of his attention. “Go away.”

“Wolf,” Yuuri said his name almost in warning, before he was turning back to the youngest - though arguably the most knowledgeable - of his advisors. “What’s wrong?” he asked, ignoring the groan that escaped the blond prince. “Has something happened that I should be made aware of? Have Conrad and Gwendal returned yet?”

“If they have, I haven’t been informed. Most of the castle is still asleep.”

“That’s because most of the castle comprises of normal living beings that require more than three hours of rest in order to function,” Wolfram said testily, frowning deeply as he finally sat up in bed, resigning himself to the fact that his period of sleep was going to be disturbed until the Great Sage felt like making his exit. “What are you doing in here?”

“There’s something important that I must discuss with the both of you,” Murata said in return, not phased by the Prince’s attitude. “It concerns this evenings happenings in Fane.”

“Do you know something about it?” Yuuri wondered, eager to find out the current state of their northern town. “Has someone told you something? Was a message sent from Yozak and the recovery party?”

“No,” the other young man answered with a slow shake of his head. “There’s been no message. I know nothing more than you do about the situation.”

“Then what do we need to discuss?”

The look on Murata’s face darkened considerably as he turned around to face the seemingly less concerned king. “I think it’s obvious by now that Belal isn’t going to give up, and that we need to do more in seeing that Shimeron does not succeed in their planned invasion.”

“What planned invasion?” Yuuri asked, narrowing his dark eyes at the young human man. “They’ve conducted minor attacks on three of our villages. How does that qualify as an invasion? If anything his tactics have been petty and ineffective.”

“Petty?” Ken raised a dark eyebrow. “Attacking innocent villagers is petty?”

“That’s not what I meant!” Yuuri told him, frowning at his tone of voice. “What I meant is, Shimeron has yet to use the full potential of their forces in attacking us.”

“So we’re supposed to sit around doing nothing until they feel like sending a whole battalion in, is that it?”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” the Demon King said, wondering what could have the other Earthen man speaking as he was. Why did it suddenly seem as if Murata didn’t agree with his ideals of peace anymore? “And you shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions before we know all the facts. For all we’ve been told, what happened in Fane could have been a false alarm.”

“And I suppose you think Belal is only playing a game with us, and he’ll give up once he grows bored.” The look on Ken’s face was steadily growing darker, confusing the other double black. He’d never seen his friend quite this serious before. “There’s going to be a war whether you want one or not.”

“There’s not going to be a war.”

“Then what would you have us do?”

Yuuri’s frown deepened, and he glared at his friend for possibly the first time in all the years that they’d known one another. “Don’t you trust me to make the right decisions?’

“I trust that your thoughts are with the people,” the Sage answered him. “I trust that you care about their lives and safety, but who’s to say what the right decision is? What if you’re making the wrong decision?”

“How can you say that?!” Yuuri asked in disbelief. How could anyone, least of all one of his closest friends, think that war was a better option than diplomacy? What in the world had changed Murata’s mind? “I don’t want a war, Murata, and I’m not going to sign the papers allowing one!”

“It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t want! Your decisions should be made according to what’s best for the people you serve! It’s their lives at stake now!”

“You want me to send them off to die?! How could you possibly think that that’s what’s best for them?!”

“It’s better to die fighting that to sit idle and do nothing!”

“Listen to you!” Yuuri couldn’t believe what he was hearing, what Ken was trying to convince him of. “Can you even hear yourself?! You’re starting to sound like Gwendal!”

“I only speak the truth,” Murata said gravely, remaining at his place by the window, a flash of lightning glinting off of his glasses. “Wouldn’t you rather fight for your life than give up without even trying?”

“I’d rather talk things out and find a peaceful solution!”

“Sometimes you can’t find a peaceful solution, no matter how hard you look! There are some in this world who just won’t listen; it doesn’t matter how many times you shout for peace. Belal is not going to sit down over afternoon tea and discuss a treaty with us! He’s going to keep pushing until his army invades! What are you going to do then?” he paused for a moment, waiting for some sort of a response. “You can’t sit back and allow that to happen, Shibuya!”

The whole time this conversation was going on, Wolfram sat up in the middle of the bed, his disappointment and slight annoyance at having been awakened long before what he considered a decent hour dissipating as he glanced back and forth between the two angry double blacks. Ever since the Sage had appeared in this world again in the form of Yuuri’s schoolmate, the blond haired prince had never once seen them argue like this. They’d bickered quite a few times, it was true, but there had rarely been any shouting, only dumb Earth jokes that he could never understand and the occasional bout of teasing.

To see them as they were now, their questions and comments becoming more heated, their dark, dark eyes narrowed dangerously, it was a strangely frightening sight. Yuuri had always been very passionate when it came to his desire for world peace. It was almost on obsession of his, something he’d worked towards since the beginning of his reign. But to see him like this, almost… enraged… by what his friend was suggesting, made Wolfram’s heart beat just a little bit faster. If he concentrated hard enough, ignoring everything else around him, he could have sworn he felt the bubbling of power, slowly making it’s way to the surface.

It was almost enough to keep him silent, and prevent him from saying all that was on his mind at the moment.

“Maybe the Sage is right,” he spoke in a near whisper, part of him even hoping that the king hadn’t heard him, flinching unintentionally when the man he loved turned those narrowed eyes upon him.

“What did you say?” Yuuri asked, and again it sounded more like a warning that a casual statement or question.

“I said, maybe he’s right,” Wolfram repeated, not as quietly this time but still soft enough to be barely more than a whisper.

He hated to disappoint Yuuri, he really did. If he had it his way, he’d make the world into the kind of place Yuuri truly wanted, a world free of hatred, free of fear, a place where everyone could live together without any prejudices or misunderstandings. The fact remained, however, that there were people in this world like Belal - and like plenty of other kings who still distrusted those who shared the planet with them - who hungered for power, who desired control, and who cared naught for the innocents who ended up fighting for their perversions.

Wolfram would rather the world not be so unfair; he’d already seen so much in his near eighty-six years alive, more than Yuuri would probably ever see in his own life. As much as he wished for the king’s kind words to work on everyone, he knew that they could not rely on hopes and smiles to see them through every hardship. He’d learned in his years as a soldier that words could fail, and that in such instances the only important thing was protecting the people, regardless of how they had to go about doing it. He didn’t want another war either, but right now all their other options were beginning to look hopeless.

“How can he be right?!” Yuuri questioned him, the look in his eyes darkening with every second that passed, and Wolfram could only wonder what was going on inside of him at that moment, what kind of inner battle he was going through as his two closest friends seemed to turn on him.

Wolfram didn’t answer. He couldn’t think of a way to explain himself that would calm their dark haired sovereign. Yuuri had spent too much of his life on a relatively peaceful world; the blond doubted he would ever fully understand the concept of war.

When the prince remained silent, Yuuri pushed himself back onto the mattress, the storm outside growing worse as the storm within himself continued to strengthen. Wolfram hardly had the time to utter a single word, much less move away from the other young man, before a pair of hands came up to grab onto his shoulders. A shiver trailed down his spine at the almost dangerous glint that had entered into those dark eyes, but he didn’t try to pull away, not even when Yuuri’s grip tightened, fingers pressing into his skin nearly hard enough to bruise.

“Tell me!!” the king demanded, giving him a rough shake, before his voice lowered into a tone that was far too familiar not to be the least bit frightening. “Do you want to send our soldiers off to die?” he asked, so close Wolfram could feel the warmth of his breath brushing against his face.

“Of course not,” he replied with a short shake of his head, trying his hardest to control his facial expressions, not wanting to reveal how unsettled he was. “But they have a duty to the country and they’ll do whatever they have to in order to protect it. A soldier is always prepared for war, Yuuri. They know it’s always a possibility.”

“So, what? Now you want a war, too?!”

“That’s not what I said!” the blond was quick to deny, unable to hide the slight wince as the king’s grip tightened even more.

“You made a promise to me, Wolfram!” Yuuri shouted, giving him another harsh shake. “If you sign a Declaration, I swear to God, I’ll…”

Just as quickly as the anger had swept through him, it left just as suddenly, the look of animosity vanishing in an instant, leaving him wide-eyed and confused. His mouth fell open in surprise as he came to realize what he’d been doing, what he’d been saying, his hands loosening on Wolfram’s shoulders, lifting off of him and trembling slightly, disbelief clouding his dark orbs. His voice, when he spoke, had returned to normal, deeper now than it had been four years ago, but no where near as dark and feral as that of the Maou’s.

“I… I’m sorry,” he apologized, lifting a hand to his head as if it pained him. “I didn’t mean… I…”

“Yuuri…” the blond called to him, confused by all that had just happened. Quickly he turned to look in the Sage’s direction, noting how the other dark haired male had raised an eyebrow, curious over Yuuri’s little show. Wolfram would have asked him what he made of the sudden event had he not been so concerned for his king, and turned back to the half human in order to make sure he was truly alright.

“I won’t,” he reassured him, keeping his voice soft and soothing. “I won’t sign one, I swear. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

If Yuuri acknowledged what he’d just said, the prince didn’t know. At the moment, the older looking young man seemed too consumed by guilt to pay attention to anything else. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he kept mumbling over and over again.

“Yuuri,” he said his name once more, reaching out to place his palms on either side of his face, forcing the other man to look him in the eye. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t meant that. I don’t know why I…”

“It’s okay,” Wolfram repeated. “I know. Don’t worry about it, you wimp. I’m fine.”

“But… I…”

“I said, I’m fine,” the blond said forcefully, pulling Yuuri closer so that he could press their foreheads together. “Just calm down.”

His reassurances seemed to work, Yuuri falling silent as he attempted to regulate his breathing, which had become a bit labored after his sudden shift in personality. Black eyes slid shut, the warmth of his breath still fanning across the prince’s face, disrupting a thin blond curl from where it rested against his cheek. One of his hands slid into Yuuri’s hair, stroking a few raven locks and repositioning them behind his ear, sinking his fingers into the dark mass as his own eyes slowly shut, long lashes fluttering against pale skin.

He was more than glad when Yuuri began to calm down on his own, his breaths slowing and his shaking subsiding. He’d be lying if he said that what had just happened hadn’t scared him at least a little. He’d seen the Maou plenty of times before, and each transformation had left him secretly awe-struck, the king’s magical creations often terrifying in their own right. This time, though, there had been no burst of power, no glowing blue light to signify the Maou’s presence. No great change had taken place to point towards a transformation. If he hadn’t know about Yuuri’s other personality, he probably wouldn’t have even realized the difference.

He didn’t know how to explain it. He couldn’t remember a time in which the king had had such weak control over his anger. Never before had there been a transformation in the midst of a conversation. It had only ever been if someone needed to be protected, when Yuuri used his powers to save others. He never gave empty threats, and certainly not to those who weren’t deserving of them, but it was always in someone else’s defense. Never for himself.

“It’s obvious that you’ve been thinking about the situation we’re in quite a bit if you’d react like that,” Murata’s voice cut through the silence of the bedchamber, staring at the royal couple curiously, intrigued. “So why, then, haven’t you done anything to stop this before it grows worse?”

“I can’t…” Yuuri answered him quietly, pulling away from his blond friend to look back in Ken’s direction, allowing his eyes to reopen and meet the Sage’s gaze.

“Why not?” was the next question.

“Because sending our men off to war would go against everything I’ve ever believed, everything I’ve told our people since I became the king!” he cried passionately. “I swore that I’d stop the violence.”

“But you haven’t stopped it.”

“I will.”

“How?” Murata wondered, drawing an uncertain pause from the other man. “Albert Einstein once said, ‘The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing.”

“Someone else once said, ‘We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools (1).’” Yuuri countered.

“You would be the fool if you continued to ignore this!”

“I’m not ignoring it!” was the immediate denial. “I’m well aware of what’s going on! You and Gwendal have been hounding me about it for months now, like I’m still some oblivious child pretending to be king! I thought I’d proven myself to everyone by now!”

“You have.”

“Then why are you doubting me?!”

Murata was quiet for a moment, staring across the room at the other double black, a strike of lightning flashing through the window behind him, thunder clapping loudly and ominously. “What have you done to protect our people from Shimeron’s attacks? You care for them and give them the resources they need to rebuild after it’s over, but you haven’t protected them from the threat. Three villages if half a year - three of our major villages… our people are living in fear, Shibuya. It’s true that they were able to forget in the weeks leading up to last night’s wedding, but once they discover what’s happened in Fane…”

He trailed off and Yuuri refrained from replying. Instead, the king remained sitting upon the large bed, close to the prince, who’d fallen silent and gone back to watching the two earthen men, a little overwhelmed by everything.

“People are dying,” the Sage continued, trying to get through to the distraught king. “Whatever your decision is, it doesn’t change the fact that you already have blood on your hands.”

Yuuri shook his head at the statement, a tortured look crossing his features as he was again haunted by his bloody nightmare. “Attacking Shimeron isn’t going to solve anything. You can’t kill people to prove that violence is wrong. It’s hypocritical and immoral.”

“But at least we’d be protecting those who live in our country. Their lives would be spared, even if others are not.”

“I hope you’re not about to spout off that ‘we should fight them over there so we don’t have to fight them over here’ bullshit.”

“It isn’t bullshit in this case,” the Sage said. “Sometimes war is a viable option that he have to take.”

“I refuse to believe that!” Yuuri replied vehemently, determination hardening his black eyes. “Whether we fight them here or there, innocent people would die. It’s the civilians and soldiers who’d suffer the most. I don’t want that,” he said softly. “There’s another solution. We just have to be patient and find it.”

“How long will that take? A year? Two? By then Shimeron will have moved in and taken control over a good portion of our lands.”

“Damn it, Murata!” the king snapped again, fisting the bedclothes with his hands as frustration washed through him in harsh waves. “This is my country and these are my people! I don’t need you and Gwendal telling me what I should do all the time. I’m the king!!”

“Then act like it!!” the Sage snapped right back, an action that was so rare it was practically unheard of. It was almost enough to have Wolfram wishing to make his exit and leave these two powerful halflings to battle it out on their own. There were very few people in either world who could stand up to Yuuri when he unleashed his Maryoku, if any; the blond would rather not test the Sage’s abilities as well.

“Stop hiding behind your ideals of peace and do something!” Ken continued to shout, something very few people had heard him do before. “You’re one of the greatest kings this country has ever had! Why are you running away when your people need you most?!” he asked. “When the hell did you become so blind?!”

Yuuri looked stricken, incapable of responding to Murata’s questions and accusations. His eyes had widened at the level of his friend’s voice, and he was obviously surprised to witness the man’s outburst. It was certainly unexpected for someone usually so jovial and free spirited to break down and release his anger in such a fashion. Wolfram himself had rarely seen the Sage without at least the beginnings of a smile on his face, and during the times in which he had been serious he’d still seemed much more approachable that Gwendal was on his good days. There had always been a friendliness about the Earthen man, even when circumstances were bleak.

Wolf didn’t like the way this conversation was turning. Yuuri was already under enough stress - the troubles of this evening certainly weren’t making his mood any better - and to have one of his good friends turning on him at a time like this no doubt came as quite a shock to him. The pale prince himself was still a bit unnerved by the Sage’s reaction, though he very much disliked how Yuuri was being treated. Shouting at the king was inappropriate even from nobles of the highest standing. It was true that Wolfram had shouted at him plenty of times in the past, but something about the way the Sage was doing so didn’t sit well with him.

“Now I think you’ve said quite enough,” he told the man by the window, narrowing his green eyes slightly in displeasure. “Yuuri’s doing what he thinks is best. You can’t fault him for that. If we keep talking with Belal, I’m sure he’ll eventually come to listen.” Even as he said this, he didn’t see any truth in his words, though Yuuri shot him a pleased look for his agreement, a thankful smile that made Wolf’s heart flutter.

“Do you honestly believe that, von Bielefeld?” Murata turned his questioning to the prince, no longer yelling, but looking no less angry than he had been moments ago. “It’s not like you to give up without a fight,” he stated when he received no answer.

“I’m not giving up,” Wolfram said, though he quickly turned his eyes away, knowing the wise human man could see right through him. What he’d just spoken had been a lie. He was giving up (in a way) and he knew it; he’d been doing a lot of that lately, and internally he hated himself for it. He’d always thought of himself as weak, inferior to the kind of men his older brothers had grown to be. The turmoil he’d been under regarding his feelings for Yuuri made it even worse, to the point where he no longer knew who or what he was anymore.

“Aren’t you?” the other male wondered, quirking an eyebrow again. “You never used to be like this.”

“Neither did you.”

They stared at one another for a long moment, Murata reading what he could from the Prince with those wise eyes of his, and Wolfram trying his hardest not to appear uncomfortable in front of him, though he’d like nothing more than for the Sage to leave. Yuuri looked torn between keeping quiet and saying something to reiterate his point, still sitting beside the blond on their bed, close enough for Wolfram to reach out and touch him if he chose to. In the end the king chose silence, perhaps having run out of things to say.

They were interrupted once again anyway, by a series of knocks on their chamber door, ones not nearly as loud as Murata’s pounding had been, though loud enough to be heard over the sounds made by the current weather. Yuuri immediately called for the knocker to enter, and the door slowly creaked open to reveal the previous queen’s eldest two sons, both of whom had been drenched by the rain on their journey back to the castle. Their uniforms appeared dry, as they’d probably changed before heading towards the king’s room, but their hair was soaked, dripping bangs hanging in their eyes, dark strands clinging to the sides of their faces and necks.

“Conrad, Gwendal,” Yuuri said, relieved that they’d returned, happy to be distracted from the sudden tension between he and the other double black.

“Is everything alright?” the half-human soldier inquired, peering around the room in concern, looking towards each of the chamber’s previous three occupants. “We didn’t expect any of you to be awake so early in the morning.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Murata assured them, his anger lessening only slightly. “Shibuya and I were simply discussing our current situation.”

“You were harassing him, you mean,” Wolfram said, feeling less tense now with his brothers here, knowing they’d be able to keep the two other boys from arguing so heatedly again.

“Wolf…” Yuuri admonished, lifting a hand to grab hold of his upper arm, almost as if to restrain him. “It’s okay,” he reassured the blond, offering him a small smile, before he was giving his undivided attention to his Chief of State and the man who’d given him his name. “I’m assuming things have been taken care of in Fane,” he said, some of his confidence returning now that everything seemed to be fine.

“As well as they can be, yes,” Gwendal replied cryptically, sapphire eyes narrowed and glinting in the candlelight.

“What do you mean?” Yuuri wondered, confused by his words.

Wolfram immediately got a bad feeling when both Gwendal and Conrart frowned deeply, their expressions a mix of carefully restrained anger and sadness. “What’s going on?” the prince asked, hardly noticing when Yuuri slowly let go of his arm, seeming to realize that something was wrong as well.

The brown haired man shook his head. “Perhaps it would be best if we waited to discuss this until-”

“No,” their king was quick to cut him off. “I want to hear it now. What happened?”

Conrart sighed, but answered the younger man anyway. “The village was attacked sometime in the early evening. We knew such an event was possible given that the kingdom was otherwise distracted, but we didn’t expect the hit to come so close to the capital itself.”

“Belal’s men?”

“Whoever did it was long gone by the time our party arrived,” the middle brother continued. “We can’t be sure exactly who it was that launched the attack. None of the culprits were at the scene, nor could we detect any sign of them in the surrounding area. However…” he paused, debating with himself on whether he should go on or not, obviously concerned about what Yuuri’s reaction would be.

“However?” the dark haired king prodded, sounding a bit impatient.

Gwendal answered for his half-human brother, irritated, but by what it was hard to tell. “We do not believe the attack was carried out by Shimeron.”

Wolfram was baffled, confusion shining in his emerald green eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked, and he could see the Sage frowning by his place near the window, though the look on his face did not seem bewildered at all. Instead he looked as if he’d expected to hear something like that, and was disappointed that he’d been right. “Who else would if it be if not Shimeron?”

Conrart shook his head once more. “All we currently know is that the men who attacked were soldiers, but they were not dressed in the uniforms and armor worn by the Shimeronian army.”

“How many casualties?”

“Four…” Conrart began, then faltered, his short, unfinished answer causing relief to flood the king’s face, until the soldier was able to continue. “Four hundred and sixty eight.”

An oppressing silence filled the room, disturbed only by the storm still raging outside. Not a words was spoken by any of the five men as that significant number sunk into the brains of the younger three, filling them with an unfamiliar dread. Wolfram felt as if his heart had fallen down to his feet, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Yuuri felt the exact same way, perhaps even worse. It was hard to fathom so many people being slain, harder still to imagine what they must have gone through that night. The blond could barely even think straight for a moment, too surprised to do much more than sit there.

“What?” Yuuri asked, his voice small and weak.

Wolfram swallowed hard, not wanting to believe a word his second brother had just said. “You can’t be serious.”

“We’re completely serious!” his oldest sibling glared at him darkly, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for the gray-black haired man to keep his anger in check. “The entire village was completely destroyed! Not a single person made it out alive, except a young boy. Gisela doesn’t know if he’ll make it through the night.”

“You mean… everyone…” Yuuri began, but immediately trailed off, unable to speak.

“They’re all dead, Your Majesty,” Conrad replied with a short nod, his eyes sad, sympathetic towards the king, knowing what he must be going through as he was given such information. “The men, the women… and the children. They spared no one.”

Yuuri sucked in a deep breath, raising his hands to cover his face, his shoulders shaking just slightly. Wolfram placed one of his hands against his back in comfort, hating to see him so torn.

“Tell me…” he began again, voice cracking with emotion. “Tell me everything… everything you know about what happened.”

Conrart looked concerned. “Your Majesty, you shouldn’t-”

The black haired man cut him off. “Tell me! I need to know!”

“Yuuri…” Wolfram tried, but received no response from the older looking male.

Gwendal growled angrily, disapproving of the sympathy that was being shown towards their monarch. “Do not coddle him,” he said heavily, speaking to both his brothers.

Conrart didn’t have much of a reaction to his words; he simply stood by silently, unwilling to tell His Majesty all that they’d seen that night. Wolfram, however, glowered at the other man, then turned his nose up defiantly. He moved closer to the ailing king, circling his arms around him to hug him from behind, leaning into him to rest his cheek against the back of one of his shoulders, offering as much comfort as he could, ignoring the three pairs of eyes that were watching him as best as he could. If Yuuri appreciated the gesture - or if he disliked it - Wolfram didn’t know; the black haired man made no move, nor did he speak any words to acknowledge him.

It was Gwendal who responded to the king’s request. “The villagers had no warning,” he said, no longer attempting to hide the rage he felt, or hold back his frustrations. “There was no time to prepare a defense, and the town militia was severely overwhelmed. The men were slaughtered; they were hardly given a chance to fight.”

“Gwendal…” Conrart attempted to stop him from continuing any further, knowing what kind of an affect this sort of information would have on Yuuri’s state mind.

His older brother easily ignored him. “The women were beaten and raped before they were killed. Some appeared to have tortured. From a careful inspection of the state of their bodies, Gisela suspects many of them were kept alive long enough to watch as their husbands and children were killed.”

“And what… what happened to the children?”

Here Gwendal’s voice lowered, not only in anger, but perhaps a little bit of sadness as well. “The smaller children and the infants were taken to the river, where our enemies tossed them in or held them under until they drowned. The older ones…” he faltered, hands balling into tight fists. “The older children were locked into the school house and burned alive.”

Wolfram clenched his eyes shut at the gruesome picture that flashed within his mind, his arms tightening around the taller boy. He could feel Yuuri begin to shake, in anger, disgust, and grief, and the blond hadn’t a clue as to what to do in order to soothe him. “God…” he heard the king whisper breathlessly, voice chocked with the tears he was desperately trying to hold back.

“Whoever was responsible obviously wanted your full attention,” Gwendal said, retrieving something from within his long green jacket, the rustling of paper reaching their ears. “Our men discovered this note attached to one of the bodies.”

Slowly Yuuri’s hands lowered and he turned towards the dark haired mazoku, glancing at the paper that was being held out to him with moist eyes. He reached for it with a light sniffle, snatching it away and bringing it up to read, noting the splotch of dried blood and the gash at the top, from where it had most likely been attached to the body by a blade of some sort. Yuuri gulped harshly before letting his eyes trail over the words, his hands shaking as he got to the end.

Wolfram looked over his shoulder to glance at it as well. It was short, and written in human text, but the penmanship was neat, precise, and of a higher quality than that of a commoner. It seemed as if certain amount of effort had been put into it to make it a bit personal, addressing Yuuri formally, and acknowledging the evening’s wedding in an almost congratulatory manner, though the “gift” that had accompanied it was anything but. The words themselves also held a tone of warning, the final two clearly meant as an insult, though it was difficult to say if it had been directed to Yuuri, or if the author had meant for Wolfram to read it as well.

“‘Demon Whore?’” the blond frowned, green eyes narrowing in offense, caring more about that than he did the fact that the note had been left unsigned. “Who the hell does this person think he is calling me a-”

“That’s the least of our worries,” the Chief of State told him, curtailing the tirade that had been on the verge of building. “You should be more concerned about who wrote it than what his thoughts are on your position as the king’s spouse.”

Wolfram failed to reply, and kept the rest of his comments on the matter to himself.

The king fisted the letter once he’d read over it a few times, crumbling it within his hand as he gritted his teeth, wrinkling the parchment as the level of his own angered increased dramatically. “Belal…” he nearly growled, dark eyes narrowed and glaring across the room, as if he could see the man right in front of him. His whole body was tense, and again Wolfram could feel the surging of power, the sense stronger now through their physical contact. It was almost enough to have him lowering his arms and inching away, but he held fast to his courage and to his king.

“As we said before, we do not believe it was Shimeron,” Conrart cautiously reminded him, looking tempted to approach the younger man and place a consoling hand upon his shoulder. He stood his ground, however, and remained far more formal than he would have been on a different occasion.

“It certainly doesn’t seem like something Belal would do,” the Sage observed, breaking out of his self-induced silence. “He’d sooner capture our people an enslave them than murder them so savagely. It’s true that he relies on fear as a means to gain control, but…” he trailed off for a moment, shaking his head. “Mass murder isn’t his style.”

“Then who else could it have been?” the blond wondered when very few names came to mind. “No one else had been causing any major problems lately. Shimeron’s the only opposing human country currently conducting any military operations.”

“Perhaps others felt they could actually get away with it,” Gwendal began, “seeing as our king has so far been unwilling to stop them.”

“Gwendal!” Conrart shouted in disapproval, watching as Yuuri visibly flinched.

“Do not try to protect him, Conrart!” the older man shouted right back. “This is entirely his fault!”

“None of us could have known!”

“We have been attacked three times in the last half a year!” Gwendal pointed out, voice loud and unrelenting. “Shimeron has declared war on us and has moved half of their army to our border! It was only a matter of time until our other enemies took advantage of the grand opportunity we’ve presented them with!”

“Stop it!” Wolfram demanded, hating the way the taller mazoku was accusing the double black without even considering his current feelings. “This isn’t his fault!” he exclaimed, staying where he was, embracing the emotional boy as he faced his oldest brother’s darkest, most intimidating glare.

“You’re right,” Gwendal eventually agreed, nodding curtly. “It’s mine. I should have sent the troops out months ago, with or without a Declaration.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do!”

Wolfram almost backed down, never any good when it came to standing up to his eldest sibling, but his resolve strengthened when he reminded himself that he was no longer ranked below the blue eyed aristocrat. “You’re not allowed to send our men to war without the proper documentation, and the only person who can sign that is the king!” he said. “If you do so without his approval, you’d be breaking the law! You could be arrested and tried for treason!”

“Shibuya is no longer the only one with the authority to sign a War Declaration,” Murata made sure to point out, and Wolfram could feel both pairs of his brothers’ eyes boring into him, waiting for his response.

The prince shook his head, holding true to the promise he’d made to Yuuri. “I won’t sign one either.”

Gwendal looked ready to snap completely at that, sapphire eyes narrowed so darkly his youngest brother couldn’t even look at him, his tanned face reddening with an anger that could not be suppressed. Wolfram knew that the older mazoku lord would have started shouting again, and that his speech would have probably contained a great many insults, both towards him and their king. He was prevented from doing so by Yuuri, who cut him off before his ranting could even begin, dark eyes meeting his advisor’s gaze, not hiding or turning away as he’d done when they’d first met.

“Seek out the ones who did this,” he ordered, his voice not betraying the whirlpool of emotions swirling within him. In fact, he sounded calmer than he had only a few minutes ago, and it was almost as if he was challenging Gwendal to do more than his demands entailed.

“And when we find them?” Conrart questioned.

“Take them into custody,” Yuuri said somewhat confidently, though Wolfram could still feel how tense he was. “We’ll find out who it was that sent them and who planned the attack, then I’ll speak with them personally.”

“Talking to them isn’t going to solve anything,” Murata warned, repeating his point from the conversation they’d been having earlier.

“You don’t know that.”

Again Gwendal growled, annoyed by his tactics and his desire to continue with the diplomacy that no longer seemed to be working. “Anyone who’d massacre an entire village is not going to willingly speak with you. If they do, they will ignore every request that you make of them.”

“You don’t know that either.”

“You are a fool!”

“‘Who’s the more foolish: the fool or the fool who follows him?” (2)

Wolfram pulled away, shocked that Yuuri would say something like that about one of his advisors, and in a way that sounded so taunting. Conrad looked just as surprised by his choice of words, and even perhaps a little disappointed in Yuuri, that he’d stoop so low as to casually insult a man who’d been nothing but loyal to him for the last four years. Even the Sage seemed less than thrilled, though any feelings of surprise he may have felt did not show through on his face. He kept his expression neutral, his gaze steady, eyes only narrowed slightly.

Gwendal turned scarlet, and he looked as if he very much desired to draw his sword and defend his honor, an act that would have seen him restrained and in a jail cell faster than he could sign his name. He appeared to silently debate upon it for a few moments, his right hand twitching, gradually rising towards the hilt by his left side, before he dropped it and clenched his fist, knowing the consequences and the regrets he’d surely have once he was able to cool his head. Instead he pivoted on his heal, angrily stalking towards the door, swinging it open violently, so he could step out into the hall, then slamming it shut behind him, nearly hard enough the splinter the wood.

“Your Majesty…” Conrart began after he was sure the man was truly gone, only to find himself suddenly interrupted.

“I’m sorry, but I’d like to be alone right now,” Yuuri requested, turning away from him, already feeling quite ashamed of himself.

The half-human soldier looked ready to argue, but instantly stopped himself. “I understand,” he said. “I’ll begin establishing a troop of men to carry out your orders,” he continued, then turned his attention to the Great Sage. “Your Highness, I would appreciate your assistance.”

Murata knew it was nothing more than a ploy engaged in order to get him to make his departure as well, and though he most likely had much more to say to his earthen friend, he nodded in acceptance. Together the two walked towards the door, saying nothing more to the king.

Before he made a complete exit of the room, however, Conrart turned to shoot a questioning glance in his younger brother’s direction, motioning with a quick jerk of his head for the blond to follow them. Wolfram declined with a frown, watching as the brunet sighed then quietly shut the door behind him. ‘There’s no way I’m leaving him,’ Wolfram thought to himself, turning back to the black haired boy once they’d finally been left to themselves again. ‘I don’t care what he says, I’m not going anywhere.’

Yuuri’s back was facing him, his shoulders hunched in defeat, head bowed so that his bangs completely hid the top half of his face. The Prince reached a hand out to him, though he didn’t say any words, simply placed his palm against the tense muscles of his back, softly rubbing through his blue night shirt. He almost felt rejected when Yuuri pulled away, his heart clenching tightly when he heard the man he’d married stubbornly hold back a sob, and he wished - not for the first time - that there was something he could do to make him feel better and take his pain away from him.

“Go away,” Yuuri said, his voice low and shaky.

“No,” Wolfram replied, making sure he kept his own voice soft. “I won’t leave you like this.”

“I don’t want you in here!” the younger man nearly shouted. “Get out of my room!”

It hurt, it hurt so badly, like someone had picked up his sword and speared him through the chest with it, and he was tempted, oh so tempted, to do what Yuuri said and find a nice, secluded part of the castle to hide away and cry in. “Yuuri…” he said his name in a pleading tone, reaching out a second time.

Again, Yuuri pulled away, only this time instead of moving a few inches from where he sat, the emotional king leaned towards the bedside table, where a small vase of flowers sat as decoration. He grabbed it and hurled the porcelain across the room with an enraged shout, where it smashed against the wall and shattered into pieces, littering the floor as the flower petals fluttered down. Harsh sobs wracked his body then, his act of violence against the completely innocent inanimate object having done nothing to release him of the guilt that now suffocated him.

“Please, just go away!” he begged, torn apart by shame and grief. “Go away and leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that,” Wolfram responded, his voice a quiet whisper. “I made a promise,” he said, cautiously crawling across the bed, so that he was once more beside the taller man. “I promised you yesterday… that I’d protect you, support you, and comfort you… and that’s a promise I intend to keep,” he reminded him, tears stinging his own eyes at the state Yuuri was currently in. “I won’t ever leave you.”

Finally Yuuri looked at him, forlorn and heartbroken, the tanned skin of his handsome face stained by the tears that continued to fall, onyx eyes swollen and red. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked helplessly, chocking on the sobs that refused to calm.

The blond shook his head, finding that words were suddenly hard to come by. “I don’t know,” he replied, unable to think of any other answer he could possibly give.

“Gwendal was right. It is my fault. Everything’s my fault - Shimeron, the wedding, what happened last night in Fane…”

“It isn’t.”

“I could have prevented it. I could have saved them.”

“You shouldn’t dwell on what could have been,” the prince told him.

“Those people died because I-”

Wolfram didn’t want to hear anymore, not now. He knew Yuuri would continue to blame himself - it was something the black haired king had always been known for - and he knew that there was nothing he could do or say that could change his mind and convince him otherwise. So the mazoku prince didn’t even try; instead he raised himself up onto his knees in front of the younger man, leaning close so that he could pull him into the circle of his arms, cradling his head against his chest, salty tears dampening the front of his nightdress. This time Yuuri didn’t pull away. He pressed closer, arms clutching at him desperately as he sobbed, his hold just shy of being painful.

Wolfram held him as he cried, shedding a few tears of his own, burying his face against the raven locks of Yuuri’s hair as the king hid within his embrace, seeking his warmth, his compassion, the care and devotion he showed even now, even when it seemed as if everyone else was turning against him. For once he didn’t pull away from or ignore the feelings he felt emanating from the smaller male, washing over him like a soothing balm, and though it was not enough to completely heal the gaping holes his guilt was leaving inside of him, it replenished his failing courage, his crumbling hope, and calmed the painful beating of his bleeding heart.

“I love you,” Yuuri listened as Wolfram whispered to him, and this time there were no feelings of dread at hearing those words, which had succeeded in terrifying him plenty of times before. Now he wanted nothing more than to hear them spoken over and over again, if only to remind himself that he was cared for, that he wasn’t completely alone.

“I believe in you.”

Yuuri wasn’t so sure he believed in himself anymore, but within those words he could hear an echo of the oath Wolfram had made so many years ago, when he’d felt just as lost, just as hopeless - when he’d needed his love most of all.

‘I’ll fall with you.’

TBC…

Notes

(1) That would be the great Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

(2) Yes, I got that line from Star Wars. It was around that part of the chapter that I was beginning to get a short bout of writer’s block, and that’s the only thing I could think of to make Yuuri say in reply. The original line in episode four didn’t sounds as insulting at all, but I thought in this instance it could have been more so. You can blame my baby brother for my thoughts of Star Wars and KKM intermingling. Back when Conrad was on the side of Shimeron, the kid said, “He turned to the dark side,” and when Conrad got his arm cut off, baby brother made sure to remind me that “Anakin gets his arm cut off, too.” He’s a strange child, but I love him so I’ll forgive him.

The next chapter is Embrasser, which means ‘to kiss’ or ‘to embrace.’ I hope to have this one out between March and April, but who knows what will happen. Chapter ten is even longer than chapter nine, so I’d really like to get it out soon to perhaps tide you over during the break I’ll have to take to get all this sewing done on time.