FINAL CHAPTER

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Chapter 27

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"Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning;

for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men."

~ Quintus Ennius
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Shinou's Temple was decorated once more with ivory candles, flowers from the Royal Greenhouse, and an antique carpet stretching down the isle. Row upon row of identical floral arrangements, with tall, plumed pampas grasses intermixed, lined the back of the great chamber. Then again, so did several armed guards in formal, full dress uniforms. Gwendal would take no chances again with his king's life. This was something Yuuri Heika, in his humble opinion, would just have to get used to.

The simple black casket was positioned at the front and was overflowing with delicate, white mini roses and thin, satin ribbons. Murata, standing on the dais with Ulrike, was speaking words of wisdom while, upon occasion, looking down upon the lonely resting place.

The sage understood better than anyone. He knew that life, by its very nature, held illusions and that living beings needed those illusions—needed those assumptions for their sanity. For, if they knew exactly how many days or years they had left, they would, inevitably, spend that time mourning the loss of each passing sunrise instead of celebrating it.

Every single day would be "goodbye."

"Time is like a circle…like a ring," he went on, "because beginnings and endings are inseparable… And when time draws to a close, we appreciate the life that was …as unique and special…One that never truly existed before and will never exist again…" Even with reincarnation, when the soul appeared again, it was returned knowing life lessons from the previous existence. The Wheel of Fortune had turned. The soul was renewed—and old mistakes would not be repeated.

New ones, on the other hand…

Yet again, Murata wore his "sagely mask" and looked out among the dearly beloved, the noble families, and prestigious members of the court with a meaningful expression. Funerals always made them face their own mortality for a good thirty minutes. And then they'd go back to their petty infighting and back biting, scrambling for position on the social ladder, and gossiping shamelessly at the Remembrance Dinner which directly followed the grave blessing.

The sage wanted to shake his head at that. What a waste.

"We have been truly fortunate to have known him. And even though we feel his loss now, he will be forever a part of this castle, a part of our memories, and a part of our lives…"

The old, blue haired flutist who had played the music for the processional dabbed her eyes with a white hankie and quickly pocketed it. She always loved a good sendoff.

Murata turned his eyes to the front row and noted with some displeasure that Yuuri was sitting there next to Greta with a distant expression on his face. He wasn't really paying attention to the funeral—a service really for the living, not for the dead. And the sage could see that he was not drawing one ounce of comfort from this formal ceremony which was supposed to give relief and closure for him.

Greta looked to Yuuri and blinked tears from her eyes. She gave his arm a soft hug and placed her head on his shoulder. Thoughtlessly, Yuuri patted her curls but never once even glanced at her. He had kept his head down the entire time he'd waited in the foyer with Gwendal, Günter, Conrad, Lady Cheri, and Dom as well. Waiting for the funeral to start, he was in a fog and allowed Greta to simply lead him around. And more than once Yuuri just shrugged everything off and whispered quietly to Greta, "I can't think. You decide. It's fine…whatever."

Maybe, Yuuri thought everyone here would direct their disapproval or outrage towards him. Well, some had in the beginning once word had gotten out. The loudest and most vocal was Waltorana von Bielefeld. The fiery Mazoku actually stomped his way into Blood Pledge Castle and burst into Gwendal's office unannounced—ignoring anything the Commander of the Demon Army had to say in protest of having his privacy violated. The second, and much more bothersome in Murata's opinion, was Stoffel von Spitzweg. The man was the epitome of "Demon Pride" and was there, it seemed, to do little more than to stir things up on behalf of the noble families simply because it suited him. "Assurances," he kept saying loud enough for the whole castle to hear, "…and we want to know how this affects the kingdom…!"

A fist slammed down on Yuuri's desk, rattling everything and upsetting an inkpot.

Trouble. At least, that was what it seemed like with Stoffel behaving badly. But Lady Cheri put a quick stop to that by sending out a servant with a sweetly perfumed note. Even now, a crafty part of Murata still wanted a peek at what had been written down. It would have been great to know. All he could make out was the man's blank stare at the page and then a bitter scowl as he turned away and stormed off leaving the door wide open.

Ulrike was burning the aromatic resin normally used in all state funerals (which smelled to him like burnt tangerines) and wafting curls of the scented smoke over the coffin with a broad leaf.

All eyes were on Yuuri now. How he was acting or not acting interested them greatly even though they tried not to show it. A stiff upper lip was good, manly—the way a king should be at all funerals. But, being cold and aloof didn't exactly win over the women of the court.

Yuuri was typically bright, friendly, and happy. There was always something "young" about him even though he'd been reincarnated probably a half dozen times from Murata's way of thinking and from examining his aura. But, now, the double black simply sat there in his formal attire with a sparkling crown atop and stared ahead of him—eyes dull and, seemingly, uncaring.

More brief glimpses at Yuuri. Noble women pulling out their ribbon and lace fans and, supposedly, fanning themselves. Murata wasn't fooled, though. They were starting to whisper. The room they were in echoed everything.

The sage fingered his high dress collar, modeled loosely after the style of The Original Sage, and decided to draw things to a close before the "dearly beloved" formed too many unsavory opinions on their own which would probably lead to some sort of harassment of Gwendal and/or Günter for more details as soon as possible. (And they always wanted details. That privileged, "need to know" arrogance never fell out of fashion among the court.)

If they could just get through this, the next ten minutes at the grave, and then the dinner, which, usually by the middle of the event turned into something more like an Irish wake, this day would draw to a merciful close. Well, "merciful" for him anyway. Everyone would get out of the temple and serenity would resume.

The sage placed a hand over his heart and bowed out of respect. "And, so… We say farewell…" Murata concluded as he addressed the coffin, "…until we meet you again in this world…or we greet you in the Heavenly Realm."

The ceremony now concluded, Murata and Ulrike stepped down and, arm in arm, started the recessional. They parted in the foyer with Ulrike saying, "I will meet you at the grave for a final blessing." To that, the sage gave a firm nod. He watched the door he'd just come through and he waited. He could hear Greta talking, her voice sad but her words trying to be encouraging. "What he would have wanted…" Murata almost smiled at that. Greta had always tried so hard to get along with everyone, to fit in, that she'd made mental notes on the personal likes and dislikes of everyone she'd ever met.

Yuuri's noncommittal response echoed to Murata's ears first and then he saw him followed by Conrad speaking a few words to his older brother in low tones and the rest of the multitude crowding thereafter.

"Shibuya?" Murata said, drawing his friend to the side, "I was wondering if I could have a word with you."

A short, disinterested shrug was the answer but Yuuri soon found himself whisked away from the growing crowd into an antechamber close by. The sound of the door closing made the double black suddenly look around with a pained expression slowly coming to his face. He seemed stiff, now, as though pushing something back.

"What's the matter?" Murata cocked his head to the side, not understanding.

"This place…" He turned on his heel and faced the sage head on. Was he angry? Was he dejected? It was impossible to tell which was stronger and, perhaps, Yuuri himself didn't even know.

"Ummm…Yes?"

"This is where I got ready for my wedding." He took in the room once more, battling something within himself—blaming himself. "In here, everything is exactly as it was on that day. I mean, we brought the clothes and all. But, if I didn't know any better… 'now' is 'then'…if you get my meaning. Or, at least, it feels like it." Yuuri started to fidget with his crown as though it was slipping on his head, which wasn't like him at all. His mind was clearly elsewhere, reliving something.

"Ah…" It had not occurred to Murata when bringing his friend here for some privacy, and he pushed the glasses up on his nose with a finger, thinking more carefully this time. "I'm sorry. It was not my intention to make you remember something like that."

Yuuri shook his head, dismissing it. But the hand with the wedding band clinched for a second, as though he wanted to feel the metal and to know that it was still there—still real. "It's fine. We started with a wedding and ended with a funeral. Beginnings and endings. But, as you said today, life is a circle, huh?"

This royal life, this courtly life…is a circle, Shibuya. You just don't recognize that yet. It's more than weddings and funerals...parties with a purpose and those that seemingly have none. But you will learn someday and I'll miss the person that you are right now when that time comes.

The sage gave a slight tilt of the head to that thought, agreeing with himself but knowing that teaching that whole process would require more than just a day's lesson on symbolism. Insight, experience, sagely knowledge—those were excellent teachers for a king. But too much information could be both confusing and terrifying under the right circumstances. And, this was not the moment to delve into the finer details regarding courtly life, courtly reality of Shin Makoku.

His friend needed something much more than that. His friend was hurting somewhere deep inside.

Deal with that first.

Murata put a reassuring hand on Yuuri's shoulder. "On another subject entirely… I have some news for you."

"Oh?" There was something wary in those eyes which were typically clear and hopeful. Usually, he was overjoyed to hear news of any sort and always hoped that "good" would be "better." And "better" would lead to "adventure." He took a deep breath, let it out, and asked, "How bad…?"

"Not exactly bad, per se." He tried to give a supportive air about it with a hint of mystery.

"Well?"

Yuuri wasn't in the mood for it, obviously. Best to just blurt it out. "I'm going to sub for you at the grave service."

"What? No," Yuuri returned bluntly and in a very set tone. "It is my responsibility and, if I don't show, I'm sure that Günter, Gwendal, or Greta will step up to the plate and go to bat for me. I don't want them to feel burdened…or you, either, after all you've done. So, I just can't…" He licked his dry lips. "Besides…"

"Besides?" he prodded.

Yuuri narrowed his brows, thinking hard. "Well, everyone will think that I'm hiding or that I can't face them after what happened."

Murata smiled wryly. "I've already told you that I will sub for you and, as The Great Sage of Shin Makoku, no one will think the worse of it. And no one will think badly of you being gone."

"They will and they probably do right now! Let's face it." Yuuri looked hurt, deeply hurt—eyes shining with unshed tears. For the first time in days, he was showing true emotion and Murata felt relief wash over him.

It's about time.

Murata put a gentle hand on Yuuri's shoulder again. "Maybe a few petty people… But I don't care about them. I care about you because we are friends. And, believe me, a true friend is hard to come by." Then, he positioned himself closer to the door, rocked on his heels a little boyishly with his hands in his pockets, and asked, "So, do you want to hear about the news or not…?"

"I thought that was the news…but…sure." The double black said the last word as an impatient sigh. His friend could border on the infuriating sometimes.

"He's awake."

"Wha-?" Yuuri's jaw dropped. "You mean… S-Seriously?!"

"Gissela told me right before the service." He produced a small scroll of paper that had been delivered by pigeon.

"It's really… It's really true?!"

Murata nodded with an almost parental amusement. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but there was no time and you sent word for us to start Morgif's funeral immediately." Murata's smile widened. "Remember?"

"I…can't believe it."

"I can explain it no other way." Well, actually, he could, but it would have been a much wordier sentence.

Yuuri made a joyful leap with his fist in the air. "YES! This is great. Totally, totally awesome!"

"Yes, it is."

"You're really sure Wolf's awake?" he second guessed, expression almost childlike. He seemed so much like Greta in that moment. It tugged at the sage's heart in a way that he hadn't felt in so very long.

"Yes," Murata laughed.

"Best news ever! The very best!" Yuuri grabbed the crown, took it off his head, and tossed it to the sage. "Here! Keep this for me. Thanks!"

Murata stood aside as Yuuri threw the door open and sprinted to the right, towards the front door of the temple.

"Best news ever!" echoed down the hall with foot stomping.

Murata leaned his head out the door and he pointed in the opposite direction. "Oi! Go the other way! Take that side door, go outside, and you'll find your horse faster."

"OH, YEAH…! RIGHT! THANKS!"

A caped black streak passed the sage in the hallway and Murata had to laugh to himself. Life was like that—the bad and the good, the bitter and the sweet. Such things make us who we are and who we will always be.

"Enjoy it, Shibuya. Celebrate."

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The solo ride seemed to take forever, but he made it. He was there—finally. With purpose, Yuuri approached the Royal Bedroom and noted with some displeasure that there were two high ranking castle guards posted on either side of the doorway. He didn't like being guarded so heavily, but he now saw the valid reason behind it. Besides, his own life wasn't the only one worth worrying about, and he made a mental note to himself to not be so selfish in the future.

Yuuri acknowledged the salutes but also noticed that the potted plant that Lin had delivered was not there. Gwendal issued an order that no plants, whether grown on the castle grounds or given as gifts, were permitted anywhere near the Royal Bedroom. And other orders were given out, too, but Yuuri only half paid attention to them at the time.

Now, everything interested him.

Or, rather, someone special did.

Yuuri entered the room, closed the door behind him, and, timidly, approached the oversized canopy bed. Wolfram was lying there—wan, ashen—but beautiful nonetheless among the silks and satin pillows. Alive. That was the greatest miracle of all. It was such a wonderful thing.

But, like all magic, it came at a price.

Yuuri came to understand a cold reality. In order to keep Wolfram alive, he had to sacrifice a part of his ego. While holding the fire Mazoku's bloodied body, a voice in the back of Yuuri's mind, The Maou spirit, simply told him the truth. Wolfram had died and only a thread of the green healing energy was wrapped around his soul—keeping it bound to the body and the physical world.

"But time is no friend in this."

Would Yuuri allow aid or not? The decision had to be made straightaway. Healing the body enough to keep the blond alive might still be possible, but that would mean letting go of his pledge to rescue Wolfram on his own—with his own two hands. And, without that, Wolfram might never see how much he was valued. In essence, Wolfram might not understand his own true worth. But, not only that, Yuuri knew he had never backed down from his word once he'd given it. And he had so much invested in that.

What say you? The Maou demanded.

Yuuri took in Wolfram's face again.

Y-Yes, let's… he reluctantly decided. But then a new problem presented itself. When the actual moment came to turn over Wolfram's precious life to someone who was not himself, it proved to be an unexpectedly difficult task and The Maou picked up on it with a sardonic grin.

And Yuuri sensed it.

Initially, the double black felt like he did when he failed—like failing a math test he'd studied hours and hours for, or like the time he struck out at bat when the team really needed to win.

I'm really useless. But it's more than that…much, much more…

That naïve sense of "trust" had always been a quality he'd been openly praised for. And, maybe, on some level, he took a bit of pride in that. But, now, with Wolfram, he hesitated and was afraid to let go. This life was not a "friend" to visit out of obligation if he got sick. This life had meaning and was endeared, irreplaceable.

Loved.

Was he failing in this, too? Had he changed so much in so little time?

A deeply throated chuckle followed by the feeling that The Maou was studying him. "Tis not victory which shapes us, little king," The Maou said to him perceptively. "Tis how we recognize…how we accept, how we endure and manage…failure…" There was a short, pleasant laugh that Yuuri found totally immoral, absolutely wrong when holding a gruesome, bloodied body. "Admit thy imperfections and allow us to have him…instead of acting on thy own accord and disregarding me."

"Us?" Yuuri had whispered at the time in a quivering voice, face blank and a tear streaking down; and Gwendal was certain that Yuuri had gone mad.

"The bright one wedded…us…" The Maou told him, "and has accepted 'two Yuuris' as one…and being 'you' isn't at all times such a horrid thing."

"I make mistakes," the double black admitted in a shaking voice, fighting against Gwendal's attempts to take Wolfram from his arms. The body seemed unmistakably dead.

"Everyone does."

The double black shook his head, more tears in his eyes. "I…know."

The body was growing cold and had stopped bleeding.

"Then learn from this and accept the heart of the one we truly deserve."

In the background, Conrad rasped to Gwendal in a broken voice, "I'll take Yuuri and you take Wolfram."

The double black looked up, a tear falling from his face. "I…accept…"

The green glow from his hands brightened to something blinding as Yuuri's hair grew longer, his shoulders widened, and pupils narrowed into snakelike slits. A laugh came from The Maou—neither malicious nor judgmental, but one of freedom from the sheer weight of being held back for so very long.

"Wolf?" Yuuri sat on the edge of the bed now. He brushed away blond strands of hair from Wolfram's closed eyes. He remembered being both himself and The Maou at the fort—that shocked expression on Gwendal's face, seeing him like that. And then the overwhelming sense of elation from Conrad when Wolfram took his first breath. His godfather placed a hand over his own mouth, totally astounded.

At Fort Krebs, Yuuri sat cross-legged on the slimy, wet floor with Wolfram in his lap. The Maou taught him swift healing techniques and slow ones—when to use them and when not to. Yuuri understood it all without really knowing how he did. It was like a language of energy, mending flesh and bone. He could make out Wolfram's weak heartbeat and managed a way to sync it with his own when he needed to.

"Right now…if I am you…and you are me… What is this that we are?" Yuuri wondered while he concentrated his healing magic and allowed The Maou to guide his hand. The word "dualis" floated to him.

"I…see…" Actually, he did and he didn't. Ancient words and their nuances weren't strengths of his. But it didn't matter, really. Then, he noticed something odd. He narrowed his eyes.

"Wolf's nails are growing. And his hair, too…!" The dirty blond hair continued to grow right before their eyes but stopped at shoulder length. And Yuuri could feel The Maou smiling. "This is a good thing, right?"

"Tis a good thing, little king."

"I'm so glad…so glad…"

"Yuuri?" That was Conrad's voice and the double black looked up, his face showing some irritation for being interrupted. His godfather blanched and then tried to recover his composure. Out of habit, he wasn't expecting to see slitted eyes that were so different and, yet, it would be only natural to do so.

"Yes, Conrad?" The voice was deeper than Yuuri's usual voice—as though puberty had set in suddenly. He had a slight Adam's Apple, too, with somewhat thicker fingers spreading out the green, healing glow.

Not quite Yuuri and not quite The Maou. The right side of the double black's face seemed to favor The Maou and the left was more "Yuuri."

"Everything is safe now. The two who gave themselves up are being moved to the local jail for processing." Yuuri noted matter-of-factly that only two men were mentioned. That meant that the others were dead.

"Concern yourself not with that," The Maou advised.

"And?" Yuuri prodded his godfather in a distracted tone.

Conrad looked around apprehensively, unable to stop himself—still taking in the blood-splattered scene which, nightmarishly, included his godson and his brother, and then he continued, "Right now, Günter is trying to find a room in the village to move Wolfram to. I'll clean him up after you're finished, you know?"

"And send for Gissela," Yuuri stated in a monotone. He moved his hand and the green glow shifted its angle.

"Yes… And, in the meantime, should you need anything, Gwendal, Yozak, and I will be right here."

A hollow "thank you" was what they received and a brief, remorseful glance as Gwendal took the remains of Morgif and, reverently, passed them over to a waiting soldier's arms. Metal against metal sounded like jangling junk.

What followed was over an hour of intense healing with Yuuri speaking as himself one minute and answering out loud as The Maou the next. The double black kept himself and The Maou in that harmonized form and their combined efforts proved beneficial enough to place Wolfram in a stabilized state. And, soon enough, the blond bishonen was sleeping in a rented room at the back of the baker's house. Yuuri, finally himself again, rested in a rocking chair nearby while Conrad took a basin of water and soap and gently cleaned his little brother's face like bathing a newborn.

Wolfram seemed so fragile—as though he would break at the slightest touch. That thought floated in his mind as he drifted off in the rocker.

Yuuri, still sitting on the edge of the oversized bed suddenly realized that emerald green eyes were regarding him with some concern. Wolfram was too tired to mask it and too weak to even care.

"Wolf!"

"Yuuri…" The name was spoken softly.

He focused on the double black's face and then looked around the room with confusion. "How did I get here? How did you get dressed so fast?"

"Eh?" Yuuri said, leaning in and placing a palm against Wolfram's cheek. The blond seemed strangely surprised at the intimate gesture but made no move to bat the double black's hand away.

"What do you mean, Wolf? Get dressed…?"

A frown ghosted his face. "Never mind. I…I need to get out of here." He made a feeble motion—grabbing the blankets and pushing them away—only to uncover the freshly wrapped bandages on his bare chest with some astonishment. "Wait… Why am I like this? What happened?" Green eyes demanded an answer.

Yuuri bit his lip slightly and then asked, "Why were you trying to get up in the first place? Where were you going? If it's the privy, I can help…"

Another slight glower. "Privy…no…" Wolfram twisted his head away. For some reason, his throat had a nagging, burning sensation. But, then, he turned back with a guilty expression coming to him. "I suppose… I should tell you." He put a hand to his head and rustled his long blond locks. "I could make the excuse that you were sleeping so soundly a minute ago that it would be a shame to wake you…but that wouldn't exactly be the truth."

Yuuri didn't follow. "Then, what is the truth, Wolf?" The double black was almost hesitant to ask, but he also knew that he wanted a response to that.

Emerald eyes sought out the side table and noted, with some disquiet, that there had materialized a food tray with clear broth and weak herbal tea, but nothing else. "The letter… There was a letter in green ink…right here a moment ago…" He reached a hand out to search, but Yuuri took it and held on. "Wait…I think I tossed it into the fireplace, Yuuri, but…regardless… I have to go to my art studio before sunset to meet someone." He gave a pathetic attempt at an angry glare for emphasis and went on, "I was standing in front of the closet just now…getting dressed… and…"

"And?" Yuuri asked, holding onto Wolfram's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Now, I'm here…covered in bandages…" He met Yuuri's dark eyes and then looked away. "I'm not exactly feeling well, either…but it's nothing I can't handle." Wolfram's face reflected a new kind of resolve. "Still, I need to go. You need to let me go…and handle this…alone."

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" Yuuri asked sincerely, not sure whether he should feel elated or not.

"I don't…" Wolfram tried to take his hand back, but Yuuri held on a little tighter. "Oh, I see… So, did Shinou take over again? Is that why?" His expression seemed to say, "He would have no right, if he did." And it made Wolfram angry—bloody angry. "If he did it again, took my body against my will…I'll…I'll kill him." What did he just say? Kill? Such a ludicrous thing to say in such a weak voice. Then Wolfram almost laughed dryly, which was terribly painful. The free hand went to the blond's bandages. "Or, I would if he wasn't already dead."

"It seems like you don't remember…but there's no point in getting up out of bed. Everything has already happened." The double black tried to busy himself by tucking the covers back and taking Wolfram's hand in his again.

The fire Mazoku gave a disbelieving look. "It has?"

"Yes… You faced him. Actually, we faced him together in your art studio."

Wolfram searched his thoughts but found nothing. A complete blank. "It's over?"

"Your mother caught the person responsible" and, to that, a blond eyebrow arched with interest.

The double black continued, "It was a guy who called himself 'Lin' who snuck into the castle, worked as a gardener, and did a whole lot of magic mumbo-jumbo in order to track us both down."

It seemed so strange to explain it like that.

"Why did he want you dead?" Wolfram asked, his tired head sinking into the silk pillows when he shifted in the bed slightly.

"A diversion…"

"Seriously? That would require a lot of planning just to create what should be a simple distraction." He pursed his lips, taking that information in. "What did he really want?"

Yuuri looked down at his hand. He was holding onto Wolfram's pale one with no sense of embarrassment. It felt fine, natural, for it to be like that. In fact, he liked that feeling very much and he wanted to touch Wolfram more, he realized, and that it wasn't such a scary thing to hold someone dear. The panic, the dread, that had always haunted him when they got too close had disappeared entirely and was replaced by an affectionate pull.

"Yuuri," Wolfram repeated in a whisper, "what did the man really want?"

The double black looked up from his musings, his thin smile faded. "He…uhh… He wanted…."

"What?"

Black eyes met green. "He wanted you."

"Oh…" Recognition was in his expression. Wolfram was fully aware of what "wanted you" meant not to mention the consequences of it. "I see…"

"And, at one point, he had you…" Yuuri motioned to the bandaged wrists and ran a gentle finger along the throat where the rope had latched on first.

"And mother knows this…? And she still has this 'Lin' person…?"

Yuuri thought about it and mumbled "yes" followed by some sort of vague mention of Lady Cheri and Waltorana von Bielefeld legally battling over the rights, as relatives of the royal victim, to try Lin at their castles. At the time, Yuuri didn't care either way as long as there was a judge involved and that Wolfram was safe and sound in Blood Pledge Castle—as far away from Lin as possible.

Wolfram looked over to his hand and said, "You can let go of it now." He wiggled his fingers slightly. Maybe, embarrassing Yuuri would set him back to rights. It was impossible for him to read this "concerned Yuuri" or, rather, it would be all too easy to misread his innocent intentions. But, maybe, in this lifetime, they had the chance to start again from square one.

Reset the game board. Play again.

"Actually, I have something," Yuuri told him while leaning over and opening Wolfram's nightstand drawer.

"Oi! Don't touch my sketchbook," the blond ordered in a stronger voice. He almost sounded normal.

"Don't yell. You're not strong enough," Yuuri scolded, and continued to root around until he found it sitting on the right corner of the sketchbook. "Here it is." Then the double black turned to the bishonen and sought out the ring finger, slipping Wolfram's wedding band back on.

Wolfram blinked in surprise. When had that gone missing?

"I don't think I said the right words on our wedding day," he confessed.

"It wasn't real, Yuuri," Wolfram sighed. "When will you let that go?"

The double black shook his head. "It was real. For me, it was real…" His eyes looked distant for a second, remembering what a fool he was—what a child he was behaving like at the time and, in the process, so thoughtless towards Wolfram's feelings. It was not only a wedding, but a sacrifice in so many ways. He could still smell the burning rose bouquet.

"So, I want you to hear them…hear the words that really matter…"

"Yuuri…don't do this." Wolfram forced a miserable smile. "We can start again…as friends and see if, along the way, you'll accept me." It was okay to lie, wasn't it? Yuuri had been so eager the last time they were together, but he was just giving in or he was curious about what it would be like with a male partner. And it would be okay because they were married to begin with.

Wolfram remembered every kiss, every caress. Feelings of pleasure and pain. Fingers against his skin, exploring. That sense of urgency that was building with each breath. And then… He had to reject Yuuri, in a way, to stop what was about to happen, because he didn't want him to have regrets. Yuuri could be so impulsive at times.

The double black shook his head "no" and Wolfram felt pain again. Yuuri always had a habit of doing that to him.

"My vow to you…the words I should have said… and I'll tell you now what is in here." He took Wolfram's hand and pressed it over his own heart. Wolfram could feel it beating wildly.

"I don't want to marry you as Yuuri…a king with a castle, as The Twenty Seventh Maou of Shin Makoku." He glanced at his formal clothes and drooping, red cape. "I want to marry you as simply 'Yuuri,' someone who has good qualities and bad ones…someone who is strong sometimes and wimpy. I want you, Wolfram von Bielefeld, to be by my side because you are brave and kind, beautiful and loyal…a wonderful father and a fantastic kisser." He flashed a naughty grin, a shadow of The Maou, when he tilted his head to the side. "And let's face it, you're hot."

At that, the blond visibly colored and mumbled, "No marriage vow in Shinou's Temple could contain such words." Scandalous.

But blush he did and Yuuri found himself thrilled at the outcome.

"You are good, Wolfram…a good person…both in heart and soul. The person I want above all others… And, for those reasons, I ask for your hand in marriage and I ask that you remain by my side until we are parted by death."

Wolfram's eyes spoke, "Me? Truly?" and he received a sincere smile, this time, in return. Wolfram thought about it: What would be best for Yuuri, for himself, for them both? He gave a soft, "I accept," the traditional answer of one who was of lower status and then added, "But don't think I'll go easy on you…because I won't, wimp."

He laughed, hearing that. "And then..."

The blond smiled thinly, playing along. It was a little bit fun. "And then…?" What more could he want?

"We live happily ever after."

Wolfram huffed a disbelieving laugh at that. There were no "happily ever afters" in this world and, if there were, he'd certainly never seen one. Only in Earth story books could such an absurd thing be.

But a part of his soul wanted…dearly…with Yuuri… He was ashamed to admit it, though. When would he learn not to believe?

A hand caressed Wolfram's face again, lifting it, and the words "my husband" were whispered intimately. Yuuri leaned in for a loving kiss on the lips to end their private ceremony. Their lips, warm and wet, were sliding against each other and there was a deeply throated hum from Yuuri in pleasure. "Adore you" he murmured into the next kiss, deeper than before. Wolfram could feel their fingers being laced together, strongly binding them, as the double black had intended.

Green eyes widened impossibly when he realized something. Had Yuuri just uttered the word "husband"?

"Believe in this," a deep voice said as the dark haired figure leaned away and Wolfram stared up, eyes wide, as he took in The Maou spirit sitting next to him instead. "Believe in us, my dearest one. For, you are loved." And, with that, The Maou gently took Wolfram into his arms—blond hair spilling between his fingers—a soft, erotic kiss passing between them. Wolfram moaned, despite his resolve to hold back. Fingers clinched in the sheets and the blond's body arched upwards on instinct. Moving that way pained him a little, but it was well worth it. Wolfram was left breathless and his face blushed brightly.

"What say you, husband?" Passionate, slitted eyes seemed to devour him. And he was lost in that gaze.

A nuzzle to the side of his neck and teeth grazed his pale skin teasingly. A flick of the tongue when an answer didn't come soon enough.

"I-I accept…I do…" he flustered. "…In whatever form you prefer…" This was his Yuuri, either way.

"Good."

Gingerly, Wolfram was placed back in the bed, against the pillows.

"Then, accept both sides of your humble king and think pleasant thoughts of becoming well," he charmed, tickling Wolfram under the chin, "and imagine our marriage bed together." A devilish smile widened. "For, I…in both forms…intend to hold you all night long….every night…and exhaust you in new, delicious ways."

And Wolfram knew exactly what that meant, too.

He was so incredibly lucky.

At long last, he had Yuuri's heart.

.

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._._._._._

THE END

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