A/N: Here's another chapter. ;) No promises yet for regular updates but I'm heading there. Thank you so much for the reviews! You all continue to remind me just how much this writing business means to me. I really still can't figure out how I managed to graduate from a different course. O.o?

That said, enjoy reading, everyone!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Footsteps already quick and light were further drowned by the crashing tides, the midnight sea breeze a chill that unrelentingly bit. Eyes ablaze with tenacity and determination gleamed through the darkness; conversation in between exchanged in hushed tones.

Sand and stone crackled beneath them as the small party furtively made their way across the shoreline, their destination looming across from them like a haunted pirate's ship. There were but few lights burning from the two cargo ships, the faintest of movements visible through the small windows. The enormous rocks that littered the coast served as their shield from surveying eyes; it would have been a different matter if this was your typical raid. Given the circumstances and their knowledge of the enemies at hand, failure was but a step away.

There was a signal from the leader of the group and two of his subordinates proceeded towards the nearest ship. Hiding in the shadows, one of the pair stood guard as the other took out an object not unlike that of a crystal ball. Within the orb was a swirling mass of dense air: an original ivory in shade, now a pale crimson. From his hiding place, the leader caught a glance of the now red orb, a deep frown marring his face. As expected, this would definitely not be a simple foray. The sting that he had been suppressing as they approached their target was already an obvious sign.

Forming gestures with his hands, the rest of the party advanced nearer to the vessel, all the while staying hidden. There was a single individual guarding the ramp that led to ship; this lit a flare of annoyance within the leader. Were they not anticipating any form of attack at all? Feeling overconfident that the demon country would not discover their plans? Impudent bastards. He would make them regret for even considering that idea.

On his orders, two of his men leapt from the shadows and raced towards the unsuspecting human. There was a sickening crack and a thud as the guard collapsed to the ground, unconscious. There was a movement from the ship's deck and the assault pair backed into the shadows, until a pained cry was heard from the unknown individual and another thud signaled his collapse. The pair sped up the ramp and was greeted with the sight of the unconscious man, an arrow lodged in his right shoulder. The arrow had been soaked in a solution that the Great Sage had called as "chloroform", its effectiveness presented by the first victim before them.

A brief scan of the deck revealed nothing of importance, and the pair signaled for the rest of the party to come. With the leader in front, they headed from the shadows towards the deck, swiftly and silently, bypassing the unconscious guards. The moment they set foot on the ship's deck, the orb flashed a sickening shade of bloody crimson, and the leader felt a wave of nausea wash over him. One of his men caught him as he faltered in his step, but he slapped him away.

"Your Excellency, perhaps it would have been better if you left this task to us."

Emerald eyes snapped towards the soldier. "Are you saying that I am incapable?" Wolfram hissed.

"Of course not, Your Excellency. Forgive my insolence," the soldier stated apologetically. Wolfram huffed but otherwise cursed himself for his instability. The soldiers he had chosen for this assignment were from Conrad's unit: they were better skilled in close-combat and assassination and did not depend on the use of maryoku unlike his own unit. They were also Conrad's men for the fact that they were similar to him: born to a human and a demon. Thus, they were unaffected by houseki, albeit minimally, and were best suited for this raid. It was only Wolfram who had to suffer the consequences.

Abandoning small talk, he dispatched half of his men towards the other ship. Those who were left with him set to the task of tying up and hiding the unconscious guards, before they proceeded towards the lower decks. The presence of houseki was heavier inside, and Wolfram was led to ask if the whole ship was rigged with the infuriating substance. It would not surprise him if it was.

There were but a few men in the floor right below the top deck. This floor housed the rooms, and it was with a sickening mirth that they found the rest of the human grunts snoring and salivating as they slept. Really… did they think so lowly of the demon army that they would not even guard themselves? This whole "sneaking in" business was proving to be a waste of time if this was all they would be presented with.

"Arrogant bastards," Wolfram snapped as his men went to the task of sending the already unconscious thugs further into unconsciousness. Chloroform-dabbed pieces of cloth were slapped over their faces and the grunts did not even have the decency to resist. "Pathetic," Wolfram hissed again and he led his men through the rest of the rooms, repeating the same, dull task with the rest of the comatose grunts.

As they reached the kitchen however (it being one of the well-lit rooms), there was the slightest bit of struggle as two of the human guards attempted to fight, but they were quickly taken care of. Wolfram left one of his men to guard the unconscious humans and led the rest down towards the storage deck, where he expected to find the object of their mission. The orb had become a shade darker than earlier, and movement was proving more difficult for him by each step. Nevertheless, he was going to pull through, as Wolfram had vowed to himself.

With renewed vigor, Wolfram dashed down towards the storage area and kicked the door open, sending the semi-conscious guards inside the room into a fit of shock. Their gazes fell on the intruder and, with a colorful array of obscenities spouting from their mouths, charged towards Wolfram. Now it was apparent that they truly did not expect an attack, if their surprise was any indication. This irked Wolfram more and he unsheathed his sword. "Don't interrupt," was his only order to his men as he fell into a familiar stance. With precise movements he dodged an attack to his right, bringing the hilt of his sword down on the unsuspecting wrist and relishing in the sound of the breaking ulna, before slamming the same hilt into the grunt's temple, automatically rendering the man unconscious. If it was left to his discretion he would have beheaded the imbeciles and slashed their limbs off—yes, he bore a grudge after the cowardly attack these impudent humans had pulled on him and he was more than willing to avenge himself. But His Highness' orders were to simply raid the ship and capture the guards for questioning, and you certainly could not question someone dead.

Though perhaps a missing finger or two wouldn't hurt.

With a devilish smirk, Wolfram shifted to offense and brought his sword down on the second thug, slashing a gaping wound across the man's chest. No one said he could not wound or torture them. The man went down with a kick to the back of his head. "Two down," Wolfram muttered with a sickening grin on his gorgeous face. Adrenaline was pounding through his veins and he loved it; never mind the nagging pain from the houseki. Only three of the despicable humans were left, and with a single taunt they launched themselves at him. One of the men shot his fist towards his head and he simply blocked the attack, sending his own fist towards the man's gut. It didn't do much, of course, given the man's size and his own, but it was enough to make him bend over and give Wolfram the chance to slam the hilt of his sword down on his nape. The man went down with Wolfram crouched beside his head, then with a simple adjustment to his grip and a single twist of his lithe body, he brought his sword around and slashed the other man who had appeared beside him. With another twist of his wrist he pointed the blade of his sword behind him and plunged it directly through the last thug's thigh, thrusting it deep through his femur.

The man let out a pitiful cry as he fell on his back, clutching his leg through which Wolfram's sword was still embedded. "You fuckin' bitch!" he screamed through clenched teeth. Above him, Wolfram's expression thoroughly darkened, a sadistic glint flashing in those dark orbs. He grabbed his sword and twisted it, earning a pained shriek from the man and a mouthful of curses.

"I'd advise you not to run your wretched mouth, lest you want to die by this bitch's hands." With a rough pull, he yanked his sword from the man's leg, blood spurting like a fountain from the deep wound. If it were not for the houseki, the grunt would have been ash by now for throwing such profanities at him. The man thrashed across the floor, bawling shamefully, before Wolfram ordered his men to bind him up along with the others. He took a moment to steady himself, to calm down the bloodlust that suddenly took hold of him. His pent up frustration from the most recent events was rearing its ugly head at him, and he shivered at the momentary rush of pleasure brought about by the man's agony.

He brought a hand across his face. He'd have to take those self-control lessons from Gisela again once this whole thing was over. And to stick close to Yuuri. Definitely close.

When all of the thugs were tied up and the last man's screams had been reduced to pitiful whimpers, Wolfram ordered his men to search through the crates piled along the walls. He was currently in possession of the orb, and he frowned at the swirling substance inside which was presently not unlike that of copious blood. It had turned a darker shade by each floor they had descended until they reached their current location; clearly, the houseki—whatever form it was in now—was being stored here, most likely inside those crates.

There were the sounds of creaking and splinting wood as the crates were brought down and wrenched open one by one, Wolfram's anticipation heightening by the second. But his excitement plummeted as quickly as it peaked when all that they were presented with was empty boxes.

"What is this?" Wolfram grunted. He shoved one of his men aside and peered inside one of the crates. And alas: it was empty. Hollow. Void. A worthless blank space.

Behind them, the barely conscious thug let out a choking sound that was probably meant to be a laugh. "D'ya thought ya were all 'tat, eh? Hah!" He wheezed. "The great demon country—y'all be writhin' like 'em real demons when yer time com—arrgh!"

In a sudden fit of rage, Wolfram had conjured his flames and burned the man in good measure, before the effects of the houseki overwhelmed his maryoku and the magical flames vanished on their own. The pain in his body intensified and he swayed dangerously, his consciousness threatening to fail him. "Your Excellency!" He heard one of his men call out as he managed to hold himself steady against a nearby crate. Regaining his balance, he glared at the now unconscious grunt, his hatred boiling inside of him.

"Find it." He rounded towards his men and ordered through gritted teeth. "I don't care what you find. A hair, a tooth—I don't care. Just find anything that appears relevant to these bastards' sick plans. Now!" he bellowed and his men instantly began their search. For what exactly, Wolfram honestly had no clue. But this mission would not be a failure.

He'd be the one to pull the curtain on that wretched woman's plans, and he'd make certain that there would never be an encore.

The carrier pigeon flapped its wings once, then twice, before soaring through the dawn's faint gloom. It had been an eventless week since she had ordered the attack on the former prince, a week from that doubt-rendering night.

Pulling the windows shut, Bella glanced at the mess of crumpled papers on the desk and frowned. Amidst them was the most recent letter from her father, an inquiry of the current status of their schemes. Her reply had been a curt affirmation, as she had already explained through an earlier post that their needed cargo had already been unloaded and stored, hidden effectively from the demon people's sight. The only thing left to do was to initiate the actual plan, starting with the supposed "marriage".

Her frown deepened into a scowl as she gathered the letter along with the crumpled pieces of parchment, throwing them into the blazing furnace. Really… it had been to her absolute convenience to be given a room with a fireplace. Any incriminating post from her father had been reduced to worthless ash. She was not complacent that she was free from surveillance, nor was she idiotic.

Collapsing on the floor, Bella watched as the fire scorched the helpless letters, the flames licking their way through the coarse material, forcing their way through and leaving a gaping, dark-edged hole. Just as how that relentless feeling of doubt that had started as a mere sliver became an incessant spark in her consciousness.

For the past week, she had anticipated the demon king to distance himself from her. She had been anxious that Yuuri would rather believe his former fiancé and that would have been a grave mistake on her part. She had ordered for the assault on the little prince on the slight chance that he would be maimed or even killed, but that obviously had been a failure. Her mind had been whirring to form a counter plan against that setback, but all her plans proved worthless at the demon king's response.

…as much as I want to believe in Wolfram, I want to believe in you, too.

Foolish king, she had thought. Was he really so gullible that he would even choose to believe an already apparent enemy?

"Yes. Yes, he will," Bella muttered dejectedly to herself. Despite her thoughts, her own emotions had started to betray her, and once again she was left wondering exactly who and what this demon king was, for no living being could possibly be as benevolent as he. Instead of ordering his men to interrogate her and torture her for the simple fact that Lord von Bielefeld had been harmed, Yuuri had stayed beside her, going as far as to prove her non-existent innocence. It was laughable at first—he was like a prey purposely hanging its head at its predator. But the humor was short-lived, because the unsuspected guilt had threatened to rule over her senses. Guilt and perhaps something else…

Hoisting herself up abruptly, Bella cursed herself mentally. She would not fall into the demon king's antics. Taking out yet another blank sheet of paper, she hastily wrote another letter for her father, a determined but uncertain gleam in her eyes. They would have to implement their plans sooner than what was decided, else the tables were turned on them by none other than herself. The predator consumes, not the prey, Bella reminded herself.

And Yuuri was the prey.

"…there goes another beauty." Another pigeon flew across the inked sky and there was a low whistle as a lone figure adjusted his position on the hard roof, the hushed tone forming into a dull rhythm as Yozak hummed a nameless song. "That'd be two for today, I guess," he said to no one but himself. "Wonder what got her sending twice?" His Excellency Gwendal's orders were simple surveillance on the human princess, even though it would have been much easier to just catch the carrier birds and reveal what was in those letters. "Cooking up our own scheme, eh?" A smirk drew on his lips as he watched the bird disappear in the horizon, and Yozak mumbled to himself "what, oh, what can it be" over and again.

Sweat dribbled down his chin as he panted laboriously, his vision hazy from exhaustion. Before him, his opponent had not even lost a single normal breath, the smile on Conrad's face still as calm as it had ever been. Yuuri frowned.

"Conrad!" he whined childishly. "How am I supposed to train seriously if you won't take me seriously?" was the baffling excuse from the young king. Conrad merely chuckled in response.

"And by what means do you assume that I am not taking you seriously, Your Majesty?"

"Don't call me that." The supposedly mature king gave him a pout. "If you really are then you would have moved," Yuuri exaggeratedly pointed a finger at Conrad, "you haven't even taken a step from where you are right now!"

Amusingly, Conrad truly had not moved from his spot since their spar began, and Conrad could only smile at Yuuri at this. "That's because you have not made it your aim to make me move, Yuuri. You've been attacking me blindly for the past hour." Yuuri let out a cry at his reply and collapsed on his back, panting feverishly. Conrad let out a sigh of his own and approached the young king, hovering above the young man's line of sight. "There are other means of releasing your frustration other than exhausting your body, Yuuri," said Conrad. "With this method, you risk being hauled to bed by Gunter this early in the morning."

"Or perhaps by Gisela to the infirmary." The young king gave a mirthless laugh. Seeing past Conrad and at the typically blue sky above, Yuuri ran a grimy hand through his damp hair.

"And perhaps by Wolfram himself."

Yuuri brought his gaze back to Conrad. Trust the second son to know the exact words to say, especially when it came to him. "I don't think so," Yuuri grunted as he lifted himself from the ground with Conrad's help. "He'd rather insult me for being a wimp." He stretched languidly that not even a single joint popped, only proving Conrad's point of him not putting the necessary effort in today's training. Yuuri frowned more. The fact that he had not even had a decent conversation with Wolfram since that night only served to darken his mood.

Beside him, Conrad's expression was painted with concern, but Yuuri waved him off. "I'm all right," he reassured.

"Yuuri!"

Both males turned at Greta's cheerful call from the other side of the court yard. Just then, a sudden gust of morning breeze caused Yuuri to shield his eyes from the dust, and he failed to notice the group of soldiers that passed through the hall behind Greta, the small party headed by a figure clad in gold and blue. It was not until the last soldier in line rounded about the corner that Yuuri looked up, Greta being the lone figure that met his sight. "What is it, Greta?"

As the young king fussed over his daughter, Conrad let his gaze turn towards the direction where the soldiers had been headed. It was fortunate that Yuuri had not noticed Wolfram; the blond's mere presence outside his quarters would have raised inevitable questions from the young king, and it was neither the time for answers nor for Yuuri's awareness. He was not at ease in leaving the young king in the dark, particularly since it was his and the country's future that was concerned, but as the Great Sage had explained, it was for Yuuri's own benefit. And for Conrad, the young man's safety was a priority above all.

"Conrad?"

He brought his attention back to the young lad, "Yes, Yuuri?"

"Is there something wrong?" Yuuri asked, his brows furrowed in concern. "You've been staring into space."

Conrad shook his head. "There is none, Your Majesty," he smiled at the pout that Yuuri threw at him for the title, "though I'm afraid you're already late for Gunter's lessons."

Yuuri let out a comical squeak. "Is it that time already?" His eyes fixed on anywhere other than Conrad, a gesture that only marked his intentions of escape. He had never been enthusiastic for Gunter's lessons, and the lessons starting from today only solidified his reluctance. "But we just finished with training and I feel really tired… Gunter won't mind if I just take my rest, will he?" He laughed feebly.

But Conrad was not Gunter, and he was not one to spoil him whenever he wanted. "Perhaps," Conrad started, "but you, yourself, know that you're not as tired as you're supposed to be, Yuuri. A bath may be in order but I'm quite certain you'd make it through Gunter's lessons even without a nap." He then ushered Yuuri and Greta towards the direction of the baths, the young king whining incessantly in protest. The second son merely chuckled at his behavior and chose to remain silent.

He had another reason for not allowing Yuuri his request: on their way to the royal suite, they would have to pass by the war room, where he was positive that a meeting was proceeding at the moment. It was his duty to guard the Maou and to keep Yuuri unaware for as long as the Great Sage deemed necessary. He would have preferred to undertake the missions that had been assigned to Wolfram for he was unwilling to put his younger brother through more harm because of what he had already experienced, but to have the blond guard Yuuri instead was presently out of the question.

At the other end of the castle, said blond had just entered through the double doors of the aforementioned war room. He was covered in grime but nonetheless unharmed, and from the far end of the long table, Gwendal willed himself to relax after long hours of apprehension (if you would count a decrease of the wrinkles on his forehead a sign of relaxation). Wolfram approached the table and, with an audible crash, hoisted onto it the ragged sack he had been holding. The rucksack was about half full of contents that were yet to be revealed, but it was apparent that Wolfram was unsatisfied with the result he had just presented.

"I take it the ships had been quite empty," Murata voiced from his place by the tall windows.

"Quite is an understatement, Your Highness," Wolfram replied. "I had thought that the lack of security when we had arrived was but a blunder on the humans' part, but I was proved wrong." He glared at the poor bag as if it was the source of all his frustrations. "We might have been a bit too late."

Murata walked away from the windows and moved to inspect the sack's contents. "Perhaps," he muttered, "but I wouldn't be so pessimistic. In fact, I have expected as much." Before Wolfram began to protest he added, "We could have not sent you out in the state you were in a few days ago." They heard a grunt from Gwendal at the statement. Not unknown to Murata, Gwendal would have taken the assignment himself to spare Wolfram the danger. He, himself, was an experienced wielder of maryoku and would have proved sufficient for the job. If not for the Great Sage, he would not have conceded to letting Wolfram participate in this whole ordeal than what was necessary. However, he had other pressing matters to attend to.

"Not to worry, though, Sir von Bielefeld," Murata hummed as he brought out a rusted necklace from within the bag. "Your efforts will not be wasted. Sir von Voltaire?"

With a curt nod, Gwendal gave instructions to Huber for the interrogation of the captives, and the man left the room for the task. "Gunter," the first son called. "How are the invitations proceeding?"

An unusual frown was present on Gunter's face as he scanned through the documents he currently held. "The invitations have already been forwarded throughout the kingdom. Anissina shall return by dusk from Karbelnikoff, and Cheri-sama will leave Spitzberg tomorrow with Lord Stoffel."

"And His Majesty's lessons?"

"We are to begin with his lessons today. As a matter of fact, we are already behind schedule," Gunter's frown deepened, "though I suppose His Majesty would rather not push through with it and I would gladly concede—"

"Gunter," Gwendal sighed. He could already feel the beginnings of another headache, regardless that the one before it had not faded in the slightest. He turned his grey gaze at Wolfram, the headache worsening at the expression that painted the blond's face. "Wolfram," the young lad gave a jerk at the mention of his name, "you're supposed to be proceeding to your room by now."

Wolfram shuffled from one foot to another, apparently reluctant to return to his confinement. After a long period of rest, his room proved more of a detention center than a place of comfort, and the silence he was always left with only served to remind him of cruel reality. And now, Gunter's rants had just reminded him of the occasion what was to take place after three days. Talk about persistent. "His Highness might have another task for me," he mumbled. "Besides, I don't like lying to Yuuri..." He pouted as Murata let out a muffled snigger and Gwendal groaned.

For the past week, despite his and everyone else's efforts to keep the young king away for one reason and another, Yuuri had made it his own mission to "take care" of Wolfram. One would think that the best option to make after enraging someone was to keep a good deal of distance from that person, but trust Yuuri to prove that fact otherwise. He had reasoned his actions out as a form of apology—not that Wolfram had any complaints about spending more time with Yuuri, but it posed as a difficulty for their actions and he truly did not like lying to the young king.

"We would have a bigger problem if Shibuya finds your room empty, though," Murata grinned at him and Wolfram pouted more. "Saa… time to proceed to our respective tasks," the Sage stated as he grabbed the rucksack and proceeded to push Wolfram out of the room. "After all," he gave his signature grin, "we have an engagement to prepare for."

A/N: And that's that for this chapter. :) I thought I'd be able to wrap this up with twenty chapters or less, but I think I might just break that. Haha. That kinda makes me happy since this is the first time I've made it this far. ;D Over a hundred pages and counting—woot! Oh, but to be honest, I don't have that much experience with action scenes yet, so if that part with Wolfram felt a bit awkward, just tell me, 'k? Reviews are most welcome, so don't be shy to throw whatever it is at me. Suggestions on how to write fight scenes more properly will be very nice, too. :)

Thank you so much for reading!