Kyo kara Maoh!/今日からマ王！ 1. Prologue

**Pairing: **Yuuri/Wolfram, past Great One(Shinou)/Rufus, and past OMC/OMC.

**Warnings: **Slight novel/drama CD spoilers(?). Spoilers for Season Three. Past and future Mpreg, though it's more implied than shown.

**Setting: **Two years Post-Season Three.

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Nor do I own any of the various myths/legends pertaining to the Holy Grail.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**A/N:** This story has taken me months to plan out. I decided while working on _Love and War_ and _To Love_ that I needed to write a Yuuri/Wolfram fic with a much more lighthearted air to it. Naturally, there will still be serious elements to this fic, as I don't think I'll ever be able to write anything that's not at least somewhat serious, but there will be very little angst as far as their relationship is concerned, which I'm in desperate need of escaping (the angst, I mean). XD; The idea for this came to me while I was watching the History Channel early in my summer vacation (so around May or June), and I've been rolling it around in my head ever since. It's also my first adventure fic! Let's see if I can do it well enough.

Also, even though I have Mpreg listed in the warnings, that's not the main focus of the story. I put it there because it will be referred to in conversations about the past, and it will be implied that it'll happen (or that it _could_ happen) in the future, but this is not an Mpreg fic by any means.

And there's a reason the prologue was written in italics. :P Scenes that occurred in the past will be written as such to separate them from the present.

For Guine, who encouraged me to keep going with this idea and is the sole reason this fic was started in the first place.

* * *

_**The Holy Grail**_

by Mikage

**Prologue**

_Nestled deep in a dark, seldom traveled wood lied an ancient castle. It had been built many decades before by a well respected family, when the land had belonged to a free realm, and the local earth had not been governed over by men of great power. Since then it had fallen into disuse, abandoned for a time, its existence far from being widely known by the people who'd come to settle the new, rich land outside of the forest. The castle lied secluded and nearly forgotten, overlooked now due to the desire for finer and grander things._

_It was by no means the largest castle to have ever been built. Instead, it had been designed strictly as an escape from the cold, dark world that had existed before the veil of evil was lifted and light spread throughout the world again. It was a practical structure, with enough rooms to house a wealthy family comfortably, but not so big as to be easily noticed. It was inconspicuous. It was in a good location for hunting, as numerous beasts found their home in these woods, roaming through its trees and treading upon its undergrowth. But aside from the hunt, there was little else to attract anyone to the area._

_The castle was decrepit now. Part of the stable roof had fallen in, and the forest vegetation was slowly creeping up along one of its walls. The grounds were unkempt, the windows were dirty and some were cracked and broken, bits of stonework had been weathered away and chipped off, and inside dust hung heavy in the air. To those rare individuals who happened to stumble across it, the structure looked to have been vacated long ago. They hardly imagined anyone would be living in it now, when it was cracking and crumbling and its owners could afford better, and they brought back stories of a haunted mansion shrouded by mists and heavy foliage when they returned to the more populated farmlands._

_But the castle contained more than mere ghosts. It held secrets. This small, deserted and unobtrusive castle was the perfect place to hide when one did not wish to be found, a haven to those who desired to conceal a truth they did not wish to share with the rest of the world._

_Many years after the castle had been visited for what was thought to be the last time, one of the former occupants returned under conditions that left them with very few places to go. This individual was accompanied by only three others, and was visited by no one else._

_The winter weather had just recently grown drastically colder; snow blanketed the ground and covered the evergreens, causing their branches to bend and strain under the weight of white powder and solid ice. The forest was, for most of the day, eerily silent, though a harsh wind would occasionally billow through the trees, whistling and howling like a caged animal that had been released back into the wild, snapping frozen branches and causing the snow to bank higher on one side of the castle._

_Many of the rooms inside were still largely unused, old and dusty and overrun by rodents that scurried along the floorboards in search of bits of food. The guests intended for their stay to be only temporary, and so took up residence in just a single wing of the estate. Their meals were meager, but enough to sustain themselves, and what little cleaning of the house that took place was done on their own - for comfort and not appearance. Only in the rooms where they slept at night did they remove the white shrouds covering the old furniture._

_An agonized scream, one of many, was one of the only signs of occupancy during those cold winter months. It carried through the broken windows into the brisk night air, where the stars and moon were cloaked behind dark clouds thick with snow. It would have been frightening if anyone on the outside were to have heard it, a wail so loud and sharp it was a wonder the poor soul who had emitted it hadn't been dying of an affliction of the utmost pain._

_In a tiny room in the tiny castle, a fire blazing in the fireplace to try and fight the cold draft making its way in, and a few stray candles lit in the hopes of having more light, a woman lay in the middle of a bed, her face contorted in pain and misery while her hands desperately gripped at the blankets beneath her. Her nightdress had been pushed up so that half of her body was exposed, and her legs were splayed and bent at the knee as her body tried to expel the life that had since been growing within it. It was a gruesome, painful sight for anyone who had not witnessed a birth before, and it had been going on for hours._

_She was surrounded by her three male companions: two brunets, the first brown-eyed, the second blue-eyed - taller and thicker than the first - and one blond. Their clothing, though not exactly poor, was dirty and in ill repair, as if they'd been washing and wearing the same outfit for weeks without bothering to do any mending. They took their own positions around the ailing woman; the blond sat by her side, taking her hand in his and holding it to lend support, while the brown-eyed brunet stood by her other side, tense with anticipation. It was the bigger, blue-eyed man who knelt between her legs, who had accepted the task of welcoming the hidden child into the world._

"_Push now," he told her, dark and severe even under the worry and stress of birthing a healthy baby. "The head is crowning. It is ready to be born."_

"_I can't!" the woman gasped out between her shouts and cries, writhing on the bed as pain like she had never experienced before ripped through the most sensitive regions of her body, skin, hair, and nightdress all damp with sweat. Her eyes were foggy, and her mind could only focus on the enormous strain her body was under, the indescribable ache and pressure._

"_You must," her substitute for a proper midwife said, his voice stern, but not without compassion. "You _must_ do this. If you do not, the child will die. You _can not _allow that to happen, not when His Majesty has entrusted you with this."_

"_You can do this," the blond gripping her hand encouraged her, though he could not blame her for her hesitation, for her fear._

_Glassy eyes turned to look at him, begging him to do something, to end it now. "Gareth…" His name, whispered with a voice weak and hoarse from tortured screams. "Help me…"_

_Gareth gripped her hand tighter while his face fell, a sense of failure pervading his every thought, as for the first time in his life he was unable to fulfill his duty. "My Lady, if I could only do so, I would take this pain onto myself so that you would not have to suffer further, but only you can do this now. Only you can make sure that this child - this glorious child - comes into the world alive and well."_

_The woman looked at him, desperate and pleading, but in her eyes an understanding had lit, one that she had known all along, but one that had been forgotten in the face of her recent trials. She clutched his hand and clawed at the blankets, and when her belly convulsed again she did not ignore the impulse to push. Another scream ripped out of her, and terror consumed her, for although she was doing what had been requested of her, she could not stop thinking that she would not survive it, or that the baby would be born but possess no life within it - that all of this, all of the heartache from before, all of the secrecy in the future, and all of the pain here in the present would be for nothing._

_Slowly the child, blood covered and alien-looking, slid from her body, guided out by the large, steady hands of her blue-eyed companion. All the while she screamed and groaned and cried, and felt by the end of it that dying would have been a salvation._

"_You did wonderfully," Gareth talked her through it all, even when it was finally over. "His Majesty will be proud."_

"_It is a boy," the second of the three men, the only one aside from Gareth who'd spoken to her during the ordeal, announced this with a bit more emotion in his voice than he usually displayed. He took care of the cutting of the cord, and cleared out the child's airways so that the infant could express its displeasure with the cold world it had been brought into. It wailed shrilly, demonstrating the use of a pair of very healthy sounding lungs._

"_Can I see him?" the woman asked, able to ignore the lingering pain much easier once she'd heard her son cry for the first time._

_The man who'd birthed the boy nodded, wiping some of the blood off with a blanket before wrapping him loosely in a cleaner one, moving from the spot he'd been in between her parted legs to carefully pass the baby to her, setting it along her chest so that she may have some time to see him for herself._

_She looked at the small, red thing that she had been carrying inside of her for months, and lifted a hand to its head to touch the very tiny wisps of bloodstained blond hair. Its face was scrunched as it cried, its fists clenched reflexively. She found herself smiling at him, already warming to the idea of spending her days rocking him and feeding him and watching him grow. She hadn't known what she'd end up feeling for this child, whose existence would have to be hidden until an appropriate falsehood could be found to replace the truth, but she hadn't expected her heart to swell this much, not when it had already been so full of love for another._

_She stared a moment or two longer, before turning to glance up at the second brunet, who hadn't spoken but had stood by in support all the while. She felt her eyes sting with happy tears as she smiled at him, her friend for such a long time, but she did her very best to keep them back. "Will you go and tell His Majesty?" she asked, wanting to share the news, share the joy, with the only other person who would truly understand._

_The quiet brunet nodded with a very soft, small smile of his own, lingering only seconds more before making his way out of the room. He traveled down the length of the hall, descended the stairs, grabbing a warm traveling cloak and wrapping it around himself as he went, knowing that it was going to be a long, cold journey. He went to the stables, saddled a horse, and climbed up with the reins in hand, urging the animal out and onward to bring news to the country's king of the birth of his son._

_He knew well that it was a king's greatest joy to announce to the world that they had had a son, but it would be _this_ king's greatest joy that the world would never know._

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter One

**Pairing: **Yuuri/Wolfram, Great One(Shinou)/Rufus, and past OMC/OMC.

**Warnings: **Slight novel/drama CD spoilers(?). Spoilers for Season Three. Past and future implied Mpreg.

**Setting: **Two years Post-Season Three.

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Nor do I own any of the various myths/legends pertaining to the Holy Grail.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**A/N:** Past events/flashbacks are written in _italics_.

* * *

_**The Holy Grail**_

by Mikage

**Chapter One**

_He ran down the hallway as quickly as his tiny feet could carry him, which, unfortunately, wasn't very fast at all. He tottered unsteadily on legs that were still sometimes unsure of walking, much less running over long distances. He was made even more clumsy than usual by the expensive shoes he'd been forced to wear that day, and he stumbled over the edges of the fine rugs in his haste. Flapping his arms as he staggered, trying his best to keep his balance, he fell to his hands and knees on the floor, and let out a frustrated whine at the stinging pain caused by stone against soft skin._

_He had only a few moments to fuss over his inadequacy, before the sounds of someone approaching reached his ears. Quickly, he pushed himself to his feet again, looking around for somewhere to hide, but all of the doors he saw were closed, and he wasn't yet tall enough to open them on his own. Terrified that he was going to be found before he'd even tried to conceal himself, the little child darted down the hall again, refusing to look over his shoulder incase the effort should cause him to fall a second time._

_Luck seemed to be on his side when he found a door half-open, and he made his way in without a backward glance, pushing the slab of wood shut behind him so that it clicked into place. Safe now, at least for the moment, he swept large eyes around the room, settling his sights on all the plush furniture to see if any of the pieces would be able to aid him in his quest to shield himself. There were a few couches and chairs, and small tables scattered about. His mother liked to come into rooms like this and relax after a long day, and have sweet snacks with him and a cup of tea for herself._

_He ducked under one of the couches first, crawling on his hands and knees to make his way underneath it, but when he looked out from this position he noted how easy it would be to see him from the door. The footsteps he'd heard coming closer when he'd been in the hall were growing louder, and he knew he only had a short time before he'd be caught. Slowly, he crept out behind the couch, making his way to one of the tables._

_He thought this might be a better place to hide, for it was covered by a decorative tablecloth, but as he tried to make his way beneath it, his knee caught part of the fabric and accidentally pulled. The vase of lilies that had been sitting atop the table wobbled unsteadily, then fell to shatter on the floor with a loud crash. The little boy gasped, lifting his hands to cover his mouth in surprise and fright, knowing the noise caused by the broken vase would be heard by his pursuer._

_His little heart fluttering madly in his chest, he moved out from under the table to look around frantically, wanting to at least get away from the broken porcelain. The long, thick curtains covering the windows caught his attention, and he scuttled his way over, slipping behind them to hopefully conceal his presence from anyone who may enter the room. He listened carefully for the sound of someone walking in the hall, and had to lift his small hands to cover his mouth again to stifle any sound when he heard the handle turn and the door creak open._

"_Where are you?" a drawling voice called, the footsteps he'd heard behind him before now making their way in. "You can't hide forever!"_

_As carefully as he possibly could, he peeked through the gap in the curtains, removing one hand from his face to pull the thick fabric apart the smallest amount, looking out into the room. The other person was glancing around, crouching to look under the couch he'd thought to hide beneath before, then making his way around it to look down at the mess of broken ceramic on the floor._

_His chaser tsk-ed at the sight, lifting the tablecloth to look underneath it as well. "Looks like you've broken a vase. How are you going to explain that to your mother?"_

_Cowering against the window, the child released his hold on the curtain when sharp eyes looked his way, hoping he hadn't been seen. He stood very still, knowing that any sound he made, any rustling of the curtains he caused, would give away his location. He listened as footfalls continued around the room, drawing closer and then fading away again, the hunter circling around in his pursuit to track him down._

"_Hmmm, where could you be? I don't see you anywhere." A long, tense pause, then the sound of the figure departing. "Guess you're not in here after all. I'll have to go look somewhere else."_

_Relieved, the boy let the softest of sighs escape through his nose, and lowered his hands back down to his sides. He heard the door creaking again, before it closed all together, and though he listened for the sound of the figure walking away, he didn't hear anything. He was probably waiting for him to come out on his own, and would catch him as he tried to make his way back into the hall. He'd just have to stay here for a little longer, and hope that he grew tired of waiting._

_He remained behind the curtains, but he allowed himself to relax a little, turning a bit to look out the window and observe the world outside in longing. The sky was a dark, chilling gray, and tiny drops of rain were only now beginning to fall. The poor weather was the reason he'd been stuck indoors all day instead of being allowed out, and why he now found himself being chased around the castle. He wished he could have been left free to do as he wished, but every attempt he'd made to escape had been blocked._

_He could see some of the soldiers training down below, performing their usual drills even though the weather was growing worse by the hour. He didn't think it was very fair that they got to be outside when he was stuck in here, and he pouted when he saw his mother practicing with them. Lifting a tiny hand, he waved to try and get her attention, but soon figured he was too high up for her to be able to see him._

_He didn't hear the soft padding of now shoeless feet against the rugs on the floor, and didn't notice the figure lurking in front of the curtains until they were ripped apart, and a grinning face loomed above his own. "Gotcha!"_

_The boy gasped in surprise, then turned away from the window and shrieked in terror._

_

* * *

_Wolfram awoke with a start, green eyes popping open suddenly as his mind regained consciousness without warning. He groaned at the pain in his head, then realized a bit too late that he was hanging upside-down over the edge of the bed. His jolt into awareness caused him to slip further, and he was soon tumbling to the floor before he could stop himself, landing with a thud onto an area rug that was not nearly thick enough to cushion his fall.

Now nothing more than a tangle of limbs and blankets on the floor, Wolfram struggled to right himself, grabbing onto the side of the mattress to pull himself into a seated position, before extricating his arms and legs from the linen his decent had pulled from the bed. His head ached from the time he'd spent suspended over the side, and his body felt stiff, so he knew that while he may have been in a deep sleep, his body had been in an entirely uncomfortable position for most of the night.

Blearily, he looked around his fiancé's bedroom, made dim by the curtains covering the tall windows, and tried to remember what had happened before he'd woken up. He knew he'd been dreaming; it wasn't uncommon for him to do so, though often it was difficult to call the images to mind once he was no longer asleep. He didn't think it had been a nightmare - even though he was frequently visited by such disturbing scenes - but it had had his heart racing regardless. He could recall a pair of dark eyes, sharp and mischievous, and a feeling of trepidation, but nothing more than that.

It confused him. He thought he may have been running from someone, and that those eyes may have belonged to the person in question. He didn't know who he'd been running from or why, but the eyes stood out as the scene quickly faded back into his subconscious. He tried to hold onto it for as long as he could, but his efforts were met with little success. Defeated by his own fickle mind, he banished the thought to be dwelled upon at a later date.

Scanning the room for any sign of his usual companion, Wolfram didn't know if he was disappointed or not to find himself alone. He'd been able to sleep without being disturbed, but he didn't think the extra few hours had done him any good. He thought he might have felt better getting up when Yuuri did; at least he wouldn't now have a lump forming on his head or a bruise blooming on his hip from when he'd crashed onto the floor. Vaguely, he wondered where his fiancé could be, whether he was spending his morning jogging around the castle and training with Conrart, or if he'd gone to take care of some of his work.

"Stupid wimp," he grumbled to himself, "can't even wish me a good morning."

He supposed it had been sweet enough that Yuuri had allowed him to sleep, but he chose to ignore the consideration in preference to his chronic pessimism.

Yawning widely, the Demon prince sat in place for a few moments more before he flopped backward, letting out a groan as he lied out on his back, too tired to bother returning to his spot on the bed. He probably wouldn't feel any better than he did currently if he were to fall asleep down there, but then he didn't think he could possibly feel much worse either.

Something rustled above him, and Wolfram looked up to see a scrap of paper dangling over the edge of the bedside table. He raised a hand to grab it, bringing it down to have a look. One side was blank, but when he turned it over to view the other, he saw words scrawled across it in messy handwriting. For possessing a mother tongue that produced some exceptionally beautiful calligraphy, Yuuri could completely butcher the Demon language with hardly any effort at all.

Quickly, his eyes scanned over the untidy writing, trying to focus on the words instead of muttering about Yuuri's poor penmanship.

'_Good morning! You seemed tired so I didn't want to wake you. Got a lot of work to do today. I'll see you later this afternoon._

_- Yuuri'_

Wolfram almost smiled at the little note, but held the reaction back to the best of his abilities. It might not be very romantic, and it had obviously been written in his fiancé's rush to get ready and head out the door, but he would admit that it was better than being left with no note at all.

At least his wimp was trying.

Releasing another yawn, Wolfram figured it was time for him to get up and greet the world as well. He might not have as much work to do as Yuuri seemed to, but there were still reports to write up and troops to train. If he was going to be spending the day away from his fiancé, then he should at least help the time pass by doing something productive. His men had had little action lately, and were starting to look a bit sloppy. He'd see that they had some proper discipline instilled back into them before being reunited with his betrothed.

Holding the note carefully in his hand - and completely forgetting about his dream now that his mind was focused elsewhere - Wolfram stood to his feet and took it with him so that he could place it somewhere safe, where it wouldn't be lost or ruined by the careless hands of the maids as they cleaned the room. Placing it at the bottom of one of his drawers in the wardrobe with a few other similar scraps of paper, he allowed the smallest of smiles to appear on his face, grabbing one of his blue uniforms and a pair of boots before making his way to the bath.

* * *

"Three inches in a single year! Quite impressive, Your Majesty!"

Yuuri stood in the center of a large, open room, wearing nothing more than his royal black undergarments - which to his overly-dramatic mind was no better than standing in the middle of the room stark naked. He wasn't exactly uncomfortable; he'd been in various states of undress around other males his entire life. The underwear itself wasn't so bad, not nearly as scanty as he often made it seem - it was not, despite his clamoring, even close to being a thong - and his ventures into baseball had caused him to grow familiar enough with a jockstrap to where royal Demon underwear was hardly a big deal at all.

It was the fussing that bothered him, and the complete adoration of something as simple - and as normal and expected - as growing taller. If it weren't for the flailing and dazzled, one-sided conversation, this entire ordeal would have been over a lot sooner, and he could have gotten back to doing his actual work.

"Great. So… are we done here?" he asked, trying not to sound too flustered, but his impatience was growing by the second. For a whole hour he'd stood around as the royal tailor fretted with his clothing, finally coming to the conclusion that new garments would be in order - a fact that Yuuri could have easily pointed out himself. His pants were all too short now, and his shirts and jackets had recently gotten a bit tighter around his shoulders.

"No, no, not yet, Your Majesty!" the man who'd been doing most of the fussing exclaimed, using his handy measuring tape to calculate the length of one of his inseams. Most of his measurements had already been methodically taken and marked down, but the frazzled man seemed intent on double and triple checking. "There's still so much to be done! We're going to have to put together an entirely new wardrobe! These old uniforms of yours just won't do!"

"Wonderful!" Gunter chirped from nearby, bright-eyed and gleeful over the idea of new clothing, hands clasped beneath a pale, pointed chin. "This will be the perfect opportunity to design a more formal uniform for your approaching excursion to Francia, Your Majesty!"

Yuuri sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping somewhat as he thought of being trapped in this room for another two hours. Having Gunter prancing around and shouting his love and devotion was bad enough sometimes; having both his tutor and the tailor pressing countless new outfits onto him and gushing over his appearance was not something he found to be especially entertaining. It was a nice day outside, sunny and clear. He'd like to actually be able to enjoy it at some point.

His morning had started normally enough. He'd been viciously kicked in the side by his sleeping fiancé to start the day, and had dragged himself out of bed to change into his track uniform and complete his daily exercise routine with Conrad. His once comfortable suit's slightly snugger fit had prompted Gunter to remark on his growth when he'd come back inside, and had seemed a sign that new clothing was in order. Yuuri had then been shoved into his private bath to wash off the sweat he'd developed while jogging and training, while Gunter had gone off to recruit the assistance of the royal tailor, Caius. The young King hadn't even had the opportunity to try to escape to his office and find safety under the watchful gaze of his Chief Adviser before Gunter had again found him in the hall and whisked him off to Caius's sanctuary of full-length mirrors and bolts of expensive fabric.

It wouldn't have been too much of a hassle if it wasn't taking so long. Caius, like Gunter, was prone to overwhelming fits of ruffled excitement, and had paused in his task more than a handful of times already to engage in boisterous chatter with the lavender haired man, while Yuuri waited for them to focus again. He didn't like sitting still if he could help it, and standing in place for more than an hour to be measured and re-measured and have fabrics draped all over him wasn't any more appealing than the obligatory paperwork he had to sign nearly every day.

Looking towards the door as Caius and Gunter lost themselves in a discussion about styles and color pallets, Yuuri's eyes locked onto the form of his godfather, who stood by the only entrance and exit of the room, holding Yuuri's discarded uniform with a pleasant, indulging smile on his face.

Yuuri caught his gaze, trying to silently communicate his irritation with him, mouthing 'Save me' in his direction and hoping for once he wouldn't just continue to stand there in amusement.

Thankfully, Conrad seemed to take the hint this time, and cleared his throat to attract the attention of the two exuberant men. "Perhaps this can wait for another time, Gunter. Gwendal was expecting His Majesty in his office an hour ago."

Even if it wasn't his own fault that he was late, he knew Gwendal was still going to be in a grumpy mood, no matter what he said to try and explain himself. Yuuri didn't know why the man didn't just come to find him himself, unless his Chief of State knew the sorts of things Gunter was putting him through and didn't feel like getting in the middle of it.

The lavender haired man who could be rightfully blamed for all of this nonsense stopped his prattling when Conrad spoke, and looked over at him with a highly distressed expression on his face. "But this is a matter of the utmost importance!"

"I think I'll survive without having new clothes right away," Yuuri said, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

"There are still many things to be done, Your Majesty!" Caius lamented as well. "We've yet to discuss the designs with you and hear which you would prefer!"

Aggravated, the eighteen-year-old thought it would have been easier for them to talk to him about those sorts of things now as opposed to discussing them amongst each other before broaching the subject with him together.

Conrad's pleasant smile remained as he attempted to smooth over the situation. "Why don't you draw up the designs yourselves and show them to His Majesty this afternoon? Then, he can pick the ones he likes and we can have them made without further interfering with his work."

Gunter and Caius paused to think over the suggestion, glancing at one another to see if the other agreed, before nodding slowly, if not a bit reluctantly. It was obvious that they'd much rather monopolize his attention, but with work to be done for the sake of the kingdom, there weren't many arguments they could make to justify their goals.

"Very well," Gunter replied with a disheartened sigh. "We'll have the drawings complete as soon as possible, and allow Your Majesty to view them and formulate your opinions before the construction of the new wardrobe will begin."

"Awesome!" Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief, finally moving from the spot he'd been standing in for the last sixty minutes, stepping toward his godfather to take his clothes and pull them back on. "I'll leave you guys to it, then."

"Have no fear, Your Majesty!" Caius announced as he watched him dress. "I will personally make sure that your new attire is fit for a king!"

Feeling that this could very easily end with him wearing a monstrosity of lace and frills, Yuuri was quick to turn back to the two men and set some ground rules. "I just have three conditions. One, no ruffles; two, no bows; and three, absolutely _no_ pink."

He'd met plenty of men in this world that were apparently very in touch with their feminine sides, and while he didn't really care what other people wore or how they wished to express themselves, he wanted no part of it himself. He'd been forced into girl's clothes more than once for the purposes of sneaking around, but he hadn't enjoyed any of those instances. Josak could cross-dress all he wanted, and Wolfram could run around in his pink nightie if that's what made him happy, but Yuuri definitely didn't feel comfortable dressed in a similar fashion.

His mother had put him in dresses so many times in his youth that he felt he'd experienced femininity quite enough. He didn't want to appear frumpy or overdressed either, or give his tutor an excuse to dress him in something absolutely ridiculous, confining or restrictive. Silk he could do, and he'd even consider some chains and other embellishments as long as they weren't too ostentatious, but he drew the line at anything pink and frilly.

"Of course, Your Majesty!" both men agreed, but Yuuri thought they looked a bit disappointed.

Wary of what sorts of designs he'd be viewing later on in the day, the young king finished pulling his snug uniform on before turning to leave the room with Conrad, letting out another sigh once they were in the hallway and had closed the door on the tutor and tailor. "Thanks, Conrad. That was close to torture."

"It was a necessary occurrence, Your Majesty, though Gunter could have waited for a more opportune time," his godfather responded, still smiling that light smile of his.

"It's 'Yuuri,' Conrad. '_Yuuri_,'" he corrected him on impulse. "Do you know what else I have to do today? I want to get done as soon as possible. The weather looks great. If I'm lucky, we might be able to go out and play catch for a while. One of these days, we're going to have to go out to the field and play an actual game. I feel like I haven't played in forever."

He'd continued with his sandlot team over the course of high school, and had even considered trying out for the school team at one point, but with everything else going on in his life, he'd decided that it wouldn't be a good idea. His trips too and from Earth were rather sporadic now, and it was still difficult to work out things like timing when he was left to transport himself instead of relying on the Great One's powers. He'd committed himself to as little as possible on Earth so as to make it easier on everyone when he graduated high school and focused more on his kingdom.

Graduation had accrued just three months ago, as had his eighteenth birthday, and while it hadn't been very long at all since then, he was already beginning to feel a sense of loss. He had to take his responsibilities more seriously now and leave parts of his childhood behind, or at least set them aside so that his focus would not be taken away from more important things. It had been a while since he'd traveled for fun, since he'd done anything to satisfy his need for adventure, excitement and entertainment. Instead, he was stuck in the castle, falling into a monotonous routine of meetings and paperwork.

"There's nothing big on the schedule for today, Yuuri," Conrad said in reply, referring to him by name this time, which appeased him slightly. "But there's plenty of paperwork to take care of, and you have a meeting with the mayor of the capitol next week, plus preparations for our trip to Francia in a month."

"Right. Francia. That's about the only thing I've got to look foreword to." The journey might be for political reasons, but at least it would grant him the opportunity to get out into the fresh air and stretch his legs. He could hardly stand sitting behind his desk all the time as it was; he was in desperate need of a break.

"Are you really so disinterested in the happenings of your own kingdom?"

"It's not that! Of course I'm interested!" This world was so different from Earth, there wasn't any way he _couldn't_ be interested in what went on within his realm, and he knew that Conrad knew that. But when there wasn't much going on to begin with, it was hard to remain focused. "I just… wish there was something to do, you know? Something out of the norm. Everything's so peaceful now."

Conrad chuckled good naturedly. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, but…"

Yuuri felt bad for thinking it, but sometimes he wished things could be as they'd been only a couple of years ago, when his adventures had been endless and he'd had to do more than sign papers in order to bring peace and prosperity to the world. His people were happy now, his kingdom was stable, and the world itself had quieted down after the fiasco that was the beginnings of his friendship with Saralegui of Small Cimaron. There had been no battles and few hardships, just as Yuuri had wanted since he'd first taken the throne.

He should be happy. He should be glad that the circumstances he'd been striving for, but that his advisers had warned him might be hard coming, had settled upon them so quickly and easily. He should be hosting parties to celebrate all that was good in the world like Lady Celi would have, or merely continue his normal work in satisfaction, like Gwendal.

Instead, he was itching to get out into the world and do something. His boundless energy, pent up for the last two years, was causing him to become anxious, waiting for something to happen, only nothing ever did. He sat behind his desk day by day, signing paper after paper, while the rest of the world continued on peacefully without his influence.

He was being selfish, he knew, wishing for the sorts of adventures he'd had before. His people were finally able to move on from the past, to forget the war and all the consequences that had followed. They were safe from the forbidden boxes, and for the moment they were safe from Cimaron. They could all go about their lives as they should have been able to all along - peasant, soldier, and noble - thanks to the calm and tranquility he and the others had helped to bring about.

"I just want something to do," he finally said, finishing his thought from before, lifting his arms to lace his hands behind his head as he walked. "I don't feel like I'm useful anymore."

"You're just as useful in keeping the peace as you were in bringing it," Conrad reassured him, patiently talking him through his strange mood.

"But I don't feel like I'm doing anything important. What do I do now but sign papers all day? How does that really solve anything?"

"It keeps things in order. The laws you enact and the work that you're doing now prevents things from falling apart again. Perhaps it's not as exciting as bringing a new era to your people, but the continuation of that era is just as important, if not more so. Falling back into the days we experienced before would only harm our people more than it did the first time."

Yuuri paused to think over what he was saying, knowing every word of it was true. But even then, the nagging feeling he had in the back of his head, the need for something out of the ordinary to occur, still remained.

Maybe it was something he was going to have to get over on his own, something he'd have to ignore until it finally faded away. Or maybe he needed to find some other way to use up the energy surging within him. He could vacation and explore the different cultures of the world he hadn't had the opportunity to experience yet, or he could take up a new hobby - anything to ease the monotony that had quickly overtaken him.

Allowing his thoughts to drift in the direction of new activities to partake in, Yuuri blinked into awareness when he spied a familiar figure walking in his direction. He stopped where he was in the middle of the hall, unbeknownst to the small smile that crept upon his face as his fiancé strolled towards him.

Wolfram must have just come from the baths, he decided, for his hair was slightly damp. Even so, his uniform was as immaculate as ever, each crease pressed to perfection and each chain in its proper place, his frilly ascot tied snugly around his neck, keeping the collar of his jacket closed. His polished boots made light tapping noises against the floor as he walked, and his sword hung by his left side, its hilt inlaid with rubies gleaming in the autumn sun.

"Good morning," Yuuri greeted him, feeling his stomach - or was it his heart? - give a little flutter when green eyes looked up at him.

"Good morning," Wolfram responded, his cheeks turning a pale rose color that quickly spread to his ears.

In the last two years, things between he and the former Demon prince had changed - not drastically, as the both of them were still rather young and inexperienced, but enough to where their relationship had grown to be much easier. Yuuri couldn't yet think of marriage with much confidence - he would be happy to allow matrimony to wait some time in the distant future - but he was attempting to allow nature to take its course, without too many denials and less flailing than before. The engagement remained in place, as it had from his first days in the kingdom, and they were both content to leave it as it was until they felt they'd had the necessary time to enjoy what they had together before finalizing things and becoming husband and… husband.

Yuuri couldn't say he was very comfortable with how things were going, but then he wasn't exactly _un_comfortable by it either. He was trying, and he'd come to realize over the last half year or so that being with Wolfram wasn't as weird as he'd previously thought it would be. On the outside, nothing much had changed. They talked, they fought, they spent time together, they shared meals, and they slept in the same bed. They spent time with Greta, both together and apart, Yuuri commented on Wolfram's behavior and odd compulsions, and Wolfram called Yuuri a wimp.

It was on the inside that things were becoming different. At random times throughout the day, Yuuri found himself thinking of his fiancé when before he would have thought of baseball. When they were together at night and Wolfram sat next to him with a book in his lap, Yuuri would find that his hand would twitch and move to take hold of one of Wolfram's own. When he woke up in the morning, he'd spend a few moments just staring at the figure next to him until Conrad or Gunter came to knock on his door and whisked him off to training, studying, or paperwork.

He'd even gotten into the habit of leaving little notes for Wolfram to find when he woke up after him, or - once or twice - when he came to bed before him, and if that wasn't sappy then he didn't know what was. He never asked Wolfram about them, and Wolfram seemed just fine with not mentioning them either, but he knew the other boy had found them by the way his face would turn from white to light pink when they first encountered one another during the day. He thought Wolfram might even like them, seeing as he'd never said anything against them or so much as alluded to a dislike for them, so he didn't see anything wrong with continuing to write them whenever he had the chance.

"Umm," he tried to think of something relevant to say now, his arms dropping to his sides so that he could wipe his suddenly sweaty palms against his pants. "So… what are you doing today?"

"Er…" Wolfram didn't seem to be any more articulate than he was at the moment. "Just… training for a while, then writing up a few reports."

"Oh," he said, then trailed off. The gears turned in his brain as he continued to attempt speech. Should he compliment him? Should he asked him how he'd slept? Should he suggest that they do something together at a later time? "Well… did you want to have lunch together?" he settled on the last idea, figuring Wolfram might appreciate the time alone with him. "I mean, the two of us. Not in the dining room with everyone else and… all that."

A startled expression crossed his face momentarily, before it was hastily forced away. "I… if you want. I mean, yes. If you have the time. I don't want you neglecting your work."

Yuuri was quick to shake his head and deny that such a thing would take place. "I won't. I'll have plenty of time to eat lunch and do the rest of my work after."

Wolfram seemed to consider the possibility that he was lying in order to escape the tediousness of it, but he eventually nodded. "Alright, then."

"Okay. I'll see you at lunch."

"Right."

Neither of them began to walk away when the conversation reached its end, which caused both of them to blush at the awkwardness of the situation. Yuuri tried to smile through his nervousness and forced himself to begin making his way down the hall again. He paused when he reached his fiancé, took his hand briefly to give it a squeeze, before letting go and continuing on his journey to his office. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Wolfram had done the same, the color that flooded his face once again reaching his ears as their eyes met.

If Yuuri took the time to let himself think about it, Wolfram's flushing was actually kind of cute.

Of course, once Wolfram had scurried off out of sight, the eighteen-year-old winced as he went back over their short discussion. He tugged at the collar of his jacket, feeling suddenly overheated, and his face experienced a very Wolfram-like reaction when he noticed Conrad walking beside him. His godfather wasn't smiling any differently than usual, but his hazel eyes twinkled in amusement.

"You can say it. I know. That was really lame," Yuuri told him, feeling his previously fluttering stomach sink into his gut as he thought of how much of a fool he'd probably looked like in front of a fiancé who was used to better, not to mention that Conrad had quietly witnessed the entire pathetic scene.

The man in question only smiled wider. "Not at all, Your Majesty."

Yuuri groaned. Conrad's denial and teasing use of his title may as well have been a 'yes.'

It was only after he'd gotten to his office, apologized to Gwendal for being late, and begun signing the first stack of papers that Yuuri realized he'd forgotten to tell Wolfram where to meet him for lunch.

His forehead quickly met the surface of his desk with a loud 'bang.'

* * *

Looking back over the last few years in which Yuuri had been king, Wolfram couldn't remember ever being so distracted.

He was making an embarrassment of himself in front of his men, which didn't do anything positive for his mood. He'd already been disarmed twice, and both times had been due to the fact that he wasn't paying close enough attention. He kept allowing his mind to wander off to other things, and his pride was paying for it.

"Got something on your mind?" Thomas leered at him, his face stretched into a grin that could have rivaled one of Yuuri's widest.

Wolfram frowned deeply and tried to return his focus to the sparring match, but no matter how hard he tried, something crossed his mind that would have his thoughts once again shifting elsewhere. If it wasn't the way Yuuri's bangs had fallen so casually across his forehead, then it was the way his dark eyes had crinkled in the corners when he'd smiled; if it wasn't the smooth sound of Yuuri's voice, then it was the warmth of his palm when he'd taken his hand.

His thoughts had been with Yuuri since he'd come across him in the hallway - though he'd been thinking of him even before then - and it didn't seem as if his mental processes would be changing direction any time soon.

"Thinking of His Majesty?" Thomas heckled again, as if he knew exactly what was causing him so much trouble.

Wolfram sincerely hoped his actions weren't making his thoughts plain. He didn't want to go around looking like a doe-eyed ninny, and he schooled his expression into one he hoped looked more acceptable for the situation.

"You've grown too bold, Sinclair," he said with a warning in his voice, parrying an attack before circling his opponent.

Thomas's laughter was free and easy, and his amusement insulted Wolfram's damaged pride all the more. "Looks like _you're_ not bold enough. You keep drifting off and fantasizing about things you'd never dare to do."

"If you don't hold your tongue, I'll dismiss you from my service and send you home to Bielefeld," Wolfram snapped, quickly growing frustrated. Thomas was purposefully pushing his buttons, teasing him, behavior he didn't appreciate at all. His men were not supposed to feel so comfortable with criticizing him; the blatant disrespect was infuriating.

He charged the other young man, but his sword was blocked without difficulty. If anything, Thomas was finding his anger all the more entertaining.

He had the audacity to laugh right in his face, their blades locked together at the hilt. "Sorry, Your Excellency, but it's your uncle's word I follow, not yours. If you want me sent home, you'll have to take it up with him." Breaking the contact of their swords and moving back a few steps, Thomas paused in their dueling to place a hand over his heart and raise his voice into a falsetto that was obviously supposed to be a mimicry of Wolfram's tone. "'My dearest uncle, Thomas doesn't know how to play nice and I'd like you to remove him from among my men. Only proper boys are allowed to be in the guard of His Most Esteemed Excellency Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld. Pretty please and thank you kindly. With love, your sweet nephew.'"

Wolfram's frown deepened and he charged a second time with a shout of anger, swinging his sword at Thomas in a vicious motion that would have taken his head off if his reflexes weren't so quick and if they weren't fighting with blunt practice swords. Instead, he was met blow for blow. At any other time he would have been pleased by Thomas's apparent skill; at the moment it only served to increase his frustrations. He wanted to disarm him and show him who was in command, and wipe that smug look right off of his face.

But his uncle's men had the added benefit of experience. They were older than his own soldiers, and while Thomas was younger than the average man in the Bielefeld guard, he'd still fought in the war. He had a patience that Wolfram lacked, as well as the ability to rein in his emotions. Wolfram would have had to work hard to defeat him on a good day; in instances like this, when he allowed his fury and irritation to control him, it was even harder to keep up and he soon found himself being disarmed for the third time in as many tries.

With a loud clang, Wolfram's practice sword flew from his hand and landed upon the hard ground. His cheeks flamed in his exasperation, and his eyes narrowed dangerously in Thomas's direction. He purposefully kept his gaze away from the rest of his men, gathered nearby to await their respective turns. He could hear them whispering amongst themselves, and he'd rather not hear what is was they were whispering about. No doubt it had something to do with his carelessness and his current inability to defeat a single opponent.

"You were complaining about the rest of us being sloppy earlier," Thomas pointed out, "but you're not performing much better. Hopefully that lack of focus isn't affecting your performance elsewhere."

As the words and the meaning behind them registered, Wolfram's face changed from the pink of anger to the scarlet of embarrassment. He turned, choosing not to reply and give Thomas even more ammunition against him, and instead went to retrieve his fallen weapon. Internally, he swore to himself that the next time he came at Thomas Sinclair, it would be with a sharpened blade.

"Oh, excuse me. You and His Majesty are much too noble for that. What did he do today? Kiss your hand?"

His flush deepened, as Thomas's conjecture wasn't far from the truth. He was guilty of having wondered what it would have been like if Yuuri hadn't stopped at merely taking hold of his hand for those few short seconds, but had brought it to his lips for a kiss instead. The idea that he was behaving like a witless floozy didn't sit well with him at all.

"The interactions between Yuuri and I are none of your concern," he ground out, keeping his back to the other man. "You are a solider and you have your own duties, none of which pertain to my relationship with your king."

"Ah, see, there's where you're wrong," Thomas countered, his voice still holding a vast amount of amusement within it. "His Excellency Lord von Bielefeld has given me a most sacred mission, one that has been passed down from Sinclair to Sinclair since we first came to be in the service of the mighty House of Bielefeld."

Wolfram didn't have to turn around to know that Thomas had lifted one of his arms and placed it across his chest in a mock gesture of reverence.

"I have been charged with the task of protecting you above all others - babysitting you, if you will - and seeing as how I'm sure dear Uncle Waltorana is so concerned about his nephew - the blushing maid - upholding his honor, your relationship with His Majesty is technically my business. So, tell me, what did he do for you today? Compose a song? Recite a poem? Present you with flowers?"

His questioning was cut off by an 'oof' and Wolfram finally pivoted to see one of his own men, chosen in his youth and not forced upon him by his uncle, jabbing Thomas in the gut. "That's quite enough. Just because you serve Lord Waltorana first does not mean you can show such little respect for Lord Wolfram."

Wolfram made sure to pay close attention to the young man who'd come to his defense, for although he felt he shouldn't need the assistance in dealing with someone like Thomas, he held loyalty in high esteem. His savior was the son of a noble lord in the Bielefeld lands, one of the many families that served beneath his uncle, blond haired and hazel eyed, with a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He was at least a decade older than Wolfram himself, though not much taller and of a similar build, wearing the standard uniform of his personal guard. He had a serious look about him, but retained a youthful aura, like many of the men who made up his troop of soldiers.

Thomas, on the other hand, was both older and taller, and by his very demeanor did not belong among Wolfram's men, though it was even harder to believe that he had a place in his uncle's army. At one hundred and sixteen, Thomas Sinclair was one of the youngest men in his uncle's forces to have reached a position of command, and his youth showed. He had a large smile and a playfulness that belied the true level of his skill, and an infuriating lack of deference towards those above him, especially to those even younger than he was himself. His brown hair was curly and unmanageable, and his green eyes constantly contained a glint of mischief.

He wore the uniform of a commanding officer of the main Bielefeld guard - blue jacket cinched above the waist with a gold chain, white epaulets to match the white pants, black boots to match the black lining, and a blue helmet with a red plume. The aristocratic house of Bielefeld was one of the oldest houses in the kingdom, as well as one of the most powerful, and was the closest one could come to being royalty without being King themselves. His uncle made sure that everyone knew it, and his soldiers dressed the part.

Wolfram hardly thought Thomas was deserving of the honor. He might come from a family just as old, one that had done many good deeds in the Bielefeld name, but his behavior was questionable at its best and abhorrent at its worst. He'd been a constant pain in his side since his uncle had sent him to Blood Pledge Castle five months ago, and nothing Wolfram said or did could curb his taunting - if anything, any comment he made only caused it to grow worse. Wolfram had received little explanation from his uncle on account of Thomas's sudden presence, merely a letter stating that he'd sent Thomas to "perform his sacred duty to the House of Bielefeld" and instructions to include him in his guard.

Whatever this "sacred duty" was seemed to have something to do with protection, though Thomas was more of a pest than a deterrent to danger.

"I don't show enough respect?" Thomas wondered, looking curiously at the youth who'd admonished him. "Come now, Patsy, I was only having a bit of fun. It's not my fault he's so easy to tease."

The boy named Patsy gave him a glare and a frown of displeasure, before turning from Thomas to Wolfram. "Pay him no mind, Your Excellency. Would it please you to spar again? I'm prepared to take my turn."

Wolfram thought about his offer for only a few moments, before shaking his head. "No, thank you, that's it for the day." He was aware of the confused whispering breaking out among his men now. He didn't usually cut off training sessions early, but with his focus so off he didn't want to try and fail again. "Clean up here and then return to your other duties. We'll continue our training tomorrow."

He no longer had the patience to deal with them, especially if Thomas was going to insist on hanging around. He had other things he could do to pass the time, things that didn't involve being aggravated by one Thomas Sinclair.

His men nodded and then bowed their respects, and he handed his practice sword to Patsy to be put away with the others, still intending to reward him somehow for his loyalty, but needing the time to think of a sufficient honor. With a warning glare to Thomas not to follow him and continue his torment, Wolfram headed for the castle, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to attempt to calm himself. He had at least an hour and a half until he was to meet Yuuri for lunch; he would have to find something to make to time pass quickly, something that didn't leave an opening for him to be teased and ridiculed.

Already, his thoughts were returning to his fiancé, his formerly tense stance easing as his mind went from Thomas's embarrassing comments to the twinkle in Yuuri's eye.

He wondered if this afternoon Yuuri would be brave enough to do more than hold his hand.

* * *

Gwendal stood behind the King's desk, sorting through the documents that had been signed that morning. He separated them into those that needed to be filed and those that needed to be distributed - a notice for a decrease in taxes, the openings of safer trade routes, new regulations for the protection of the dragons, and other such things. There were still many more stacks left for the King to look through, but he'd chosen to take a break from his work during the noon hour, and Gwendal had not asked why. Conrart's knowing little smile had made His Majesty's reasons clear enough.

Somewhere within the castle, or out on the castle grounds, the King was awkwardly and ineptly courting his youngest brother.

He didn't know quite what to make of it. Love and relationships were typically beyond his level of understanding; he had not the time nor the patience for them, and anyone who brought the subject up in his presence would generally be quieted in a matter of seconds. There were more important things for him to see to than the failed relationships of those around him. It was their business to see to however they thought necessary, and had absolutely nothing to do with him.

But this was Wolfram His Majesty had recently taken a fancy to, and that was a different subject entirely.

The engagement had remained intact for three years, aside from the short time in which it had been broken two years prior, but Gwendal had not felt the need to concern himself with it in all that time. Wolfram's feelings for the king had been immature and childish - the love of a very protective and possessive puppy to its master - and His Majesty had hardly been interested in anything of the sort. But over time that puppy love and avoidance had transformed into a deep friendship, which had in turn apparently transformed into a mutual interest that was only now being acted upon.

He couldn't pretend to know what the King was thinking or why his denials had stopped and his thoughts and opinions had changed into acceptance and fondness, but the difference was notable even to someone who kept himself so far removed from things of a romantic nature. The way His Majesty and Wolfram smiled at one another, or the heat that would rise into their faces when one or the other was caught staring, or the way their hands would so casually brush against and clasp the other, even for just a short while - all of this was evidence to their growing relationship. They were dancing around one another now, exchanging glances and soft caresses, but soon - if nothing came up to prevent it - things would grow more serious between them, and the looks and touches would no longer be as innocent.

Conrart seemed perfectly content to allow things to run their course, and indeed everyone else seemed pleased that things were coming so naturally to the two youths, but Gwendal was finding it difficult to accept. In his eyes, they were still too young; eighteen and eighty-five year olds were hardly able to handle the complexities of love, and so serious relationships were best avoided. They lacked the experience or the maturity to make wise decisions in regards to their future together, and their budding feelings would only lead them to become distracted in other areas.

His Majesty's work was already being cast aside for the sake of lunch for two. What would be next? The announcement of a wedding date? Kisses stolen in the hallways? Or, dare he even think it, sex?

The thought of His Majesty fornicating with his youngest brother was not a pleasant one, and Gwendal quickly sought to wipe it from his mind.

Luckily, a knock sounded against the door at that very moment, and he looked up from the papers he was rifling through in order to answer it with a gruff "Come in," forcing his expression to ease from one of displeasure to a more composed look.

A young man with blond hair and gray eyes entered the room, his green uniform showing him to be among the personal soldiers and aides of Voltaire. He closed the door behind himself, a sign that whatever news he'd brought needed to be said outside the presence of others.

"Your Excellency," he said, bowing low in greeting.

Gwendal nodded his own greeting, momentarily setting the papers he'd been looking through aside. "Seymour," he acknowledged him. He made a point of knowing all of his men by name, and though this young man was relatively new in his service, his family was one that Gwendal held much respect for.

The boy straightened, then began his briefing. "I have received word from my father in Francia. King Antoine looks foreword to His Majesty's arrival and sufficient preparations are being made for the comfort and protection of His Majesty and his retinue for the duration of their stay. Father says King Antoine has been most gracious."

"Good," Gwendal replied, truly pleased that their treaties and peace agreements with the human countries were holding up so well. They now had ambassadors in countries where before they'd only had spies. It made continued negotiations much easier and kept the lines of communication between them open. "Perhaps His Majesty will enjoy an eventless journey for once."

Though that may not be to the King's liking, he thought. He'd noticed the anxiousness their young monarch had been experiencing recently, which made him all the more cautious about the developments taking place between he and Wolfram. Their king was one for action; sitting and waiting for things to occur on their own had never been His Majesty's strong suit. Therefore, if his current attraction to Wolfram was simply a youthful fling - something to occupy his time and energies - then Gwendal was even less inclined to approve of it than he would be otherwise.

"See that preparations continue according to schedule," he said, trying to remove his thoughts from the subject, at least for the present. He was concerning himself too much with things that had yet to come to pass.

"Yes, Your Excellency," Seymour nodded, then paused, appearing uncertain, and he failed to bow out of the room.

Gwendal had implied his dismissal with the command, and so was confused as to why he had not yet taken his leave, easily noting his hesitance. "What is it?" he asked, thinking perhaps there was more he'd yet to tell him.

For a moment, Seymour shifting awkwardly in place, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he was able to come up with the right words. "Sir, my father sent another message through a more secure channel."

Knowing what it meant to send a separate message by more trustworthy means, Gwendal was instantly on alert. "Has something happened?" He'd heard little from GegenHuber and Josak in the way of recent activity among their allies or enemies, but Seymour's father was in a position to gain much information in Francia as he served as ambassador of the Great Demon Kingdom.

"No, nothing yet, Your Excellency," the younger Seymour reassured him, "but Father says that he and King Antoine's own informants have received word that King Lanzhil is becoming active once again."

"Active how?"

Again, Seymour hesitated a moment before answering. "By looking for something, my lord. It seems he's given orders for the search of an object he believes will help him in his worldly ambitions."

Gwendal could only snort. "What could he possibly hope to find? The Forbidden Boxes have either been destroyed or rendered powerless, and his attempts to destroy us after assuming the throne two years ago failed utterly. Do tell me what foolish action he's taking now. What is it he's looking for?"

The discomfort Seymour was experiencing was more than obvious and only seemed to grow by the second as he shifted yet again. He looked as if he regretted bringing up the subject at all, and when he spoke again his voice was low, like he no longer wished to admit to his concerns, perhaps thinking them unfounded.

"The Holy Grail, sir."

Initially, Gwendal said nothing in response to his statement. He _had_ no response for it. Of all the things he'd thought Lanzhil would be after, out of all the magic objects left undiscovered in the world, that was the last he expected to entice a human king.

But then Lanzhil was nothing if not ludicrous. It was common knowledge now that he'd used unethical means to force himself onto the throne after the death of his uncle Belar. The dissatisfaction felt among many of his subjects had brought his treachery to light, though no one yet seemed able to dispose of him. His people were in a state of rebellion, calling for his downfall and replacement, but somehow Lanzhil had enough men loyal to him to keep his tentative control.

Belar had been a dangerous adversary; despite his fall into insanity, his ambitions had mirrored those of many within his realm, and they'd followed him willingly, believing him capable of disposing of their enemies. Lanzhil was nothing more than a fool, and his lack of sufficient intelligence and his poor judgment showed.

Gwendal could only smirk at the news so recently revealed to him. "What nonsense is this? Lanzhil plans on ruling the world with no more than a cup that does not even exist?" Truly, Lanzhil had outdone himself this time. "Countless men have gone off in search of the so called 'Holy Grail' and none of them have been successful. Lanzhil's party will fair no better."

Of all the objects noted in history that have gone missing over time, Lanzhil had to choose the least likely to be found.

Even so, Seymour continued to appear uncertain. "I do not think my father would have sent the information had he not thought it was viable."

"Is your father a believer in the Grail, Seymour?"

Gwendal knew of very few people who would admit to believing in such things. Gunter often expounded upon points of history and legend, but even he would admit that there was little evidence of the existence of such an object. Rumors of a chalice of immense power had spread throughout the world since the time of the Great One's death, as it was he that the grail was said to have originally belonged to. But what purpose would a holy object have in the Great Demon Kingdom?

"No, sir," Seymour denied, though he was quick to continue before Gwendal could say or ask anything else, "but he said Lanzhil sent an ambassador to Francia, and the ambassador himself has requested a formal audience with King Antoine. At the time Father's letter was sent, such an audience had yet taken place, but he believes it will only be a matter of time until King Antoine relents."

"He'll not want to incite trouble between Francia and Cimaron so soon after the birth of his first child," Gwendal agreed, "especially since he has already insulted Lanzhil by not inviting him to the princess's Blessing." Despite this revelation, Gwendal could not find it within himself to be any more concerned than he'd been before. "Cimaron's presence may cause friction during His Majesty's visit, but I dare say we have nothing to concern ourselves with in their fool's quest for any holy cup."

Seymour looked as if he would argue, but he held himself back and bowed deeply once again. "Of course, Your Excellency."

"Send word to your father that he can continue to expect His Majesty on the appointed date."

With a nod, the young soldier considered himself dismissed and turned to leave. Normally, Gwendal would have allowed him to do so and gone about his own business, but he'd noticed the boy's continued uncertainty, and though he didn't share it, he couldn't outright ignore it. "Galyn," he called to him, referring to him by given name and temporarily bridging the gap between lord and servant.

His page stopped, removing his hand from the door handle and turning to face him. "Yes, sir?"

Gwendal considered him, looking him over with a critical gaze. Galyn was young, but he was intelligent and shrewd, and Gwendal had seen fit to add him to his service earlier than most men. He did little more than run errands and keep track of messages, serving as a liaison between Gwendal and the older Seymour in Francia, but he had high hopes for him in the future. He was talented and trustworthy, and loyal to the new king and his agenda of peace.

"Do you believe in the Grail legends?" he asked. If there was one thing His Majesty had taught him over the last three years, it was that the opinions of those of the younger generations should not be so carelessly overlooked.

Galyn was silent at first, thinking over his answer before giving it. "I believe that all legends find their basis in fact. Whether or not a grail exists now, there must have been something to inspire the stories at the time of their origin. Naturally, they've probably been exaggerated over time, but there could still be some truth in them." He paused, seeming embarrassed, and smiled timidly. "At least, that's what I've always believed, sir."

It gave him something to think about, in any case. Gwendal wasn't one to believe in things that had no factual proof of existing. He liked concrete evidence, for then there could be no arguing. Something either was or wasn't; there was no in-between.

"You are dismissed," he said with a nod, though he kept Galyn's words fresh in his mind.

As soon as the door had closed, Gwendal's attention returned to the task at hand, and he lifted another document to read. However, it was not long until he found himself drawn elsewhere, placing the parchment back on the King's desk and turning to glance out one of the tall windows.

The castle grounds looked as they always did, littered now with falling leaves as autumn changed their colors from green to orange, red, and gold. It was a clear day, with no ominous signs to point to potential trouble brewing in other parts of the world. The guards stood at their posts, the soldiers practiced and drilled, and His Majesty and Wolfram walked leisurely together, with Conrart trailing discretely behind.

Gwendal frowned when he saw them, black hair and blond, their contrasting looks easily distinguishable among the others that patrolled the grounds. Neither of them was touching the other, but they were strolling close together nonetheless. His Majesty appeared nervous, and Wolfram was smiling and cheeks looked pink, though Gwendal hoped he was mistaken; it was hard to tell from the distance. He didn't want to know what the King could have said or done to cause a flush to overtake his youngest brother's face.

He watched as they walked, studying them both - the way they moved together, the way they looked at one another, their smiles, their laughter - until they'd gone too far and meandered out of sight. Releasing a sigh, he wondered how long their puppy love would last, and how it would come to its end.

As he was about to turn away from the window and return once again to his work, Gwendal's eyes caught sight of a building in the distance. The Great One's Temple rose up from a hill, outside the capital and nearly blocked from view by the surrounding wall of the castle. Rebuilt now after being partly destroyed as the boxes had been opened, it exuded the same majesty and splendor it had maintained since its conception. It appeared harmless and empty from so far away, but Gwendal knew better. The mishap with the boxes had been enough for him to realize how detrimental it was to put his complete trust and faith into certain beliefs. The Great One's Temple contained many secrets - secrets known only to the Great Sage and the Great One himself.

"The Holy Grail…" he breathed, and for a moment he considered that Galyn's suspicions might indeed have merit, but the thought was dismissed soon after it came to him.

The Demon Tribe had no need for holy objects; the Great One's need of them was even less.

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter Two

**Pairing: **Yuuri/Wolfram, Great One(Shinou)/Rufus, and past OMC/OMC.

**Warnings (by chapter): **Slight novel/drama CD spoilers(?). Spoilers for Season Three. Some adult content. Past and future implied Mpreg (at some point).

**Setting: **Two years Post-Season Three.

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Nor do I own any of the various myths/legends pertaining to the Holy Grail.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**A/N:** Past events/flashbacks are written in _italics_. Also, past events/flashbacks are not necessarily in any sort of order.

* * *

_**The Holy Grail**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Two**

Lanzhil grinned wolfishly at the ladies of his court, who batted their eyelashes and hid their smiles behind fluttering fans, giggling softly to one another as they found themselves subjects of his attention. He allowed himself a generous look, his eyes trailing over each of them as he sat at his table in a plush, high backed chair. He didn't know their names, though he thought the brunette might be the daughter of one of his councilors, but that was unimportant.

It was the youthful faces he cared about, and the plump breasts that were currently confined in tight bodices. He imagined himself undoing the lacing in the back, sliding their dresses off and gazing upon them in all their glory, before fondling the mounds of flesh on their chests and listening to their giggles and squeals as his mouth trailed over their skin.

Taking a bite of his food and washing it down with a large gulp of wine, Lanzhil considered propositioning one or two of them to join him in his bedchamber later. Indulging in a few of his fantasies would be the perfect end to an otherwise uneventful day.

Being king had more perks that he'd previously realized, and he'd made sure to benefit from them over the last two years. His uncle had been a fool not to take advantage of his position more, and Lanzhil was determined not to make the same mistake. The old man hadn't known how good he'd had it, with numerous men willing to do his bidding and countless women nearly begging to be taken. The court was ripe with young beauties, and Lanzhil intended to sample each and every one of them.

If only getting rid of that pestilential Demon King could be as simple as finding an attractive woman to bed, then his reign would truly be glorious.

Even after a humiliating defeat at the hands of his foreign adversary two years ago, he refused to believe vanquishing him was impossible. The Demon King was no older than that charlatan Saralegui, and not even half as wise. Naiveté was a fault he possessed in excess, and it was only through sheer luck and the competence of his advisers that the double black had managed to scrape by thus far.

Otherwise, the only thing the Demon King had going for him was his power, which Lanzhil had been forced to concede that he couldn't match, not by normal means, at least. Whatever resided within King Yuuri would not be overcome by the blast of a canon or a few well placed arrows. If Lanzhil wanted to subdue him, then he would have to subdue the power, or gain enough himself to surpass him.

Shoving more of his meal into his mouth, Lanzhil once again let his sights rest on a few of the ladies sitting at one of the other tables nearby. He felt no shame in ogling them, as his spirits lifted and he was able to forget for the moment that he had yet to find a way to conquer the Demon Tribe. Observing the ladies and thinking about the treasures they kept hidden between their legs was much more preferable to stressing over his political inadequacies.

Movement out of the corner of his eye had him momentarily distracted, and Lanzhil watched as a young page stopped by one of his top advisers and leant down to whisper something in his ear. Sipping at his wine, Lanzhil reclined in his chair and waited for the page to leave, before meeting his councilor's gaze and motioning for him to approach.

"Your Majesty," the man said as he bowed, long hair spilling over his shoulders. "I have just been informed that King Yuuri has left the Great Demon Kingdom and is making his way to Francia."

Lanzhil sneered and gritted his teeth together, experiencing similar feelings of enmity towards some of his fellow human countries as he did for the Demon Tribe. "That bumbling ass Antoine should know better than to consort with the likes of him. He'll invite the Demon King to his daughter's Blessing, but not me?! Lanzhil! King of Big Cimaron!"

"King Antoine commits a grave error in neglecting you," his councilor agreed.

Grunting, Lanzhil sunk in his chair a bit, and raised his goblet to take a deep swig.

"But if I may be so bold, I would suggest that Your Majesty choose this moment to strike. The circumstances are to your advantage. The Demon King brings with him his usual company of retainers, along with the Great Sage."

Lanzhil paused to contemplate the information, bringing a hand to his chin to lightly stroke the triangle of hair beneath his mouth. "The Great Sage, you say?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. The man who assisted the first Demon King in defeating the Originators, and became his chief adviser."

"I know who the Great Sage is!" Lanzhil snapped.

"Then Your Majesty is also aware that it is he who would have the most knowledge pertaining to the first Demon King, and would offer substantial assistance in our search for the Holy Grail."

That had Lanzhil perking up, and he glanced at his adviser with increasing interest. "Wouldn't he be too well protected?"

"The Demon King's advisers will be too engrossed in protecting him that they will not think capturing the Great Sage is our true objective. Fancia's military is also very weak, even now that Antoine has allied himself with the Great Demon Kingdom. It would not be difficult for us to slip in and stage an attack."

The thought of one upping the Demon Tribe was a pleasant one. As much as he would like to see the Demon King dead, his current interest did not lie with him. To get what he needed to destroy him, Lanzhil first had to get his hands on the Great Sage. It had been a topic of discussion between he and his councilors since he'd first ordered them to start looking for the Grail, but he hadn't dared to hope that the means of acquiring his prey would come so quickly. He was used to constant obstruction in his dealings with the Demon Tribe.

"Very well," he decided, finding an easy smile as his mood increased. "I'll leave you to formulate the plans. If you fail in this, you can be sure that your job will be filled by someone more competent."

It pleased him greatly to see the look of uncertainly on the man's face, his grin turning wicked again as he waved him away. It wouldn't be long now before he had the way to power in his hands, and then he would finally be able to crush the Demon King once and for all.

Satisfied that his plans would soon begin to result in success, Lanzhil drained the remainder of his wine before standing from his chair and making his way over to the tittering ladies.

It was going to be a truly enjoyable night.

* * *

_The throne room was slowly filling with people when he entered it, trailing close behind his father. Their footsteps echoed against the walls and high ceiling, and sunlight streamed in from the tall windows. Stone lions stood perched atop the columns set into the walls, looking down upon those who had gathered to greet and swear their allegiances to the new king._

_The throne itself, made of gold and red velvet, was empty. The last time he'd been privileged enough to enter this room with his father, a man of tremendous valor had been seated in that chair, wearing jewels and furs, sitting tall and regal and looking every bit as a king should - strong, confident, and unyielding. Now the man who had defeated the Originators, who had done what no one else could have hoped to do, was gone. They would all have to accept someone else in his place, and hope his successor lived up to his legacy._

"_Gareth," someone greeted his father when they came to a stop in front of the throne._

"_My Lord Bielefeld," his father responded, lowering himself to one knee and crossing an arm over his chest._

_Rufus Bielefeld stood to the right of the throne, dressed in simple clothes of blue, with his long, sandy hair pulled into a tail behind his head. He thought the man looked somewhat sad, as a frown was present on his face and his turquoise eyes seemed dull. Even so, he held himself to his full height - which wasn't much to speak of - and kept his head high._

_Next to Lord Bielefeld was the Great Sage, swathed from head to toe in black. His expression was carefully controlled, not blank, but not very expressive either. His black eyes would occasionally dart around the room, carefully monitoring the scene._

_Lined up to the left were all those who'd already pledged their allegiance to the new king. Many of them were recognizable - Siegbert Voltaire, Earhardt Wincott, and all the other men who'd served with the Great One during his campaign against the Originators, and who'd sworn loyalty to him as he'd built his kingdom. He even thought he spied Lawrence Weller of Cimaron among them._

"_Allow me to introduce my son, Gabriel," his father said, and he turned to look forward once again, watching as Lord Bielefeld managed a small smile in his direction._

"_I remember him. You've grown since before the war, Gabriel."_

_Remembering himself and the courtesies he was expected to express a bit late, Gabriel bent into a bow. "Your Excellency," he greeted the man who had been one of the Great One's closest companions._

"_I was hoping to have him included in His Majesty's guard," his father continued, not yet rising from his position on the floor. "He is still a bit young, but he has trained well, and I believe him to be ready."_

_Lord Bielefeld nodded, and Gabriel found himself being thoroughly scrutinized, both by the comely young man, as well as by the Great Sage. It was the Sage who approached him, and though Gabriel knew he should have bowed lower at being acknowledged by such a great man, he found himself straightening and meeting the Sage's dark eyes._

"_I have heard that you are very talented, young Lord Sinclair," the double black said to him, his voice light and smooth._

"_Yes, sire," Gabriel replied, trying not to sound too boastful, but wanting him to know that he was confident in himself and his abilities._

_The Sage smiled faintly, then reached out a hand to gently place it atop his head. Dark eyes closed, and Gabriel felt a tingling sensation throughout his entire body, starting at the tips of his fingers and toes and converging in the center of his chest. It lasted for as long as the Sage retained contact with him, then faded slowly when he finally removed his hand._

"_You are very powerful," the Sage observed, looking him over again. "Have you been trained in magic as well?"_

"_Yes, sire."_

"_What element can you use?"_

"_Water, like my father. He's trained me in it himself, but I can use fire, earth, and wind, too."_

_The Sage had no reaction to his statement, at least none that he could see, as his face remained in its neutral expression. The others did not react quite as calmly, and whispering broke out within the cluster of people at the side of the room. Gabriel glanced over at them, but all he sensed from them was confusion._

"_Then you would be very valuable in the protection of the king," the Sage continued, and Gabriel looked back at him again. "Is that what you desire, young Lord Sinclair? To pledge yourself to His Majesty and serve him with your life?"_

_Gabriel paused before answering, remembering the course of his training, what his father had spoken of loyalty and allegiance. _'To serve the kingdom, you must acknowledge that the king's life is more important than your own,'_ he'd said. _'Guard him, protect him, and you will be well rewarded, in this life and in the next.'

_He nodded confidently, straightening even more and looking at the Sage levelly as he gave his answer. "Yes, sire."_

_The double black's thin lips stretched into a small smile, and he stood aside and made a sweeping motion with his arm to indicate that he was to step forward. "Then make your pledge, and we will see that you are granted a position in His Majesty's household."_

_Curiously, Gabriel stepped forward to look upon the new king for the first time._

_In front of the empty throne, at the very end of the red carpet trailing through the center of the room, sat a bassinet, constructed of dark wood and decorated with white lace, with a layer of sheer fabric suspended from above to shield its occupant from the brightness of the sun. Lord Bielefeld was the closest to it, near enough to reach inside should the need arise. He seemed pleased with Gabriel's decision, and allowed him to move closer and gaze at his bastard son._

_A baby lied there, no more than two years old, round faced and rosy cheeked, with soft, golden curls and large turquoise eyes. He wore white, trimmed in expensive lace, with a blanket placed over him to keep him warm. His arms waved carelessly in the air and his legs would occasionally shift and jerk as he babbled quietly. He grinned up at Gabriel, wide and toothless, oblivious to everything, small and young and completely innocent._

_Gabriel watched him for a few moments, then slowly lowered himself to one knee as his father had done when they'd entered the room, lifting an arm to cross it over his chest, his fist resting above his heart. "I, Gabriel Sinclair, son of Gareth Sinclair, declare my true and sincere life-long allegiance to His Majesty the King, the chosen successor of His Majesty the Great One, conqueror of the Originators and founder of the Great Demon Kingdom. I swear to serve and protect he and his realm, forsaking all others, until the end of his reign."_

_The room was silent. All the whispering that had previously made its way through the small gathering had ceased the moment he'd approached the bassinet, but Gabriel could feel every single pair of eyes on him, from his father to Lord Bielefeld to the Great Sage. He stood from his kneeling position, but kept his arm over his chest and bowed his head to the tiny baby._

"_I accept as my king and sovereign lord, His Majesty Ellias of Bielefeld."_

_

* * *

_Yuuri jolted awake as a mighty wave crashed against the side of the ship. It took him only a few moments to decide that he was very uncomfortable, hunched over a table with the side of his face pressed against the hard cover of a thick book. He wiped at a trail of drool on his chin, blinking his eyes open as he came back to awareness.

He could feel the wind in his hair, rustling the dark strands and caressing the side of his face. The air was crisp and briny, and the sky overhead was bright blue. He could hear the sound of the water and the creaking of the boat. It swayed gently, back and forth, and had lulled him into a deep sleep as the autumn sun warmed the back of his neck.

A voice sounded from above him, its exuberance easily recognizable. "The town of Munsalväsche is said to appear only once every one-hundred years, as per an agreement made with His Majesty the Great One, who conducted the enchantment himself!"

"Gunter~!" Yuuri whined, lifting his head to gaze tiredly at his royal tutor. "Can't we take a break? We've been going at it all day!"

Aghast, Gunter was quick to deny his complaints. "Five hours is hardly an entire day, Your Majesty."

"It's long enough!"

"But you are still very much behind. Visiting with one of our allies is not an excuse for you to neglect your studies. We have not made as much progress as I had hoped in the last three years. Your skills in reading and writing have improved greatly, and your arithmetic is exemplary, but your knowledge of our history is sadly lacking."

"I thought I was done with school," Yuuri grumbled to himself, laying his head back down on the book he'd been using for a pillow. "I know plenty of history!" he said, loud enough for Gunter to hear him this time. "History was my favorite subject on Earth!"

"Earth's history and our own are quite different, Your Majesty," Gunter declared, then lifted a brow as he quickly quizzed him. "Who was the seventh Demon King?"

"That guy who looked like Gwendal."

"His name?"

"I don't remember. It starts with an 'F.' 'Foie gras' or something like that."

"Forgeas," Murata offered from somewhere beside him.

Yuuri waved a hand as if the pronunciation was unimportant. "Right."

"What epithet was used to describe him?" Gunter asked.

"Bloodthirsty or Flesh-eater or something dark and sinister like that."

"It was 'brave,' Your Majesty. 'Forgeas the Brave.'"

"Same thing."

Murata snickered.

"And who was the fourteenth Demon King?"

Yuuri groaned. "I have no idea," he admitted. "Some guy who did something bad."

"That is only partly correct. Our fourteenth ruler was our first Demon Queen, Brittany von Wincott, the Bloodthirsty."

"See?! 'Bloodthirsty'! I was right!" Yuuri exclaimed, before frowning. "And anyway, that was a trick question. You can't say 'Demon King' when it was really a Demon _Queen_."

"My apologies, Your Majesty, but I had hoped you would remember," Gunter said with a small frown of his own. "We'll have to go over our line of Kings and Queens again sometime in the future. You seem to have trouble recalling them accurately."

"I remember!"

"Then, please, name them all in order."

Yuuri paused, scouring his memory for the proper information but coming up blank. "Uhh, well, there was the Great One, he was called… er… the Great. I can't say his name because no one will tell me what it is."

"We cannot speak the Great One's name," Gunter reminded him.

"Right, right. Then there was… some guy who was pretty, and then some guy who was just, then a bunch of people who liked blood and death, then Lady Celi, me, and then Wolfram."

"You missed about twenty of 'em," Murata said.

Yuuri turned to shoot him a glare. Murata was sitting at the table on deck with he and Gunter, dark eyes scanning the pages of a book Yuuri was supposed to be reading but hadn't yet gotten around to.

"Well, why don't you name them all then?" Yuuri wondered. He knew he wasn't acting very mature, but he was tired of studying. He felt as if his brain had absorbed as much information as it could possibly handle. He'd thought he'd be able to spend his trip to Francia in a more pleasing way, but so far Gunter had managed to keep him drowning in books and notes of parchment.

Murata smiled at his tone, but didn't take his eyes off of the volume in his hands. "That would be cheating. Besides, I was only here for a little more than half of them before my soul went to Earth."

"So you're saying you don't know all of them?"

"No, I'm saying I can't speak from experience."

Yuuri groaned again and slouched lower in his chair, slinking down until he nearly fell onto the floor.

A chuckle from behind him had Yuuri tilting his head back to see his godfather approaching, clearly amused. "How are your studies progressing, Your Majesty?" he asked with a clear note of teasing in his voice.

"They're not," Yuuri replied, then asked, "Where have you been?"

"Below deck. Wolfram is once again fairing poorly."

At the mention of his fiancé, Yuuri pulled himself back up into his chair, turning in it so as to be able to look at Conrad more easily. He hadn't seen Wolfram since before Gunter had dragged him off to study, but the blond hadn't looked well at all before then. Since the moment they'd stepped foot on the ship, Wolfram had been horribly ill. Seeing as Wolfram rarely handled sea voyagers well, Yuuri wasn't all that surprised, but this time seemed worse than the few other times he could remember.

"I should go see him," he said, feeling guilty for just leaving him there on his own, even if he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter.

Gunter was about to protest, but Conrad stopped him. "I believe that would improve his mood greatly, Your Majesty."

In a second, Yuuri had jumped from his chair to pass Conrad and make his way below deck. He could hear Gunter calling after him, but he ignored it and continued on his way, trotting down the wooden stairs to head to the floor where his stateroom was located, happily ending the long hours of tedious studying.

He was greeted at the door by one of the Bielefeld Guards, who grinned in amusement and gave a quick bow. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you, Your Majesty."

Yuuri smiled back but didn't let his warning deter him, opening the door to the sounds of raucous retching.

Wolfram was on the floor beside the bed, heaving into one of the many buckets that had been brought to him since they'd left port. His hair was disheveled and his complexion was wan, though there was a bit of a greenish tinge to it as well. He hadn't changed from his nightgown, which stuck to his skin due to the cold sweat that covered him.

Another one of his soldiers in blue crouched by his side, using a damp washcloth to wipe at his forehead. The second blond looked up when Yuuri entered, and looked as if he didn't know whether he should stand up to bow or remain where he was by his commander. He settled for bowing his head with a soft, "Your Majesty," and immediately went back to tending to Wolfram when he vomited again.

Yuuri frowned when he noted Wolfram's condition, moving across the room to kneel behind him and rub at his back. "How long as he been like this?" he quietly asked the soldier. When he'd left earlier in the day, Wolfram had obviously been feeling bad, but hadn't been retching quite so violently.

"For a couple of hours now, Your Majesty."

"Has he eaten anything?"

"No. He hasn't been able to keep anything down since yesterday evening. It's hard to imagine there's anything left in his stomach at this rate, but he keeps heaving."

Yuuri nodded in understanding, waiting until there was a break in Wolfram's retching before talking to his fiancé directly. "How are you feeling, Wolf?"

"How does it look like I'm feeling?" Wolfram rasped, lifting a hand to wipe at his mouth.

Bravely, Yuuri leaned forward to peer into the bucket, and saw that Wolfram had been expelling little more than stomach acid, if anything was coming up at all.

"Pretty bad," he admitted, rubbing at his back again and moving his other hand to push Wolfram's damp bangs out of his face. "Why didn't you have anyone tell me you were feeling this bad?"

"I didn't see how it would have done any good. You were busy studying."

Yuuri snorted. "I'd rather help take care of you than recite all the Demon Kings from one to twenty-eight."

"I'm so glad my shortcomings amuse you," Wolfram said, and the sarcasm in his voice made Yuuri smile. At least he was still well enough to have an attitude. "Having me puke all over you isn't what I'd call romantic."

"I wouldn't call it romantic either, but at least you wouldn't be alone."

"As you can see, I'm hardly alone." The soldier beside them was still lightly dabbing at his face and forehead. "Patsy has latent healing abilities. It's helped somewhat. And Conrart's been sticking his nose in off and on for the last few hours."

At the mention of healing, Yuuri was reminded of his own powers and immediately tapped into his magic. A warm green light soon enveloped the hand against Wolfram's back. "Why don't you try coming up on deck? The fresh air will do you some good."

"You really should be on deck, Your Excellency. It'll help," the soldier, whom Yuuri assumed was Patsy, added before Wolfram could argue.

Grumbling something that Yuuri couldn't quite make out, Wolfram nodded his head in assent. Handing the damp cloth the Yuuri, Patsy stood to retrieve a dressing gown to slip over Wolfram's nightgown, and slippers to prevent his feet from becoming cold. Yuuri helped the young man guide his fiancé into them, then slung one of Wolfram's arms over his shoulders and slipped one of his own around his waist to help him along. Patsy took his other side, and together they steered the ailing blond out of the room.

The Bielefeld Guard Yuuri had first seen when arriving was still standing at the door, grinning wider as they passed through. "Feeling any better, Your Excellency?" he asked cheekily.

Yuuri watched as Wolfram glared. "Shut it, Sinclair."

The brunet wasn't phased, leaving his post at the door to follow them down the hall. "Should I accompany you?"

"If you do, I'll push you overboard."

Yuuri had never heard Wolfram talk to any of his men in such a way before, and was therefore quite confused by the bantering.

Sinclair made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hissing cat, and continued to follow them as they ascended the stairs. "Are you always this sassy, or am I just the one who's become the unlucky target of your wrath?"

"No, he's always like this," Yuuri answered before he could stop himself.

Wolfram's glare was thunderous when it was directed at him, and Yuuri could only laugh awkwardly as Wolfram purposefully stepped on his foot. Luckily, Wolfram was wearing soft slippers and Yuuri was wearing thicker sneakers, so it didn't hurt quite as badly as it would have if Wolfram had been wearing his riding boots or any of his fancy heeled shoes.

The cheerful guard made another hissing sound, chuckling to himself when Patsy looked over his shoulder to give him a disapproving frown.

After climbing the stairs, Yuuri and Patsy ushered Wolfram out on deck and to a spot where he could sit in the shade but still get some clean air. Yuuri sat beside him, wiping some more sweat off of Wolfram's face with the cloth Patsy had handed to him before, while Patsy grabbed Sinclair by the arm and dragged him off to another part of the ship.

Wolfram sighed once the source of his annoyance was out of sight, glancing at Yuuri with drooping eyelids, looking utterly exhausted. "How much longer do we have until we arrive in Francia?"

"We should get there tomorrow afternoon if the weather stays as good as it has been."

Wolfram hummed in satisfaction, turning to be able to glance up at the clear blue sky.

Yuuri would have looked up as well, but decided staring at his fiancé would be a better use of his time. "If you feel better in a little while, you should try to eat something bland, like bread or some crackers. You should probably drink some water, too, so you can stay hydrated."

He watched the one green eye he could see as it slid over to look at him and note his staring, and he was very happy - and relieved - to see Wolfram's cheeks flush ever so slightly. However it was accomplished, it was good to see him get some color back into his face.

"The next time we have to travel somewhere by boat, I'll go to Earth before we leave and get some medicine for you. It might work and keep you from getting seasick, or at least keep it from being so bad."

"You don't have to worry about me," Wolfram said softly, but Yuuri could tell that the idea of not having to suffer through their travels was appealing to him.

Yuuri shrugged at his response. "It's no big deal. I should have thought of it sooner."

"I can get by."

"But you're my fiancé." Yuuri smiled when he said it, easily guessing what sort of reaction he would receive. He wasn't disappointed, as the color in Wolfram's face immediately darkened. "Aren't I supposed to be taking care of you?"

Wolfram's mouth worked as he tried to come up with something to say, opening and closing before opening again. His speechlessness was adorable, and Yuuri's smile grew. He slid an arm around Wolfram's shoulders and pulled him against his side, feeling him tense in his hold momentarily, before he relaxed into him.

Yuuri knew that Wolfram was trying to hide his pleasure with the situation and with their current position when he turned his face away, but he didn't say anything else, not wanting Wolfram to grow uncomfortable. Wolfram would always tense whenever it was he who established any sort of physical contact with him, and Yuuri didn't mind giving him the time to get used to it. He could hear him grumbling under his breath, and though he listened carefully, the only word he could make out clearly was 'wimp.'

Finally, Wolfram turned back to him once he had his blushing under control, his mouth turned down into an irritable frown. "It's about time you finally accepted it," he groused, but no matter how tough he tried to act, he couldn't hide his delight.

Yuuri said nothing but continued to smile, settling a bit more comfortably against the side of the ship. Wolfram shifted as well, laying his head on his shoulder, before he paused and looked up at him again.

"Don't get mad at me if I throw up on you."

Yuuri threw his head back and laughed.

* * *

No one was happier than Wolfram to disembark from the boat and set foot on solid ground again. The weather held out for as long as their voyage, allowing them to arrive in Francia at their intended time. Only then did the clouds gather and the skies open up in a torrential flood of rain. Wolfram was crouched on the dock, suffering a few more dry heaves as his stomach settled into some semblance of normalcy, when the first few drops began to fall.

Their journey to the castle was made by carriage, at least for four of them. Wolfram may have chosen to ride a horse under different circumstances, but he decided that after his horrible experience on the ship, he deserved to partake in some luxuries. He sat with Yuuri on one side, trying to act for all the world as if he and his fiancé were on normal terms while Gunter and the Great Sage sat across from them.

He sometimes wondered if Gunter even knew about his and Yuuri's changing relationship - the Sage's amused smirks and gleaming glasses did not beg the same question - and while things were still in their developing stages, he'd much rather keep the changes as discrete as possible. So while he would have very much liked to feel the warmth of Yuuri's hand in his while a cold October rain pattered against the roof of the carriage, he settled for looking out the window instead, distracting himself while thinking with great pleasure that Thomas would be completely soaked by the time they arrived at their destination.

It took three hours to travel from the port to the Francian capital, especially as the rains worsened the conditions of the roads. They were ushered out as soon as the carriage stopped and quickly made their way inside, only growing a little damp in the process. Conrart and the other guards unlucky enough to have ridden followed them, dripping water all over the floor. Thomas did indeed look something like a drowned rat, and Wolfram couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction, though he did feel slightly sorry for Patsy, who had proven himself loyal time and again, only to be repaid by helping Wolfram through his illness and dealing with Thomas in his place.

He had little time to worry about it, however, as they received a vivacious greeting as soon as they stepped inside.

"Your Majesty!"

An older gentleman gave a flourishing bow, and it was only when he raised himself again that Wolfram got a good look at him. Graying hair of the palest blond was tied at the nape of his neck and trailed down much of his back. His eyes were gray-blue, and he had a long nose and square jaw. He was quite tall as well; Wolfram frowned to himself as he had to angle his head back a bit to look at him properly. The green of his clothing signified which region of the country he was from, and though Wolfram had not encountered this man often, he knew him in an instant as a man sent by his oldest brother.

"Your Majesty, it is my greatest pleasure to meet you!" the man exclaimed. It sounded a bit strange to hear his deep voice grow as animated as Gunter's normally did. "Allow me to introduce myself! I am John Seymour. Lord von Voltaire has entrusted me to serve as the Great Demon Kingdom's Ambassador here in Francia. I am honored to greet you and see to all your needs while you are here!"

Wolfram could tell that Yuuri was unsure of how to respond. "Umm, thank you," his fiancé said. "I… it's nice to meet you, too. Er…"

"Please, allow me to show you to your room so that you may refresh yourself before being presented to His Majesty Antoine and Queen Laila," John offered.

Yuuri stuttered, overwhelmed, so Wolfram slipped his hand behind him to tug on the back of his jacket, and when Yuuri glanced at him for help, he nodded to show him which answer would be acceptable.

"Uh, sure."

John led them down the halls of the castle, and Wolfram was pleased to note that Antoine had improved his residence since the last time they'd had the opportunity to visit. Rich wall hangings blocked out the autumn chill while plush carpets cushioned their feet. Both decorations had obviously been imported; Francia had come a long way from the small, isolated country it had once been. Now they were graciously welcoming others into their lands, and Antoine was indulging himself in his interest in foreign goods.

Examining the new additions to the castle, Wolfram almost didn't notice the two men who passed them in the hall, but a flash of their colors out of the corner of his eye had him turning his head to look. Two men in the Cimaron colors of yellow and dark gray walked in the opposite direction, and Wolfram had just enough time to size them up before they turned a corner and disappeared.

Slowing his gait, Wolfram came up beside his sodden brother and whispered lowly to him, "What is Cimaron doing here?"

Conrart said nothing in reply, merely shook his head to signal that there would be time for questions later. However, Wolfram did not miss the way his hand had gone to the hilt of his sword, and he understood the implicit meaning. The time may not be right for questions, but they should all keep on their guard.

Wolfram figured Ambassador Seymour would have some answers for them, and decided to ask him about it as soon as their formal audience with the King and Queen had been completed.

"Here we are," John said as they came to a set of wooden double doors. "These will be your chambers, Your Majesty. They've been prepared especially for you." He paused, and Wolfram found the ambassador looking at him directly for the first time. He seemed a bit uncomfortable as he appraised him. "I wasn't sure if-"

"Wolfram can stay with me," Yuuri announced, unabashed, while John flushed lightly at the implications and Gunter gaped in surprised. Yuuri didn't often voice his desires to share a room, so the surprised looks weren't unwarranted. Not very long ago, Wolfram would have had to defend his position on his own.

He felt his cheeks burning slightly, and had to turn his face away from the group so that no one would see him blushing, taking a breath to control himself and waiting for his skin to cool down before looking at any of them again.

John hadn't managed to compose himself quite as quickly, and looked between the two of them uneasily. "V-Very well, Your Majesty. If you are satisfied then… I will see that His Eminence is also made comfortable. Your audience with King Antoine will be in two hour's time."

He gave a deep bow and then began to head off, the Sage following him with a casual wave thrown over his shoulder, but Gunter remained motionless, gaping and pale as he muttered to himself. "B-Before m-marriage… how inap-propriate… c-cause a s-scandal…"

Wolfram didn't even want to know what sorts of improper and unseemly thoughts were going through Gunter's mind, and was happy when the Great Sage backtracked to take him by the arm and lead him away. Wolfram had always thought Gunter to be horribly old fashioned, though he needn't worry about Yuuri's innocence so soon. They were merely sharing a bed, as they'd always done. Even Wolfram wasn't brazen enough to engage in more amorous pursuits before marriage.

Well… not yet.

"You guys should go change," Yuuri's voice had him turning back to his fiancé. He was talking to Conrart, Thomas, and Patsy, who had lingered by the doors instead of following the others. "You're all soaked."

"It's of no concern, Your Majesty," Conrart replied, smiling as if there were not men from Cimaron wandering the castle.

"Honestly, you don't have to worry about me," Yuuri continued. "I'll be fine. We're in Francia. What's there to worry about?"

Once again Yuuri had failed to note any sort of danger. Wolfram exchanged a look with his brother, before letting out a sigh. "Nothing should happen in the next few minutes," he said, adding a silent, _'And if something does, I'll take care of it.'_

Conrart didn't look appeased, but he relented with a nod. "I'll return momentarily."

Wolfram had no doubt that he would, and though he never missed the opportunity to showcase his own skills, he'd feel much more confident about Yuuri's safety with Conrart standing guard. They were no longer out on sea, but simply being in human lands affected him in ways he never experienced at home. His magic couldn't be used, and without it he felt severely handicapped. He knew his magic was his greatest resource in battle; he was better with fire than he was with a sword, as much as he hated to admit it.

Yuuri was pleased by Conrart's agreement, and moved to make his way into their room as his guardian went to see about procuring drier clothes. Wolfram was about to follow, but stopped when he spied Thomas heading off as well. "Sinclair," he called to him, eyeing him darkly. He still hadn't forgiven him for his teasing.

Thomas turned and smiled. "Yes, Your Excellency?" he asked innocently enough.

Wolfram wasn't fooled. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To change."

"I don't remember saying you were allowed to do so. Stand by the door until Conrart returns."

Thomas continued to smile and traipsed back. "You'd think since we're off the boat now, you'd be in a better mood." He feigned a pout. "You're always so cruel to me."

"Maybe if you'd show a little more respect…" Patsy scolded him, having yet to move away from the door himself.

"I want the both of you to keep an eye on Big Cimaron while we're here. I don't like knowing they're sticking their noses where they shouldn't be. I hadn't thought Antoine would invite them."

"He didn't," Thomas said, shrugging. "I'm pretty sure they came on their own. Lord von Bielefeld said King Lanzhil would probably try something at some point, and sooner rather than later. They're most likely here to gather information."

Wolfram eyed him critically, surprised that he could be so observant, and that he already seemed to have his own orders. "When did you hear from my uncle?"

"Before we left."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"He didn't say to mention anything to you, just to be on the look out. Apparently he's concerned that there's been some suspicious activity in Cimaron lately."

Wolfram ground his teeth together and felt his head begin to ache behind his temples. "The next time my uncle sends information like that, I would greatly appreciate it if you were to share it with me. For now, stand here and don't move until Conrart returns."

"Sure," Thomas agreed, taking a spot on one side of the door while Patsy moved to the other. Before Wolfram could cross through, his uncle's guard leered at him over his shoulder. "Oh, yeah. Don't do anything naughty. Sharing a room with His Majesty does not give you permission to be shameless," he said, mocking a lecture. "I wouldn't want to have to tell Lord von Bielefeld that his nephew's degraded himself before the wedding, so behave yourself, Sassy."

Wolfram glared menacingly and was sorely tempted to throttle him, but chose not to commit murder in the halls of the Francian castle and slammed the door in Thomas's face instead. An "ow!" resounded from the other side, and soon the sound of a scuffle reached Wolfram's ears as Patsy was once again left to defend his honor.

Feeling that his face had turned bright red, Wolfram took a breath and tried to focus on less maddening things before turning to see what Yuuri was up to. He didn't have to look far, for when he did turn around to move farther into the room, he saw that his fiancé was standing right behind him.

Wolfram's flush darkened before it could completely dissipate, as Yuuri smiled and scratched at the back of his head awkwardly. "I've never seen you act that way around your men," he said, and though he'd obviously heard Thomas's comments, he said nothing about them. If Wolfram looked close enough, he could see that Yuuri's cheeks were colored a light pink as well, and the sight only made it more difficult to control his own reactions.

"Thomas isn't one of mine," he grumbled, glancing off to the side so that he wouldn't have to look Yuuri in the eye. "My uncle sent him."

"Why?"

"I have no idea, but I plan on finding out as soon as we get home. If I had any choice in the matter, he wouldn't be here."

"He doesn't seem so bad."

Wolfram looked at Yuuri as if he were crazy. Leave it to Yuuri to see the good in everyone.

"What?" his fiancé wondered, holding his hands out defensively in front of him incase he did or said something wrong. "I mean, he's just teasing, right?"

"It's hardly appropriate to tease one's superior officer."

"O-okay, but… I mean… there's no harm done."

Wolfram sighed in exasperation, then moved around him to examine their room. "You're impossible."

Yuuri didn't reply to that, falling silent and letting him see to their current living arrangements. Once Wolfram had appraised every inch of it, testing each piece of furniture and sniffing at the pitcher of water to deem it worthy enough, he moved to the bed to sit upon the edge of it and lift each foot in turn to remove his boots.

Yuuri chose that moment to speak again, moving to join him. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Mostly. Now all I have to worry about is not being able to use my magic," he said, glancing around the room and noting the dimness of it. Only the fireplace provided any light; the storm blocked sunlight from coming in from outside.

"No big deal," Yuuri enthused, and with a mere movement of his hand a few candles flickered to life.

Wolfram was inwardly impressed, as he always was when Yuuri demonstrated his ability to use magic within humans lands, but he tried his best not to allow it to show, keeping himself contained to a small smile. "Show off."

Yuuri grinned. "You just wish you could be as cool."

Wolfram couldn't deny it, though 'cool' certainly wouldn't have been the word he'd have used to describe it.

"You should get some rest," Yuuri told him, shifting on the bed so that he was on one side of it, then lying down. "We have a couple of hours until we see Antoine. Take a nap or something. You didn't get much sleep on the boat."

"For obvious reasons," Wolfram added. He paused to think about it, but eventually unlatched his sword from his belt and set it by the bedside - close enough to grab should he have need of it. Tugging off his ascot, the white cloth and his blue jacket were soon discarded, before he made himself comfortable beside Yuuri.

Grinning more as his suggestion was followed, and looking a bit like a self-satisfied puppy who'd managed to please his master, Yuuri sat up and divested himself of his shoes and jacket as well. He plopped back down as soon as he'd done so, lying on his back but turning his head to smile over at him. "You know," he began, sounding both cautious and amused, "Thomas is right about one thing."

Wolfram arched a brow in skepticism. "And what would that be?"

"'Sassy's' the perfect name for you."

His eyes widened at first, his face heating up again, though he didn't know if it was in anger or embarrassment, and it wasn't long before Wolfram's look of surprise turned into a glare. Before Yuuri could stop him, Wolfram bolted up, grabbed one of the many fluffy pillows, and attacked.

* * *

_Ellias sat on a cushioned stool in front of a vanity, where a mirror hung bordered with gold filigree. Mother stood behind him, smiling serenely and running a brush through his long blond hair. Ellias looked at his mother and looked at himself, using his mother's distraction to carefully observe the parallels in their respective appearances._

_Mother was as strong as any man, and had shown great prowess in battle many decades ago, though slender and fine-boned. Ellias was of a similar stature and build, with the same white skin and pale aqua eyes. His countenance was distinctly his mother's - a round face, delicate jaw, high cheekbones, and a small nose. Even his element, something much less visible, something contained within him, was the same scorching heat his mother had destroyed armies with._

_The only of his physical characteristics that had ever been different was his hair. Mother's was thick and wavy and ashen blond. Everyone he knew in his mother's family had the same color hair, except him. He kept his just as long, but it was golden, each strand was thin and fine, and it curled softly._

_His hair was the only thing he'd inherited from the father he'd never known, and whose identity had been kept a secret from him his whole life._

_Mother loved to brush it, to slide her hands through it or twist a few strands so that the curls wrapped around her long fingers. Ellias let her, watching her carefully every time. It intrigued him, how she smiled as if thinking fondly of things from long ago, how she grew distant and far-away, and her eyes sparkled with happy memories. He thought she might have loved his father, but she never spoke of him. Even when he asked her, craving any bit of information he could possibly get about the man who'd sired him, she would simply smile and shake her head, and speak of other things._

_Ellias wondered if perhaps, despite her love, she was ashamed. After all, conceiving a child out of wedlock was frowned upon, and his mother had never been married. It must have been worse for her, being so well-known, and so respected, to bear the proof of her impropriety._

_Yet could it have been so horrible, when the Great One had chosen her son to take his place and rule as the country's second king? Why would he, the founder of the land, choose a baby - and a bastard at that - to succeed him if the child were not worthy of the position? Wouldn't his decision surmount any crime of passion committed in the past?_

_All these questions Ellias kept to himself, for he knew he would never receive an answer._

_He sat patiently as Mother continued her quest with his hair, taking a section by his left temple and twisting it toward his head, pulling in other sections with it as she worked her way back. Done with one side, she pinned it in place before repeating the same process on the other, until that, too, was pinned. To finish it off, she braided the long tail together, ending with a black ribbon._

_Mother kissed the top of his head, placing her hands on his shoulders and meeting his eyes in the mirror. "We'll begin our journey to the Temple shortly. How do you feel?"_

"_Nervous," Ellias said with a desperate look. "What does His Majesty the Great One have to say? Have I done something wrong? Is he angry with me?"_

_He feared the Great One, even if it had been he who'd chosen him. Anything that could escape death as he had and continue to live in the world as a disembodied soul should be feared as well as respected._

_Mother laughed lightly and kissed him again, leaning close to brush her lips against his cheek. "My Ellie," she crooned, her voice a gentle caress. "The Great One could never be angry with you. His decisions are made for the good of the country, not to harm those who are loyal to him. You have nothing to fear from him."_

_Ellie tried to nod confidently, but he didn't feel completely reassured. The Oracle's summons had come as a surprise. Rarely had the Great One interfered with his reign, choosing instead to allow him to rule under the guidance of the Great Sage._

_His mother's smile never faltered, and she wrapped her arms around him in a loose embrace before pulling away. "I must speak with Siegbert before we leave. Finish preparing yourself. I'll come for you soon."_

_He watched her leave, his doubts far from being assuaged, but he said nothing as she passed through the door. His eyes caught on another figure as he gazed through the mirror, and he twisted on his stool to face his protector._

_Gabriel leaned against the wall by the door, his legs casually crossed and his arms folded over his chest. He looked like he was sleeping, but Ellie knew better, and as the door closed behind his mother, a pair of sharp blue eyes opened to look at him. Gabriel had been his primary companion for as long as he could remember, and though his eyes contained a feral gleam and he was stronger than Ellie could ever hope to be, it was with him that he felt most comfortable._

"_What do you think is going to happen?" Ellie asked, clasping his hands in his lap._

_Gabriel's position didn't change, and his eyes slipped shut again. "How am I to know?"_

"_You spend a lot of time at the Temple. People even say the Great One speaks to you, that he gives you guidance directly."_

"_And you believe them?"_

_Ellie frowned, feeling foolish, and lowered his gaze. "I don't know what to believe. No one ever tells me anything."_

_If Gabriel was sympathetic, it was hard to tell by the sound of his voice. "Have you ever stopped to think that it might be for your own good?"_

"_So you _do_ know."_

"_Know what?"_

"_What the Oracle's going to say."_

_There was a sigh and the shifting of fabric. Ellie looked up to see Gabriel pushing off of the wall, uncrossing his arms and taking his sword from where it had been leaning beside him, reattaching it to his belt. The decorative hilt jutted out from his left side, silver to match the dagger on his right._

_He approached the vanity, stopping in front of Ellie so he had to tilt his head back to look up at him. If he wanted, Ellie could have reached out to take his hand, or smoothed out the blue and gray jacket of his uniform. The garnets sewn onto it twinkled at him in the candlelight like little red eyes, and polished brown boots stood close to his own black shoes._

"_If I know something, it's not for me to tell," he said, his voice growing a bit more kind, though it still retained a certain coldness, one that Ellie was well used to. "It'll be over soon."_

_With a nod, Ellie relented and kept the remainder of his doubts and fears to himself._

_But Gabriel could see right through him, he knew. Sometimes Ellie thought Gabriel knew him better than he knew himself. Gracefully, his companion lowered to one knee, and Ellie had to shift his gaze down to maintain eye contact. A large, warm hand took hold of one of his, squeezing lightly._

"_Ellias," he began, "no matter what the Oracle has to say to you today, nothing will change."_

_Ellie took a deep breath and told himself he should believe in him, that Gabriel had never been wrong before and cared for him more than anyone else, save his mother. He squeezed back, and though his fear had not abated, Gabriel's words gave him strength._

_He nodded again, more confidently this time, and his mouth formed a small smile. "Thank you."_

_Gabriel didn't smile back, but his eyes were sincere. "I am yours, Your Majesty," he said, lifting Ellie's hand to his lips. "Always."_

**TBC…**


End file.
