Underneath the echoes, buried in the shadows

There you were

Drawn into your mystery

I was just beginning to see your ghost

Now the door is open

The world I knew is broken

There's no return

Now my heart is not scared

Just knowing you're out there

Be here waiting

Hoping, praying

That this light will guide you home

Colbie Caillat - When The Darkness Comes

There was a time in his life when Yuuri found that, if he stared at the ocean long and hard enough, he would be able to hear the crashing waves against the rocky shores of Hasetsu right in his ears.

The palace - his palace, Yuuri reminded himself, since he was its only remaining lord - was too high up in the mountains for the human ear to detect any sound that far away. The sounds he heard weren't real, he knew, they were only a product of haunting loneliness and an overly empty heart.

Nonetheless, he enjoyed hearing them, he enjoyed letting his eyes glaze over the horizon for hours and hours until he would hear those imaginary sounds, the faint phantom of freedom. They somehow made him feel like he wasn't completely alone.

Not that he was, technically. A samurai was stationed at the far end of the yard as always, watching Yuuri like a hawk. Takeshi, the man was called, the one Yuuri assigned to accompany him, ignoring the warnings of the clergy that he was too young and inexperienced to serve a lord of his status. Yet, it didn't make any difference for Yuuri. Takeshi was following the same oath all the other samurais in the palace had taken; to dedicate his life for his young lord, to protect Yuuri's being at all times.

What a worthless being it was, he thought even then.

The footsteps nearing him were faint, but Yuuri heard them clearly, since the yard was one of the quietest places in the otherwise noisy palace. That was one of the firm orders he had given the palace staff, to keep the yard untouched, to never tamper or displace anything in it, especially Mari's arrows that were pinned on the bull's eye and were never removed since her abrupt departure seven years ago.

"Your Grace,"

Yuuri winced at the honorific, turning around but only seeing a bun of soft, chestnut hair, tied beautifully with flowers and jewellery that only the highborn ladies in Hasetsu wore.

The woman behind him was from a family whose wealth only came second to Yuuri's; he was acquainted with her well enough to know since, after all, he had spent his childhood with that very lady.

Yet, those days were long over, and Yuuri now far outranked her, denying him a friendship he so desperately needed. A friendship between a soft, gleeful boy, and a firm, but a kind little girl.

'Baby love.' Mari used to tease them whenever they played together in this same yard many years ago, Minako's person still present in the background of his life.

He wanted to laugh at that memory, but alas, by then, he had already forgotten how.

How could love be born when the lady behind him couldn't even raise her head and look at him?

It wasn't only her. When was the last time anyone dared to meet his eyes?

Come to think of it, Takeshi was once his friend too, wasn't he? He would sneak in into the yard whenever his father brought him to the palace, poking Yuuri for hours to no end until the little lady would interfere for his sake. Sometimes Yuuri thought Takeshi only did it to get her attention, as the three of them had later settled on spending many days in each other's company, creating lovely memories, perhaps Yuuri's last.

But then they had taken off together and left Yuuri behind.

At least they were happy, he told himself, and would perhaps make a pleasant couple one day, Takeshi and her. The romance between the two was not exactly a secret. What was between the three of them, however, couldn't have been any farther than the friendship they once had.

Yuuri was only fifteen, yes, but he was still considered a man grown. The lady behind him was a couple years older and a woman of lower status, whom he shouldn't be seen with unless Yuuri was intending to court her. And Takeshi was now his servant, who would be abashed to even speak unless spoken to.

That's what it meant to be in Yuuri's position. They wouldn't speak to him. They wouldn't raise their heads. They wouldn't dare make eye contact. Not them, not the servants, not the guards, nor the other lords.

Even if they did see him, they wouldn't recognize him; the eyes filled with warmth and innocent joy had been extinguished quicker than they could save their light.

"Your Grace," the lady repeated, her tiny hands shaking under the giant sleeves of her kimono. "You must know of the orders that came from the capital." She bowed down even lower. It was humiliating for both of them. "Please take care of me..."

Of course he knew of the orders given to him from thin air, but that didn't mean he understood them.

"Enough of that." Yuuri sounded colder than he intended, much harsher. Those were the first word she had spoken to him in almost six years, and she was treating him like he was some sort of deity, not the helpless friend she once had who always sought her attention. "Yuuko-chan, exactly why are you here?"

She finally raised her head, and Yuuri wished she hadn't. Yuuko had grown to become a woman of exceptional beauty, for sure, but no beauty could mask the tightly pursed lips, the crinkled eyebrows, and the puffy, tearful eyes that stabbed right through his poor soul.

"You know, Yuuri." She cried, "You know why!"

Yuuri felt completely disoriented.

Jolted awake by a sudden breeze from the nearby window, he was shocked to see that, once again, the Tsar's face was close to his, illuminated by an unnatural, nebulous glow. However, only one of them had their eyes opened.

Yuuko. Yuuri touched his cheek in a half conscious movement, realizing that he was crying silent tears in the middle of the night, and in Victor's bed, nonetheless. Oh, poor, poor Yuuko.

They were in a tangle of limbs, he and Victor, the latter sound asleep, his fringe scattered on the featherly pillow underneath his head, his face expressionless, and his silver lashes so long that their shadow reached his cheeks, a sight that, for some reason, frightened Yuuri into full consciousness.

Yuuri did not recall how he wound up in this unprecedented position.

What he did remember was trying to bring every ounce of power left in his body to finish reading another chapter of La Chute du Prince Charmant. That, as proven by the way he was now lying on his side and facing a sleeping Victor, can be deemed a complete failure.

After assembling his thoughts, Yuuri decided to not dwell any further and do the first appropriate thing that came to mind.

He slipped out from underneath the warm and silky covers, grabbed his slippers, and sidled out of the room without making a single sound.

A bird, once fully grown, would be forcibly pushed out of its nest, usually from a place very high above the ground, and by none other than its own mother.

That's how most birds learned how to fly, and this fact had always fascinated Yuuri, who, in spite of knowing how harsh wildlife could be, had thought that the action went against primary maternal instincts.

What if the little bird couldn't yet fend for itself? What if the wind thrashed at that very moment and the bird failed and died before it could spread its wings?

How can a mother give birth to a healthy child, spend days constructing a safe nest, provide them warmth with her own body, hunt for their food and give it to them by the mouth, then push them mercilessly to their doom, defenceless, just overnight?

Yuuri wouldn't know; the two mother figures in his life had disappeared long before he reached that phase of his life. And Mari… well, Mari all but sacrificed herself before she could fill that role.

With a barely patient sigh, Yuuri waved a hand. "Again."

Yurio paused midway through a rather sloppy pirouette, raising a blond eyebrow his way. Thankfully, he took a couple steps backwards and started from the beginning without much protest.

While Yurio resumed the steps he had perfected days ago, Yuuri was taking a moment to stare outside the window next to him, recognising a group of commoners at the other side of the castle's main gates.

It was too far away for Yuuri to see anything but a tiny colourful dot for each person, but it still meant that the public touring hours must've begun before they realized.

Yuuri set his eyes back on his student and watched the Prince's ankle when he started spinning again. He grimaced.

With a sharp clap, Yuuri cut that same sequence for the fourth time in a row. "Again."

Yurio's foot settled down on the wooden floor and his hands went up in the air. "What is it?!"

In truth, Yuuri's nerves were completely frayed. He was trying his hardest not to point out the Prince's missteps vocally, as he had done so enough that day and was well aware that the boy had a tendency to snap one final time and leave, rendering the future session tense from the start. Knowing Yurio, he was one critique away from boiling over.

So Yuuri didn't want to retort, he really didn't, but they were surpassing their third hour of training that day and it was starting to get very frustrating.

But no, he was the teacher. His patience was his weapon. And besides, Yuuri did not want to lose his composure ever again in front of Yurio. The hurt he had caused his student the last time was something he'd forever avoid.

Yuuri cast aside his annoyance, forced a smile, and tried to summon a soft voice but alas, it was fruitless, because the moment he opened his mouth someone else spoke for him.

"I have seen crabs far more graceful than you." The insult cut through the air like a sharp blade, its tone indifferent, yet the words so harsh that even Yuuri felt hurt by them. "What is this abomination you call a free leg?"

Otabek, the first of the three to spot the newcomer at the far corner of the room, immediately straightened himself and bowed as low as he could. "Your Grace,"

Yuuri only managed to make out the striking, but familiar bright green eyes of the stranger before he collected himself and followed suit.

His heart beat frantically upon identifying her, fear edging its way into his soul at the presence of another member of the royal family.

The Grand Duchess Lilia Feltsman, former heir of the Russian empire, aunt to the Tsar, and mother to the Tsesarevich.

And what a presence it was. He did not need to lift his head or even see anything in order to know, because he could feel the air around them changing to accommodate her.

"Lord Altin," the Grand Duchess returned the greeting, her temper less harsh but still far from pleasant. Yuuri felt her catlike eyes linger in his direction for a few uncomfortable seconds, but she said nothing to acknowledge his existence.

"What do you want?" Yurio's entire demeanour changed. "You're interrupting my session."

"That was no session." His mother retorted, and for a moment the two sounded like the same exact person. "A feeble display of incompetence is what it was. I would've changed this lesson to fundamentals of dance etiquette before introducing anything else to you this early on."

Yurio's lips made a thin line. "I shall thank god that you're no longer the one teaching me, then."

"A blessing for both of us, for sure." She replied dryly. "If you cannot take such standard criticism, then let go of this farce before wasting any more valuable time."

Yuuri glared at the floor, startled at the merciless way she delivered her advice. How was she speaking so lowly of dance when she herself was once a talented ballerina?

"Yes, yes, yes," Yurio groaned, his anger coming back. "You've said this a thousand times before and you're welcome to say it a thousand more, but you know you're wasting your breath, mother!"

"I see." There was a hint of a smile in her voice, so faint it probably did not even show on her face. But it was there before it completely vanished without a trace. "And I hear just fine without you yelling like a barbarian."

Yurio crossed his hands in defiance, yet he still replied with a much lower tone. "Why are you here?"

"I have some errands in this palace." She informed, rather than demanded: "But first, you are joining me for breakfast. Be ready in half an hour."

"Alright."

"I'm sorry, Yura, there was something in my ears. I'm afraid I did not hear you correctly."

"Yes, mother."

"Very well." Yuuri heard her turn and walk to the direction of the door. On her way, however, she paused in front of Yuuri and Otabek.

And for a heavy moment, she no doubt was observing him.

Yuuri did not dare to look anywhere above her silky black skirts. He felt himself sweating, his already damp attire turning filthier. Yuuri was in no shape to meet such a person, not at this early hour, not in such a messy place.

However, he doubted her impression would change with a better presentation, nothing could be more unlikely.

Yuuri had always wondered how she would perceive him, what her stance would be regarding the current situation. Not only was he engaging with, no, encouraging her son in activities far below his status, but Yuuri was also involved with her nephew, arguably ruining the Tsar's otherwise flawless reputation.

Had Victor told her about him? Had Yurio? And if so, what was being said and discussed behind closed doors? How much did she exactly know about Yuuri?

His stomach churned, the onslaught of vomit was just a few breaths away. No, no, no, he told himself. I'm too insignificant. They'd never talk about me. They'd never discuss me. Why would they?

"Young man," she said it so aloofly it sounded like an afterthought. It still almost gave Yuuri a heart attack to be addressed directly by the Grand Duchess. "I will be expecting you as well."

By the time she had left, Yuuri's knees almost buckled under him in distress. He sent Otabek a pleading look, receiving a disconcerted shrug in return.

At the other end of the room, Yurio clicked his tongue loudly and glared at the door. "So this is what the wicked hag came for, huh?"

Yuuri was at a point in his life when he came to expect misfortune at every turn, sparing little time to reflect on the horrendous chain of events that lead him to this moment, the moment where he, a slave and no more, was invited to a breakfast table with two of the most influential people in the empire.

"Your Grace," Yuuri had said with practised courtesy upon entering Lady Lilia's dining room, voice smooth as velvet when he bowed in front of the seated duchess, prince, and knight. "Allow me to express how flattered I am by your invitation. I apologize for imposing."

A long, lingering beat of silence greeted him.

What did I say? Yuuri had started panicking before even a second had passed, not sure if the water droplet that fell on his cheek was a bead of nervous sweat or moisture from his recently washed hair. What did I do wrong? What did I say?

"I wonder how you're surrounded with such well-mannered people yet still act so disgracefully, Yura." Grand Duchess Lilia had hummed, Yurio already seated by her side. "Go on. Make yourselves comfortable."

To her left, Yurio scowled but didn't say anything. Otabek had occupied the seat next to the Duchess, so Yuuri was quick to sit beside him, the furthest away from his host as possible.

Up close, he finally realized what was so startling about the Grand Duchess, save the fact that she was worlds away when it comes to their position and power. Lady Lilia's face was strange, as in, her facial muscles remained still no matter what she was saying or doing. When she talked, her mouth only moved to let the words pass, when she looked at something, only her pupils shifted. Everything else remained fixed in place, and that, in contrast to her son's tendency to showcase various expressions with everything he did, made her seem much more serious, much more menacing. Yuuri didn't think he'll ever get used to it; even looking her way required courage.

With a snap of her fingers, the half of dozen servants around the room had begun to move in sync. Placing cultery and plates with elegant speed and efficiency, filling the table in front of them with all sorts of foods, fruit, and refreshments. Yuuri had only begun to eat, grabbing a few portions from the plates closest to him, when he made sure his other three companions did first.

'Be careful and whatever you do, don't cave in to her words. She makes a habit of testing people.' Yurio had sternly advised him earlier, but Yuuri wasn't sure if it was needed, really, since almost the entirety of the meal passed with nothing but unsettling tranquillity.

Nothing strange was presented to him, though they all were things he hadn't had the privilege to eat in years. The cream was soft, the thin slices of pork were smooth as butter, and the olives were rich in flavour. It was, however, the first time he tried dates. He would have never thought something could be so overbearing sweet as honey, yet, the sweetness was overshadowed by the unfamiliar greasy texture.

Yuuri did his best to eat a decent amount but knew well to leave some remains on the plate. He didn't know where he learned that, but he was certain it was an unspoken rule.

"Young man," Lady Lilia abruptly killed the silence, giving him a start as she spoke perfect French, even better than her nephew's. The two other boys stiffened, giving each other knowing looks.

"Y-yes, your Grace?" Yuuri raised his head politely.

"It came to my attention that you're from Japan." She said, not even sparing him a glance as she spoke.

Yuuri reached for the glass of water next to him shakily, "You're correct, your Grace."

"And what do you eat for breakfast in Japan, pray tell?"

"N-nothing too different from what we're having now." Yuuri gulped, trying desperately to subdue his stutters. "Light meat, bread, honey, eggs, or rice. Though, there are many fruits and sweets that I have yet to see anywhere but there."

Lady Lilia took a small bite of pork. "Such as?"

"Uh, mostly unbaked desserts, like Mochi and Yokan." Yuuri chirped. "They're made of rice and red beans. Not only do they taste extraordinary, but they also come with the visual beauty. The presentation is never lacking when it comes to Japanese dishes."

Trying so hard to answer engagingly and keep the lady's interest - if there was any to begin with, Yuuri did not notice that he was digging himself into a hole.

Her eyes suddenly sharpened. "It sounds like you were raised in a well-off household if that's the case."

Yuuri heard his heartbeat against his ear, violent and surging.

So that's what this is. He thought to himself, fear consuming him yet again as he stared at his plate, appetite completely gone.

She took a quick glance at the utensils in his hands, as if accusing him of something. "Well off, indeed."

"Where I lived… it- it was a village known for its fields and farms, so food wasn't scarce." Yuuri explained, knowing that he was now treading a very thin line. "Otherwise… living itself was far from easy."

I'm not lying. He told himself. I'm not.

"Maybe the Forbidden Kingdom did not have food shortages," Yurio said nonchalantly, yet Yuuri knew too well that he was trying to aid him.

"Indeed," Otabek spoke for the first time that day, opting for Russian since he did not seem to speak fluent French as the rest did. Yuuri wanted to embrace the man for talking anyway. "Theoretically, being this isolated from the rest of the world could bear astonishing results when it comes to agricultural production. We can estimate surplus, even, depending on the methods they use."

"Very well observed, Lord Altin." She looked at Otabek's direction warmly, pleased by his input. It was clear she held the young knight in high regard. "But you, Yura, are as ignorant as your cousin." Her voice dropped to its usual chiding tone. "Japan is not a kingdom, child. It's an empire, the Nihon Empire."

Yuuri's eyes widened, Otabek looked slightly taken aback, and Yurio flushed, embarrassed. The boy forgone French, which he was good at, but not excellent, and expressed his irritation in Russian. "Why is it called that then?!"

"It's a very common misconception, your Highness." Yuuri smiled, immediately coming to his defence. "Besides, the 'Forbidden Kingdom' sounds much more monumental, don't you think?"

Moreover, it was a name easier to remember, especially with how her Grace completely butchered the pronunciation of 'Nihon', erudite as she was.

"I guess so." Yurio shrugged. "It's not like there's much difference between the two."

Yuuri couldn't stop himself from wincing. The Prince was neglecting some very important scholarly lessons and he only hoped it wasn't due to their training.

He did not notice that Lady Lilia caught him doing it, and he surely wasn't prepared for what she asked next.

"Do you have a surname, young man?"

They were distributing tea around the table but Yuuri noted the glass of white wine being placed in front of Lady Lilia. It was too early in the morning for alcohol, but he had an urge to chug down a few glasses in his growing discomfort.

"No, your Grace." Not anymore.

I used to.

And I had your very same honorifics.

Isn't life strange and humorous?

"I suppose you wouldn't." She curtly said, wrapping long, slender fingers around her wine glass and taking a small sip.

Everyone around her was starting to look uncomfortable, the air suddenly turning thick with hostility. It felt less like a conversation over a meal and more like an aggressive back and forth, its goal very clear.

The methods were entirely different, but Yuuri now knew where the Prince took his confrontational nature from.

"How strange." Lady Lilia commented when Yuuri's tea started to turn cold. "I almost did not recognize you this morning, bespectacled and all," if possible, her already thin eyes narrowed more. "Looking like an entirely different man..."

Yuuri formed three different answers and was trying to decide which one to choose from. 'I do not like the attention.' seemed pretentious. 'I prefer looking more modest when I'm not dancing.' sounded like he was doing something sultry. And even saying 'I dress differently so I won't be recognized.' was questionable.

A teacup was plonked on the table with a loud thud, some of its contents spilling on the pristine white cloth.

"Thank you for the meal, mother." Yurio said as he stood, sounding anything but thankful. "I have matters to attend to as well. We're leaving."

His mother did not even bat an eye at the announcement, "Very well. You make take your leave."

Yurio was halfway to the door when Otabek started to stand, muttering his gratitude. Yuuri waited until Otabek placed his chair back and meant to follow.

"Young man," Lady Lilia sent a sharp look his way, pinning him down and sending shivers through his spine by her authoritative tone. "You stay right here."

"No, absolutely not." Yurio halted, making a violent turn. "I have need of him-"

"You have as much need of him as you believe the 'Forbidden Kingdom' did not have food shortages." Lady Lilia waved a dismissive hand, seeing right through each and every one of his antics. "Now, if you'll excuse us."

The Prince snarled. Yuuri expected him to put his foot down and start shouting again, but something about Lady Lilia seemed to scare even the Tsesarevich himself, who glared and glared at her direction, but upon her unacknowledgement, had no other choice but to storm out of the room. Otabek followed after bowing apologetically toward Yuuri, like he was committing an act of betrayal.

"You as well," Lady Lilia spoke to no one in particular, but all the servants around them turned rigid. "Leave us."

Yuuri watched them leave with a sense of impending doom. That's it. He thought, panicking. That's it. I've reached my end. Nothing could save me now.

Taking the wine glass with her, Lady Lilia made her way to the window in front of him and stared outside in silence. At that instant, she resembled Victor so much it was unsettling.

Yuuri stayed silent, afraid of saying anything that could trigger an outburst. He reached for the napkin on his lap and wiped his hands shakily.

Lady Lilia observed the movement and turned around again, Yuuri barely noting the triumph in her expression.

"Four years as a royal slave can only change so much of a person's character." Lady Lilia began, sharp, direct, and powerful. "The way you speak, young man. The way you act. The way you carry yourself with an almost engraved sense of superiority."

My lies are bleeding out. She knows. She knows. She hates me. She'll do everything in her power to get rid of me. She's going to send me away.

Yuuri's breath hitched at the last thought. No, Yuuri's lips trembled. Victor… Victor won't let that happen, will he?

"There's no wonder why people of high status around the castle are so drawn to you." She continued, "There's something exotic about you, that's for certain, but there's also something equally... familiar."

'Any harm done to my Yuuri, by a concubine, noble, or even a royal, will not be forgiven.'

'You won't be violated ever again, Yuuri. I promise you this with my honour'

'Everything within my power, my darling, I'd do it.'

An unfamiliar calm settled through him. That's right. Victor won't let anything bad happen. Yuuri repeated to himself. He won't.

"You're a noble." Lady Lilia announced confidently. "A high ranking one, at that."

Yuuri stood abruptly, trembling. "I- I am sorry if I had in any way offended you, your Grace. It was - it was unconsciously done. I did not intend for my answers to sound like lies-"

"You do not lie, boy." She hissed, "But you're concealing important information for reasons I cannot fathom." The wine glass sat on the base of the window, neglected, "You see, I do not fancy mysteries, especially when they surround a person of such rising influence. And around my own children, nonetheless. Yurio is too clueless still. He won't see danger even if it was in front of his very own eyes, not when he can benefit from it. His sister is no better; Mila has always been reckless, and she's very weak to a pretty face." Lilia paused, closing her eyes and sighing. "And Victor is the worst of them all. He won't care even if you were a spy sent to bring his demise. Not at this point, at least."

A spy? A spy?! "Y-your Grace-!"

"A slave of such high status is unheard of." Lady Lilia told him. "I do not know of any wars breaking recently in Asia, not ones where sacking and enslavement were involved, so I'm certain you weren't a victim of that." She turned, her eyes meeting his for the very first time. The glare she sent his way was threatening in every way Yurio's wasn't. "So how in God's name did you end up in my nephew's palace, Yuuri of the Nihon Empire?"

"Your Grace," Yuuri raised his voice. "With my honour, I tell you, I have no such ill intentions! I was a noble, someone of former high rank!" he told her, honest as he can be, "It means nothing now because all my titles and property were revoked. Someone of your Grace's knowledge would know the persecutions that come with escaping Japan. I was traded all around the world, there's no way I would have predicted where I'd be sent next!"

She tilted her head, unconvinced. "Yet, you only stayed in Russia."

"His Majesty let me." He said, "I… I didn't want - I never wanted-" he clenched his teeth, "I resisted it, I truly, truly did!"

"Or so I heard." She faced the window again. "It was quite the spectacle. Words of Victor's utterly bizarre persuasion ran on every tongue. How can I know for sure it wasn't a tactic to lure him in even further? Because, good gracious, it certainly worked."

What? Yuuri wanted to let out an ear shattering scream. What?!

"I'm… I'm sorry to have put you and your family under such scrutiny," he pleaded lowly instead. "It was unintentional, believe me. I was only protecting my- my pride." He shouldn't have said the next words, everything about it was inappropriate, but he couldn't help himself. "Someone of your position would surely understand my reasoning behind not wanting to - wanting to-"

"As you said, you had titles and property," she now sounded angry. "You had fortune to spend, food on your table, and people to serve you. You were lucky to be born in such a privileged place in society. Why would you escape?"

"All... All I wanted to do was dance." Yuuri fell back on the chair with a rustle. "I was a fool for that, your Grace. That's what I was. A fool with a fool's dream."

He buried his face in his hands. How many times should he be confronted by this? How many times should his past be brought up against him? How many times should he keep on repeating that same godforsaken tale before it stopped shaping his life?

Somehow, the silence that fell after had somehow lost its aggressive edge, giving way for something Yuuri could not name. Disappointment, perhaps, pity, bewilderment, or disgust for all he knew. Maybe it was all of them combined.

Yuuri heard a sigh escape her lips, but he did not dare to release his hands and face the Grand Duchess after that outright display of patheticness.

"I suppose I understand."

Yuuri stopped shaking, the entire room around him turning static. For the life of him, he couldn't gather how someone like the Grand Duchess of Russia would ever relate to anything that had happened in his wretched life.

"Lord knows how many times I wanted to escape when I was your age." The irony was clear in Lady Lilia's voice, but at least it no longer bled hostility. "Though, I guess I wasn't the 'fool' that you are. A fool for not planning your escape more thoroughly, yes, but not a fool for having a dream."

She was quite right; Yuuri had come to know that well over the years. He had spent every waking moment in Hasetsu planning, planning, and planning, until every step of his escape fell into perfect synchronization, with the best rates of success that he could physically achieve. He had found the perfect people, the perfect tools, perfect timings, perfect routes, perfect everything. Everything up to the moment he was out of Japan.

There was nothing more he could do, he had told himself foolishly, and left everything after it to luck, coincidence, and spontaneity.

He should have known not to lurk in the docks by himself.

He should have known of slave merchants and who they'd target.

He should have hidden his features and moved more carefully.

Yuuri had had a plan, but at the same time, he had no plan at all.

"Yuri." He raised his head at the sound of his name, but by the looks of it, the Duchess was not addressing him. Her eyes were still fixed somewhere outside the window. "It stands for a farmer, or earth worker, if you may." She explained. "I used to adore that name. I did not have the chance to name my first two children, so I waited for my third to name them Yuri. Yet, even such small pleasures aren't granted to a princess. I was scoffed and told it was far too feminine, its meaning far too weak for a child of such powerful position. So we opted for Yurio, a celestial, legendary creature with a lion's head and a dragon's body. It was Vitya's suggestion."

Yuuri only stared, absorbed into every word she uttered, feeling a slight disbelief at how open she was being all of a sudden.

Vitya. He thought of what was presumably Victor's nickname in his tight-knit family, for it was the first time he heard it. That sounds nice.

"What does yours mean?" Lady Lilia snapped his attention back to her.

It did not work like that, Yuuri wanted to say. His name was composed of many characters, each with a different meaning that could be deciphered according to the person who read or wrote it. It would take long to explain how, but Lady Lilia certainly wasn't interested in such trivial details.

So Yuuri told her his version, "Courage, bravery, and heroism, your Grace."

"A beautiful name, indeed." Lady Lilia said warmly. "And who knows…" she lifted her gaze to the sky. "Perhaps God had sent me a Yuri to show my son the right path."

Yuuri's heart fluttered at those words, which couldn't be mistaken for anything but acceptance, no mattered what the voices said.

"Be careful, Monsieur Yuuri." The Grand Duchess, for the first time, addressed him in a way that did not sound like a spit. "Don't disappoint me. I had hand-selected all of prince Yurio's carers since he was an infant. You're the first one he chose himself, in fact, he was very adamant about you. Don't do anything that would force me to take that away from him, do you understand?"

A bird, once fully grown, would be forcibly pushed out of its nest, usually from a place very high above the ground, by none other than its own mother.

It was only then that Yuuri understood why.

He ducked his head in embarrassment. "Yes, your Grace. Of course."

"You may take your leave now."

The chair squeaked as Yuuri pushed it back in place, taking a second to gather himself. He was beginning to cross the room when Duchess Lilia, whose green eyes were following his retreating figure intently, stopped him, this time with a sharp command.

"Wait." She turned fully. "Take off your eyeglasses and let me look at you."

Yuuri blinked in confusion but slowly compiled, showing her his bare face and awaiting the verdict.

Lady Lilia took in his face only for a moment. She nodded to herself and went back to her wine glass, smiling the faintest of smiles, just a small, barely visible arc of her lips. "Victor is a capable artist, but he never managed to capture your eyes right."

Yuuri turned red, immensely thankful that Lady Lilia's back was to him, as she was unable to see the full extent of his embarrassment.

"I- I- he…" he spluttered, "I've seen the painting, and his Majesty did my eyes justice. They don't look half as beautiful in real life."

"No, Monsieur Yuuri, he did not." She dismissed. "It's as if he never paid attention to them."

It was later that day when, upon his request, he and Emil made their way across the castle toward the handmaidens' ward. It had been a very long walk, but Yuuri barely noticed the time passing, for his mind was elsewhere.

Furthermore, he found a hard time paying attention to his temporary guard, who had been talking the whole time, more to himself, really, since Yuuri just caught the last bits of the one-sided conversation. "She'll scream, I tell you!" Emil was saying, "Sara knows more than anyone how merciless the Grand Duchess is."

The mere mention of Lady Lilia sent Yuuri's mind on another spiral. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Emil." Yuuri found himself calling as his steps slowed. He flinched when the guard went quiet. "I'm sorry. Please, continue-"

"No, it's alright. I forgot what I was saying, anyway." He chuckled, "What is it?"

"Uhm..." Yuuri fiddled with his hands, "I have a somewhat… strange question." He avoided looking at the guard's face. "It's been on my mind but- It's alright if you choose not to answer. In fact, I don't think-"

"Go ahead." Emil said firmly, "Ask."

Yuuri frowned at the floor. "What… What was the first thing you ever noticed about me? The very first thing?"

If anyone could answer him and provide a conclusion to his obscene thoughts, it was Emil, who had never shown any interest in Yuuri's looks or even acknowledged what he was because of it. If anyone could answer indifferently and without any bias, it was him.

If Yuuri was ever sure of one thing, it was the fact that everything up to this point had been a chain of different events that all had but one aspect in common. One catalyst.

His eyes. His eyes that captured the merchant's attention, his eyes that the Noble saw, his eyes that the Madams regarded so dearly, that his owners used as a means for trade and political motivation. And Yuuri wasn't just speculating, as all of them did not fail to mention it over, and over, and over again, as if Yuuri's entire being was one thing, but his eyes were another.

As if his eyes were the vessel, and the rest of Yuuri was just an additional extension.

Emil turned somewhat serious, rubbing his goatee and giving the question more importance than it deserved. "I wasn't completely oblivious about you, to be honest. The guards do their fair share of gossiping when they're off duty." He confessed, "But then Michele and I finally saw you for the first time, at the night his Majesty broke his four months silence. 'This is not some wicked seductress,' I thought to myself. 'This is just a timid, scared young man who'd rather be anywhere but here.' So, I suppose that's what I noticed first, how you weren't bristling with joy like all the other chosen ones."

This, this wasn't really what he expected to hear, and not really what he wanted to know. Emil's answer was so genuine, so pure and well thought, that Yuuri found himself dirty and undeserving of such commiseration.

"Thank you, Emil. But no," Yuuri looked away. "I mean, physically. What did you notice?"

Emil didn't even need to think about it. He immediately pointed at his face. "Your eyes."

Yuuri nodded and continued his sulemn walk. "I see."

"Yuuri," Emil followed behind him, slightly confused and a tad bit worried. "You must know I do not care for these things at all..."

"Of course I know." Yuuri chuckled, trying his hardest to conceal the rush of thoughts in his head. "That's why I enjoy your company."

"Oh, likewise," Emil replied good-naturally. "But may I ask why you needed to know?"

"Lady Lilia… she said some very strange things." Yuuri sighed, then to further the conversation, he smiled mischievously at the much taller man. "What do you care for?"

Emil grinned. "It's not a secret that I have a special appreciation for beautiful violet eyes."

"You're right. Sara's eyes are very beautiful," Yuuri dropped his voice to a whisper. "All of her is. I was slightly enamoured myself."

"Of course she is!" Emil's grin widened. "She's Michele's twin, after all."

"Do they do that intentionally?" Yuuri wondered, "Only put good looking in service?"

"That, I do not know." Emil hummed. "Possibly?"

"I noticed a common theme," Yuuri shrugged, "Especially with the people serving the Royals."

"I'm not sure about his Majesty or his Highness, but Princess Mila is definitely selective about that. Her handmaidens… her servants, guards, all ethereal, even her knight is quite a sight. He's Korean, I think."

"Huh, and ser Otabek is also a handsome Asian man…" Yuuri said, noting a pattern. "What about his Majesty's knight? I've never seen him before."

"He's North American. Though, most people have an urge to punch his face rather than admire it."

Yuuri didn't notice he was laughing until Emil joined him.

Honestly, Yuuri was quite fascinated by the exchange they were having. Of course, initiating it was reckless of him, very reckless, and if anyone heard them and took his words out of context, Yuuri will find himself being accused of treachery. But here he was, a young man, talking to another young man, about beautiful people.

It was so painfully normal that Yuuri wondered if there'll ever come a time when such mundane subjects were the only things he cared about.

Alas, it was only a minute of comfortable silence after that when Yuuri's mind drifted back to Lady Lilia's words.

'It's as if he never paid attention to them.'

For perhaps the hundredth time that day, Yuuri wondered what was she trying to imply by that.

If not his wretched eyes, then exactly what did Victor see in him, what possessed him to assign Yuuri in the harem the very first moment he saw him in that hall?

That far away in the gallery, Yuuri didn't think Victor could have managed to see much anyway, not anything less significant than two large eyes that only Yuuri had outside the Forbidden Kingdom.

He had an athletic body, yes. It was something that he was more or less tortured to maintain and not ruin, but he wasn't particularly muscular, or tall, or had any curves like his female peers. His skin might've been pale, but not as pale as a European beauty, not like Victor's, at least. His hair was long, but not very long, as it barely reached his chin, its colour black but not radiant, its condition tired and its form straight with nothing to make it stand out. Even its style was as standard as it can be, since Yuuri cut his own hair, always making sure to not attract attention with it.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he touched his own lips as he walked. They weren't plump, or rosy, or smooth like all the other people with conditional good looks.

Yuuri thought of his nose but shook his head in irritation, no one cared about his nose. It's not like Victor the Third of House Nikiforov saw his nose and decided to go against his whole harem just to have him.

Which brings back his chain of thoughts to a full circle. If not for his eyes, then why did Victor notice him in the first place?

Yuuri thought that he had reached a point where he could see Victor. But as proven again, he was only seeing his ghost. The man himself continued to be a mystery. His intentions, his bizarre actions, the meaning behind his words, his stares, his touches… everything about him continued to be a mystery.

All he had to do was ask, he knew, but to do that, Yuuri needed courage he did not have and boldness he couldn't easily acquire.

"Speaking of beauty," Emil nodded toward the end of the hallway they were walking through. "We're almost there."

"Oh." Yuuri lifted his head. "Right."

They were about ten doors away from their destination when a figure emerged from the room, a figure that was surely not Sara Crispino.

Emil's blue eyes widened as the figure started toward them.

Their eyes connected for a split second before she whirled around and entered the adjacent hallway instead. The bouncing of light against her diadem was the last thing he saw before she completely disappeared.

Yuuri wondered why she, out of all people, was leaving Sara's room, and why she was at that part of the palace to begin with, and why she was crying.

Emil knocked on Sara's door without any restraint or regard to noise. "Sara! Open up! We've come to visit!"

Yuuri was still looking at the hallway where the figure disappeared when Emil pouted, knocked one final time, then opened the door without permission.

Not long after, Sara was throwing a violent tantrum, and loud yelling and very unlady-like curses filled the room and reached far into the hallway.

Yuuri smiled fondly and closed the door after him.

"And not to mention, you're turning into a bad mannered imbecile, just like Michele!" Sara chastised for what felt like the hundredth time during that visit. "How dare you enter a woman's room without consent?!"

"I became increasingly worried when you didn't open the door." Emil rubbed his cheek - where Sara had slapped him upon his entrance. He smiled charmingly, nonetheless. "Please forgive me?"

"Absolutely not!" she yelled back, true to her Crispino blood. She grabbed the handkerchief on her lap and dabbed it on her eyes, then turned toward Yuuri, her demeanor completely shifting. "Yuuri, dear, is the tea to your liking?"

You just gave me a cup of boiling water. He wanted to confess, but he smiled reassuringly. "Yes, thank you."

The fact that she had forgotten to put actual tea in the kettle was the least of his concerns, since it had been about twenty minutes and no matter how much Sara dabbed on her eyes, the tears she was shedding did not cease.

"I'm sorry for the state of my room," she sniffed, "I was not expecting visitors."

Not expecting visitors, surely, wasn't the reason why her chairs were knocked over and there was broken glass on the carpet. "Sara."

"This attire looks so lovely on you," she said, indicating the random attire he had plucked from the countless bundles that kept accumulating in his room. "I had hand selected it myself, you see-"

Yuuri sighed. "Sara."

She covered her eyes with a hand and tried to smile, which resulted in her just showing her gritted teeth. "Yes?"

That was Princess Mila who left your room, wasn't it? He wanted to ask, desperate to know the cause of her sadness, but one look from Emil and a shake of his head convinced Yuuri otherwise. He might've wanted to help, but Yuuri didn't think he would be able to. "If it's a bad time, we'll visit you later."

"No, no, no," she shook her head weakly, flattening her skirt. "Get on with it. I'm perfectly fine."

Yuuri was becoming apprehensive, and he made it clear by sharply looking at his guard, who kept shaking his head 'no'.

He spoke as gently as he could, "Sara-"

"Yuuri," Sara answered firmly, in a tone that begged him to not say whatever he was going to say.

Not every crying woman awaits your comfort, a voice in his head scolded him. Not everyone wants to be treated like a fragile child whenever they face a problem. You should know that more than anyone else.

Yuuri looked down in shame. That was true. Sara was like Mari, in a way, who had once told him, 'Ane-sama does not like it when people see her cry, Yuuri. It's a sign of weakness.'

"Right. His Majesty gave me permission to dance whenever I wish," Yuuri began, sipping his hot water. "But I'm not sure where to proceed from there. I need to begin organizing with the other performers and scheduale my performances according to future events."

Victor had allowed him to dance, but that didn't mean that the man would arrange everything for him. Yuuri, after all, couldn't keep relying on him and stand idly by, letting others guide him through every little thing he did. It was time to take the reins and start putting back some purpose and meaning to his life, especially now that his place was becoming more secure.

"Oh," Sara's voice sounded slightly nazally from all that crying. "I'm sorry, dear, but I'm afraid I cannot help you with that. This doesn't fall under my duties."

"Uh… but I thought you always had permission," Emil commented from where he sat next to Yuuri. "And that you just didn't want to dance whenever."

"I-I thought so as well." Sara hiccuped. "His Majesty loves your dancing. Why would he not allow it?"

Once again, Yuuri was reminded of the image of an oppressive Victor that only existed in his head. The man who controlled him, the man who only wanted him for his sick pleasures, the man who did not care about him the slightest, who would dispose of him and punish him if Yuuri refused anything he asked.

That man didn't exist, he now knew, not fully, at least.

'You don't know me.' Victor had said, shattering that image in just one instant, leaving Yuuri to try his hardest to reassemble a more accurate portrait of the man, one that was closer to reality.

The biggest chunks of his doubts still remained, but Yuuri was trying his best, because, now that he can fully admit it, this poisonous mindset hurt no one but himself.

"Yes, his Majesty never minded. I just wasn't aware." Yuuri shrugged, "If not you, who should I ask, then?"

"Why, you know who." Sara wiped her nose, "It's Miss Minako who arranges these matters."

His blood ran cold.

How humorous it was, that when Yuuri finally found the door in which he could use to put his life back together, Minako was the one who had the keys.

He needed to bring himself to look at her in the face, Yuuri thought in shame, before he could dare ask anything from her.

He only needed to visit Prince Georgi's quarters and he'd be completing his rounds, Yuuri mused to himself, yet it didn't make him any less miserable.

He had barely exited the handmaiden's ward before he was surrounded by a flock of handmaidens, and much to his dismay, they weren't residents going back to their rooms, they were a party sent by the Princess to escort Yuuri back to the east wing.

"I'll be at the wing entrance the entire time," Emil assured him. "Don't worry. Her Highness is very kind."

She is, Yuuri wanted to say, but he followed the handmaidens silently. The last time we met, she was kind enough to ignore my request and report on a sixteen year old concubine, knowing fully that she will be hanged.

Very kind, indeed.

He did have an idea or two on why Tsarevna Mila had summoned him, but that didn't stop his anxiety from festering. It came from the fact that Yuuri knew too much. He knew things that he shouldn't have, and it was now catching up to him.

It's not like he was even trying to figure things out, it was just his damned luck that he found himself in this sort of situation once again.

Princess Mila was sitting in front of her dresser combing her endlessly long hair when Yuuri went inside her quarters.

"Your Highness," he bowed his head, "You... Ahh!"

Yuuri fell down on the floor with a yelp, Mila chuckled mischievously, and he once again felt a familiar weight pressing on his body.

"Makkachin." He cried, amused when he shouldn't be. "Why do you always do that?"

Panting hastily with her tail wagging too fast for his eyes to keep up with it, Makkachin clawed at Yuuri's chest, his shoulders, his neck, trying her hardest to reach and lick his face in appreciation. And Yuuri let her, feeling honoured to be the receiving end of such pure affections.

Once his eyeglasses were fully soaked, Yuuri took them off to avoid further damage and patted her head, allowing himself a few moments of indulgence before he commanded her to stop, and she, being the good girl she was, finally calmed down and sat between his legs.

"Yuuri!" Mila exclaimed, clapping cheerfully. "What an extravagant entrance!"

Yuuri looked up, paused the way he was caressing Makkachin, and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, your Highness."

"Nonsense." She turned back to her mirror, "She gets quite restless when she doesn't see Victor for too long. I'm glad you brought her spirits back."

Yuuri looked at the beautiful dog sitting between his legs, eyeing him like Yuuri meant the entire world to her. It made his heart lurch in his chest.

Compared to the state he found Sara in, Mila seemed completely nonchalant. Her eyes weren't filled with tears, or even puffy, the hair she was combing did not look dishevelled, and the clipped smile on her face did not give any hint of dejection.

Yet, Yuuri was too familiar with such a scene to disregard the aura surrounding the Princess. If anything, what he was seeing was the calm before the storm.

Yuuri pocketed his eyeglasses and reluctantly let Makkachin go. He dusted off his trousers and made his way across the room.

Once he was only a few feet away from her, Yuuri stopped. "Uh, your Highness," he said out of politeness, not knowing what else to do. "Please let me..."

Mila paused, staring at the comb in her hand, handing it to him a second later with a grateful smile.

"If you be so kind..."

Needless to say, Princess Mila's hair did not need any combing at all. There were no lumps, not even strands out of place or electrified hair that stood up. It was, quite frankly, stunning.

"I heard that my mother had you for breakfast," Mila said through the comfortable silence, smirking. "So I felt jealous and decided to have you for lunch."

"I won't tell anyone, your Highness," Yuuri said, not wanting to stretch this out any longer. "That I saw you today in the handmaidens' ward. You can trust me."

"I don't have a reason not to, Yuuri," she looked down at her hands, "But I just wanted to make sure. You must know how intimidating my mother is by now. I don't want her to get hurt again because of me."

"I wouldn't want that either," Yuuri said, bending down to give Makkachin - who was now sitting obediently next to his feet - a few appreciative pats before he went back to Mila's hair.

He continued working silently and found himself actually enjoying the activity, for it was very calming. The texture felt exactly like Victor's hair in his hand the last time he had the chance to touch it, and it's how he imagined it would look if Victor ever had long hair.

It'll suit him. Yuuri thought, completely distracted. It'll suit him very much.

"And I was meaning to ask..." Mila's voice turned solemn. "You went to see her, didn't you? How... was she?"

"Your Highness must know how she was without me saying it."

"I... I guess so." She whispered. Her shoulders slumped, then rode up again. "Well!" she clapped her hands, "I guess that's about all the reasons I summoned you here. Do you want to play chess after?"

People like her and Otabek, who refused to act as their own age, fascinated Yuuri to no end. How mature and composed they looked, while still being mere sixteen year olds, was a mystery. Mila looked like she was in her mid-twenties, she even acted the part, but that didn't omit the fact that she was still a child learning to deal with the world, with feelings and situations that no one had prepared her for.

However, now that Yuuri thinks about it, maybe the reason he felt so comfortable around these two, was because he wasn't any different when he himself was sixteen. If he had stopped for a second back then and realized he was still a clueless child, he might've not gone ahead and done the biggest mistake of his life.

"Mhm." Yuuri was merely waiting. "But I must warn you, it's been years since I was bested."

"We shall see, then." She winked, "I have been trained by the very best."

Yuuri nodded. "Alright."

"But to think you saw me cry in the hallway..." the Princess pouted. "How embarrassing."

"Your Highness," Yuuri stopped what he was doing and put his hands on her petite shoulders. "You're crying right now."

"I am, aren't I?" she chuckled, trying to wipe the tears that have been falling down the moment Yuuri took the comb from her hand. "Come here then, you handsome gentleman, and comfort me."

Yuuri wrapped one arm around her neck and used his free hand to pat her head gently. Mila tightened her hands into fists and pushed them against her face, her silent tears turning into sobs.

Not every crying woman awaits your comfort, the voice had said.

But this one does.

"I-Is this a beginning of a love affair? W-we should keep it a secret from Victor," she cried through the jests she was making. It wasn't funny, but Yuuri didn't stop her. "I wish not to be hanged. He tends to be very possessive when it comes to you."

"I shall take this secret with me to the grave." Yuuri wrapped his arm around her more tightly.

"And as my new lover, you shouldn't take her side, understand?" Mila joked. "She-" her voice cracked, "She's the one who left me."

Of course she did, Yuuri thought, Sara was four years her senior, and the adult in the situation. He had gathered that much from the moment he saw the state of Sara's room.

"How cruel of her." He caressed her head one final time, grabbed the comb again, and started working on an actual mess that formed.

"Oh, Yuuri, my love," Princess Mila drawled, "You like my hair, don't you?"

"I do." He told her. "It reminds me of someone's."

"I hate it with passion." Mila confessed. Yuuri was fascinated by how she kept a conversation going even with how hard she was crying. "It drives me crazy. I wish my hair was short like yours. It looks so pretty and comfortable."

"But yours is much thicker than mine," Yuuri argued, not liking the idea of cutting something so beautiful. "It won't look the same if you cut it."

Mila shrugged. "The handmaidens would never do it for me, anyway. They won't have anything to do. It's as if they serve my hair and not me."

Yuuri let go of Princess Mila and walked to the table nearest to them, pouring her a much needed glass of water and going back to her with a handkerchief in hand.

Mila thanked him immensely, cleaning her nose and shrinking herself into a cocoon, her tears just barely stopping.

"Your Highness," Yuuri put a comforting hand on her shoulder and looked at her reflection, suddenly determined to bring back the smile on this little lady's face. "Do you have scissors?"

It was only a few days since Princess Mila came out of her quarters one sunny afternoon with her hair only reaching her chin.

The Princess wore her new haircut with grace and confidence, as if her true self had finally emerged. Her navy blue eyes now shined without being hidden and the shape of her jaw and cheekbones looked more defined than ever. She completely ignored the horror on people's faces and paid them no mind as they mourned the loss of such beautiful hair that once reached her waist.

It was only a few days since then, indeed, but Yuuri still managed to spot more than a handful of maidens around the palace with similar haircuts, gushing about the new trend that the Princess started.

A lady with lots of influence, was Tsarevna Mila.

He caught sight of her in the hallway once, surrounded by her friends and handmaidens. Their eyes locked, and the Princess sent a mischievous smirk his way, putting an index finger against her lips.

Yuuri smiled and did the same, assuring her that their secret is safe with him, then he continued on his way like nothing happened.

Of course, no one but him knew that that same radiant lady cried herself to sleep every night, but that was also one of their secrets.

"... I'm not certain. I thought she'd persecute me. At some point, she did suggest that I might be a spy..."

Leo snorted.

"Everything is quite more extreme with the Royals, isn't it?" Phichit laughed wholeheartedly.

"Outlandish, you mean," Michele gestured toward Yuuri. "Look at him, what could possess someone to accuse this man of being a spy? He can't say one convincing lie to save himself. Trust me, I'd know."

"The Tsesarevich, Altin, and I waited outside the whole time, mind you," Emil elaborated, giving his side of the story. "The situation got scarier every time his Highness cursed. Dear God, Yuuri, I thought I'll never see you emerge out of that room..."

Yuuri had found Michele on his way to visit him in the servants' ward and, not quite shocked by Sara's absence, he made sure to be the one to accompany him to his final medical examination. Sara had been cooped up in her room for days, even her brother's health being of no concern to her now that she was dealing with a broken heart.

It had only been two weeks, but fortunately, the colour on his guard's face had returned and he could barely see the bruises anymore.

The three of them found Phichit and Leo lounging in the empty infirmary, and upon hearing bits of the latest bizarre news Emil was telling the Italian guard, the Thai Lord demanded to know all the details. Yuuri still wasn't sure how, exactly, he had succumbed to their urging and began giving an inside account of what had taken place at the breakfast with Lady Lilia four days ago.

Yuuri couldn't honestly remember the last time he had gossiped with his friends, or the last time he even had friends, for that matter.

"I'm surprised you didn't have better things to do..." Michele commented, as Phichit was the one checking his injuries, which was a nursemaiden's job.

"It's alright," Phichit assured him. "I'm painfully unoccupied at the moment."

"Weren't you heading to the town, Phichit-kun?" Yuuri recalled.

"I was advised against it." The Lord did not seem too bothered by the fact. "I sent someone in my place for the supplies."

"I'd not count on that," Leo was sitting crossed legged on the floor, flipping through Phichit's sketchbook. "Very limited carriages going in and out today."

"Speaking of which," Michele turned to Emil and him, tone more serious. "You two should follow suit. If possible, postpone your in-town activities to a later time."

"I don't have any," Yuuri replied honestly. It's not that he was forbidden to go outside the castle, but he wasn't sure he was allowed to, either. The palace was big enough to never make Yuuri yearn for a change of air and ask for it anyway. "But is something the matter?"

"Policy changes," Phichit replied distractedly. "It happens quite a few times a year."

"Changes?" Yuuri's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "But nothing major had happened since the mandatory school enrollment. I've been checking the archives regularly."

Even with how sudden that last policy was, and how it demanded to change the lives of countless families throughout the empire to adjust to the changes, there was little to no backlash at the time. The reception, if anything, was ardent.

"Blah," Michele made a disinterested noise. "You and your reading."

"Words travel faster than wind, and even the walls have ears." Phichit said dramatically, "Nothing has been implemented yet. However, good or bad, the news of an upcoming change is making the common folk restless. And the common folk's restlessness is, in turn, making the upper class anxious."

"I even heard the head of the chapel fearmongering the other day." Leo added, "It was quite unsettling."

"Most of what's being said are rumours, though," Emil said. "Besides, it happens every time and nothing ever comes out of it. It's just a silly safety measure at this point."

"That I know." Leo agreed.

"If something is being exaggerated for the sake of safety, I don't think it's silly." Michele chastised. "The outrage is real in a way that the news isn't. It's our job to enforce these measures."

"Not your job, Crispino." Phichit tightened a hand on Michele's shoulder, the smile he sent his way was unpleasant, to say the least. "I see one more wound on you any time soon and I'll show you some interesting ways to use a scalp."

Michele sat up a bit too stiffly at that, making Phichit move away with a devilish chuckle.

"Eh, Yuuri," Leo dropped the sketchbook and looked up, his eyebrows raising in confusion. "I thought you'd know more than all of us."

"Why would I?" Yuuri frowned, "It's not like anyone writes down rumours and words of mouth."

"Really?" Leo looked slightly surprised. "I thought that maybe his Majesty would mention something to you."

Yuuri felt cornered when four pairs of curious eyes stared him down.

"Uh, no, not at all." Yuuri fumbled. "We don't... talk about these matters."

Or talk at all, he wanted to add grimly.

Phichit looked far too innocent for the comment that came out of his mouth. "Too busy doing other things, I reckon."

Yuuri loved Phichit, the young lord was one of, if not the, closest people to him in the entire palace, but sometimes, sometimes Yuuri just wanted to strangle him.

"I think we're the safest we could be, considering everything," Yuuri said seriously. "Nothing would happen as long as we remain in the palace, correct?"

His companions muttered, hummed, and grunted their agreements, and they all left it at that.

Whatever was happening, Yuuri and the people he knew were worlds away from it. They lived in the imperial palace, after all, the home of the Tsar. Not only did it have the tightest security in the whole empire, but no one had immunity against mass attacks like Victor Nikiforov did. And it wasn't just because of his position, rather, it was more about the public's affection toward their Tsar.

Victor was loved by his people, to say the least. It was something that Yuuri never stopped hearing about. Minor cases aside, the majority of the people all but worshipped the ground he walked on and considered the mere fact of being born in his era a privilege.

And it's not like they didn't have a solid reason for such views. So far, Victor had accomplished more in his eight years of reign than any Tsar before him had.

So of course they'll be safe by default, Yuuri thought, and they'll continue to be as long as they remain living under the same roof as his Majesty.

Yuuri was staring outside the infirmary's window as he thought all this, a habit he might've picked up from the Tsar, or his aunt, he didn't really know.

He glanced at the clock above Phichit's head, not paying attention to the new piece of gossip they were now discussing - something about a knight's engagement to a handmaiden. Yuuri then looked back behind the glass, right at the palace gates.

His eyes narrowed.

The group of commoners he saw every morning had not dispersed yet, Yuuri saw, and their gathering in this torturous cold was starting to make less sense, since the touring hours had ended a long time ago.

Yuuri did not know what was happening between him and Victor anymore.

More than a couple nights of the Taking had come and gone, and given what happened the night Yuuri emptied his heart's contents and cried himself to exhaustion in Victor's arms, something should have shifted between them. Or rather, some progress should have been made.

Except, that's far from what was happening.

He read plenty that time around, and Yuuri found himself immersed in every line in a way he forgot to ever since he started reading that book fourth months ago.

The story of La Chute du Prince Charmant was reaching its climax, at last, and Yuuri was beginning to realize how astoundingly different the hero was from where he began his journey.

Pierre's development was surely something enlightening to witness. He had gone from the overly cocky, pretentious, and womanizing prince who thought the world was at his feet, to a humble, courageous, and considerate gentleman who would do anything just to a put a smile on Cecile's face. Cecile, a duchess from a foreign nation, was the heroine of the story, who was far from Pierre's reach, who had rejected each and every one of the prince's advances with exclamations of her burning hatred toward him. But in fact, as it was revealed a few chapters ago, Cecile had loved the prince for years, most passionately, but she had been guarding her heart the whole time from the hurt that he would surely cause her.

"Yuuri," in his concentration, Yuuri failed to notice how close the Tsar was to him, his hot breath fanning against his cheek. "I've come to believe that the longer I look at you, the more beautiful you become."

Yuuri froze, his reading coming to an abrupt halt, his eyes piercing holes into the page in front of him, all the words written down turning into a disjointed mess.

Yuuri honestly, truly didn't know what was happening between him and Victor anymore.

They had spent months and months like this, following a routine that scarcely changed. Yuuri wasn't a stranger to Victor's exaggerated compliments, each one more dramatic and less believable than the last, as Victor never failed to come up with new ones. Yet, lately, Yuuri found it much harder to ignore them, to discard them, to not allow them to make his heart pound in his chest to a point of pain.

And it wasn't just the compliments, Yuuri had to admit. It was everything about the man.

Victor had always been in the back of his mind, early as the first day he arrived in the palace, but nowadays, thoughts about the Tsar took over the very front of his brain. It was absolutely obscene. All of a sudden, every conversation he had somehow lead to Victor, everything he focused on reminded him of Victor, everything he thought of someway or another was related to Victor.

The chants in his head, before he realized it, had turned from his former teacher's name to Victor, Victor, Victor, Victor, Victor, Victor.

With a gulp, Yuuri resisted the urge to turn his head and see what sort of expression was taking over the man's face this time. He was still playing with Yuuri's hair, never doing anything else, never touching.

The Tsar hadn't touched him, not even once, since the night Yuuri cried in his arms.

Yet, the single act of playing with his hair was affecting Yuuri more than it should.

There was just something about it that made Yuuri unable to sit still, something in the possibility that, at any moment now, Victor could wrap those strands he was stroking in a fist, tight and rough, and smash his lips against Yuuri's.

He put the book securely on his lap, dazed.

But shouldn't Victor be doing that? Yuuri thought, knowing that he won't stop him if he did. It's not like he didn't want him to.

However, the truth of the matter was that Victor wasn't. In fact, he hadn't even attempted to. Not with a single lingering touch. Not with a single advance. Nothing.

Perhaps, his early doubts made their ugly appearance once again, perhaps the emperor had lost interest when it comes to that aspect. The sex they had at that time must've not been that great to prompt him to want more.

'I want nothing more than to erase that night from my memory.' Victor had said, after all.

There was no other way of explaining it. Yuuri shouldn't have minded, considering his early unwillingness, but he found that he did.

Any sane person in his position would know what that means; less influence, a less secure standing, and a more unstable relationship with the Tsar. But Yuuri, Yuuri never thought of any of that. He only focused on his own desires that weren't finding any release, the untamable want that consumed his body whenever he looked at Victor, whenever he thought of Victor.

This is what people experienced whenever they met beautiful and attractive people, Yuuri supposed, but his urges were all directed toward Victor, and no one else but Victor.

Furthermore, did his Majesty not feel the same way? Didn't he have similar desires and needs? Yuuri didn't know, but maybe he had his harem long enough to satisfy and lessen that ever-growing appetite. Unlike Yuuri, who had but only one taste of it and sometimes thought he was close to dying from sudden lapses of hunger.

Or, Yuuri's throat was suddenly dry, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. He slowly turned his head toward Victor, his eyes examining the man's face, his mind going haywire. Had he found someone else?

Victor blinked at the attention he was receiving, but he still summoned a gentle smile that took over his entire face. "Something on your mind, sweetheart?

Thump, thump, thump, thump, his heart begged upon hearing that endearment. His mind was now completely empty of all the previous thoughts he was having, as it made way for the desires that began to flower once again.

"Nothing at all." Yuuri answered too quickly, trying his hardest to go back to the book, his cheeks aflame.

"What is it, Yuuri?" Victor chuckled. "Do you not like to be called that?"

Yuuri swallowed a bile in his throat, feeling like he had been caught doing something criminal.

"N-No, of course not." Yuuri said, "You… you can call me whatever you want."

"And you can, too." Victor said softly, "My name would be nice." The Tsar drew closer again, "You say it so prettily. It makes me love the sound of my name."

I'd rather not, Yuuri wanted to plead, not because the last two instances he did were when Yuuri was in bed, desperate and needy, and when he was amidst having a mental breakdown, but because saying the Tsar's name so casually meant crossing a line that Yuuri wasn't sure he wanted to cross.

Yet, his traitor of a heart was still pounding happily, and his face was still burning red. Yuuri wanted to curse himself aloud.

"Say, darling," Victor, with his hands flat on the bed behind him, and upper body inching closer and closer until they shared their breathing space, seemed like he had caught a rare fish. "You like it when I compliment you, am I right?"

I don't know, he wanted to scream.

"I- I suppose…" Yuuri avoided the Tsar's stare. "It makes me slightly nervous."

"Is that so? I'm glad it does." Something about Victor's smile then just wasn't right. "Has anyone ever made you this nervous before, Yuuri?"

"What?"

Victor merely stared at him, wanting an answer.

"Uh," he gulped, taken aback. "No. Not in this way."

Yuuri was being completely honest, but even if he had, at some point in his life, met someone like that, he was sure he wouldn't mention it.

"I'm very flattered." Victor once again reached to play with his hair, now looking at him with a gaze so intent and warm Yuuri did not believe he heard the next words coming out of his mouth.

"Yuuri, who's Yuuko?"

Huh? Yuuri's eyes widened, shocked beyond belief. Huh?!

How did he know?

How long had he known?

Who told him?

Is he angry?

Will he punish me?

"You were saying their name." Victor clarified, seeing the surprise on Yuuri's face. "In your sleep. You were crying and saying their name."

Victor had not been asleep that night, Yuuri realized, horrified that he managed to do what he did and have the Tsar be a witness.

"My sister." Yuuri said the first lie that came to mind.

'Jealousy drives a man mad.' The Madams used to say, encouraging it, even, when it came to his dancing.

But being playful while performing was one thing, and telling his owner about a woman in his past was another.

Yuuko was certainly not a lover to him, but the truth was still something that he couldn't tell the Tsar about. The Madams had always warned him to never purposefully provoke his masters, to never put their ownership in question. It was considered one of the rules that should never be broken.

And it's not like they needed to tell him; Yuuri had heard and read countless mortifying stories of what jealous Tsars had done to their concubines in the past, and he did not wish to experience any of those things himself.

Instead of being relieved like Yuuri expected, Victor's eyes turned half-lidded, sadness clear on his face. "Oh, Yuuri." He said helplessly, just like the time he stood in front of him as he cried, "I'm so sorry, darling. You must miss her greatly."

You are a liar. Michele's voice in his head shamed him, and he deserved it. For what Yuuri saw, Victor didn't look like he had been jealous, just curious, and Yuuri's assumptions about him, once again, were groundless.

It's not like Victor had any reason to be. He had heard of so many people wanting him, had noticed many eyes displaying intentions that were anything but pure, yet not a single person had actually approached Yuuri that way. No one dared to, no one would dare to.

Victor won't find the need to feel jealous because he wasn't an insecure man, and furthermore, the castle residents weren't suicidal.

Yuuri looked down at the book in his lap.

He didn't know where the sudden courage came from, perhaps it was the desperate need to change the subject, but nonetheless, when he took a careful look at the pages again, he remembered something that had been bothering him since the day Michele had attacked him in that hallway, something that had been on the tip of his tongue every single Taking night since then, and he couldn't stop himself from finally confronting the Tsar about it.

Yuuri turned to look at Victor in the eye. "What did Pierre tell Cecile before he left for the battle?"

The Tsar blinked a couple times, his hand dropping down and lips widening into an innocent simper. "Who's Pierre? Who's Cecile?"

Yuuri was not sure if he meant it as a jape, or his question was completely serious.

He had spent countless hours in that room, for almost four months, doing nothing but read about these two, who were approximately mentioned in every single paragraph.

Instead of being confused, Yuuri felt exasperated, angry.

His suspicions had been true. All that time and effort he had spent, all the doubts that ran through his mind, all the fears of not reading efficiently were for nothing. Because the emperor, apparently, had not been listening to a single word the whole time.

"It doesn't matter." Yuuri closed the book with a loud thud. "If it bores you that much, you could have said so. I can read something else."

The Tsar stared at him affectionately. "Oh, darling, it won't make any difference."

Yuuri frowned, his irritation growing more as the Tsar pulled the book out of his hand, taking a minute to thoughtfully examine the cover.

"In the end, Pierre and Cecile get married." He told Yuuri all of a sudden, shocking him silent, "Their wedding takes place in the most beautiful chapel there ever was, the same chapel Cecile saw in her dream at the opening chapter. Pierre cries when she finally accepts his hand."

Yuuri gaped in disbelief. "He does?"

"A man in love has a heart as fragile as glass, Yuuri." The Tsar said, "All men are capable of crying, even someone with a seemingly impenetrable exterior as Pierre. That's why it's called 'La Chute'. Cecile manages to bring him down from his high pedestal, until he has nothing but his heart worn on his sleeve."

"But Pierre never reacted to anything emotionally; it's one of his character traits," Yuuri snatched the book from Victor's hand, flipping through the pages hurriedly, unaware of what he was doing. "He fought as a gladiator. He participated in a war battle. He protected Cecile from a wild boar. All without even flinching! Upon reading his aunt's will, he did not even mourn. When his past lovers cried and expressed their hurt, he did not acknowledge them. I refuse to believe that man shed a single tear… And if he did, it would be grossly out of character." Yuuri continued looking through the pages, oblivious to how Victor's eyes widened more and more as he listened to him.

"But Yuuri, he was never emotionally invested in any of these things..." the Tsar argued, "He had pursued that woman for six years. You had noticed, didn't you, how he was slowly morphing into an entirely different man because of it."

"But Pierre's intentions had never been that pure or genuine in those six years. He had pursued her not because of love, but because she had posed as a challenge-"

"And that's where you are wrong." Victor pointed an accusing finger at him. "Only in Cecile's head, he did. Perhaps even he himself did not realize how deep his love was until the moment she had relented and it all came pouring down on him, don't you think?"

"His was not love. It was an obsession." Yuuri was at the end of the book when he read a part of the last few paragraphs. 'The pavement grazed his numb knees,' it read, 'Dust gathered around his frame, his hands covered his face, and Pierre felt his whole body shattering as his tears fell-' Yuuri then paused, finally snapping himself out of his excited state. "You… You have read this before."

Victor seemed startled, even slightly hurt, if his drawn eyebrows gave away anything. Was it something Yuuri said?

"I… I have." Victor recovered, looking at him apologetically, "And every single book in my library. Truth be told, it's one of my favourite novels."

Yuuri looked in front of him, thinking of a thousand questions, then looked back and voiced only one. "Then why did you not say so?"

He chose the most loaded one, Yuuri saw, because Victor looked away, his mind working on what to say, the smile that never left his face nowhere to be seen.

"You refused to talk." Victor finally confessed, not meeting Yuuri's eyes. "I did not even know what your voice was like. It drove me mad." He covered the side of his face with a hand, chuckling bitterly to himself. "I'm glad you enjoyed the novel that much, because this is the longest you had ever talked to me."

Yuuri sat still as a statue, completely speechless.

Some things that he had always dwelled over were finally starting to make sense, especially things that had happened the first night Yuuri entered the Tsar's quarters, things that then seemed nothing but incomprehensible.

And it was wrecking Yuuri's mind, to say the least.

It was true that Victor wouldn't know what Yuuri's voice was like, because back then, Yuuri did not say a single word during the entire visit.

Yuuri did remember how, when he was lying in Victor's bed after his attack, Victor seemed startled to hear Yuuri speak.

And Yuuri did, he did remember that Victor stopped interrupting his reading only when the one-sided conversations turned mutual.

Instead of being astonished by the unexpected revelations, or flattered by the way Victor seemed to treasure something as insignificant as his words, Yuuri felt guilty.

Because Victor looked sad, and Yuuri didn't want him to look sad. Ever, he found himself thinking.

"My handler told me not to speak unless you gave me permission," Yuuri told him, "I'm sorry. I didn't know." I didn't know you held me in such high regard. There was no way I could have.

Victor chuckled heavily at the information, "What a treacherous woman, that handler."

Yuuri stared at the book resting on his lap, at the carpet where Makkachin usually sat watching them, at the window that opened to the ocean, and then his eyes fixed at the giant clock in the corner of the room like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Yuuri didn't know what to do in this situation, he honestly didn't, even though he desperately wanted to.

Victor followed his gaze, and he sighed upon finding the clock. "It's getting late, isn't it?"

No, it isn't. Yuuri wanted to protest, growing tired of this aimless game. I'm not supposed to leave until the morning. Why do you always want me to leave?

The unspoken words were still there, however, and no matter how comfortable the Tsar seemed in his presence, Yuuri couldn't ignore the silent command he was giving him.

Yuuri stood, reluctantly so, moving to place the book on the nightstand, like he always did when he was dismissed.

Victor, however, went to grab it before he did. "It's time to put this away." He announced, standing also, the book closing in his hand, perhaps to never be opened again. "I'm sorry for ruining the ending for you, Yuuri. I didn't know you were enjoying it."

"It's alright." Yuuri said faintly, not minding the fact, because the conversation they had finally resolved one of the many mysteries surrounding the man.

The new portrait of Victor Nikiforov that was assembling in Yuuri's mind was starting to look even more different, but closer to reality, nonetheless.

"I did say that this novel was one of my favourites," Victor told him as he walked towards his bookshelves, putting it back in its place. "But now nothing else shall compete."

But why do you still look so sad? Yuuri was desperate to inquire.

Victor did not put the rose back between its pages, he noted. In fact, Yuuri hadn't seen that rose again ever since Victor plucked it out of the book and, for some reason, he felt strangely glad.

They then stared at each other, Victor by the shelves still, and Yuuri at the foot of the bed, and none of them made to move.

Yuuri was wearing his spectacles then because, four weeks ago, Victor all of a sudden announced that he would not have Yuuri squinting for even one more minute and called a handmaiden, only to send that poor woman all the way to Yuuri's room in the harem to retrieve them. Since then, Yuuri made sure to always have them on his person, just in case of another embarrassing situation like that.

And he was glad he had them on, since Victor's full profile seemed much more clear, the details of the Tsar's face no longer vague from afar, his features more defined, his hair looking even softer, his eyes as pretty as ever but not just a stroke of colour from that distance. He would never tire of Victor's beauty, because what a view it was, Yuuri thought, even after all this time.

Yuuri said nothing, even though he wanted to. Victor's sadness seemed to dissipate a little when they conversed, but Yuuri just didn't know what else to say.

"I've delayed you enough." Victor talked for him, stepping closer to where Yuuri was standing. "You may go."

Now that Victor was so close to him, closer than considered necessary, Yuuri had to bend his head upward to meet his gaze.

Something about it was so intense Yuuri had to look away, lest he'd burst in his spot and do something idiotic.

At the corner of his vision, Yuuri once again spotted the painting, standing in the corner of the room, untouched and neglected as ever, dust beginning to gather on its edges. The eyes of the man in the painting, now that he could see it more clearly, did seem slightly different. They were Japanese eyes, for certain, but not exactly Yuuri's.

'It's as if he never paid attention to them.'

"Victor?" Yuuri found himself saying the Tsar's name before he could stop himself.

"Yes, my Yuuri?"

Victor sounded so loving, so warm, that Yuuri couldn't resist looking at him again, the words dying in his throat.

Although his voice was like that, the man's face as he stared Yuuri down held something so raw that made his heart race and his hands sweaty.

Victor's voice lowered to an intimate whisper. "Do you perhaps want something?"

Hold me. He wanted to order. Kiss me. Make me yours in the only way I want you to.

But of course, Victor did none of these things, no matter how long Yuuri looked at him, waiting, making sure to mirror Victor's exact expression.

Yuuri hated it, he hated whatever reason behind the Tsar not doing anything.

He managed a weak smile. "Goodnight."

Yuuri did not see the slight disappointment on Victor's face, because he was already walking past him and toward the door, clueless and frustrated.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Victor called after him, sad as ever.

The Grand Duchess, her husband, and their two children had only been visiting the day Yuuri was invited for breakfast with Lady Lilia, but their stay had stretched longer than he had predicted.

Such a long visit, now surpassing two weeks, should not seem necessary, since their palace was also located in St. Petersburg and was not that far from the Tsar's. But it could not be helped, for a safety protocol was officially being enforced in light of recent events and they were advised to not leave until further notice.

Yuuri should not have been concerned at all, given that he, like Emil, knew that this was nothing but a silly measure, but he was not blind.

He was not blind to how the castle residents exited the palace less and less frequently, how the guards patrolling the gates grew in numbers, and how the Tsar did not leave for his daily business without being accompanied by a small army of men.

And most importantly, Yuuri wasn't blind to how more commoners appeared outside the palace gates every day.

The last thing Yuuri remembered was feeling overbearingly cold.

Then he was thrust into the hallway leading to Victor's quarters, another night of the Taking coming before he blinked. Yuuri stood in front of Victor's bedroom's door, defunct and hypnotized, feeling something ominous from the other side in hefty waves, all of it unmistakably directed toward Yuuri.

Something oozed out that was as inviting as it was repellent, and suddenly Yuuri was attuned and awakened, hand reaching out to turn the knob before he thought better of it.

"Yuuri." Like a doll pulled by its puppeteer, Yuuri's body slipped into the room, hurtling into strong arms before having a chance to take in his surroundings. Rough hands grabbed at his waist and a broad chest pushed against his feverishly. "My beautiful, precious Yuuri. I've missed you. I missed you. I missed you so much."

Yuuri's breaths came out in dissonance. He couldn't see a single thing as the entire scene around him was smeared in incremental darkness. But a dash of silver hair and a hint of blue eyes was everything Yuuri needed to see before throwing his arms the man's neck. It was Victor, that's all he needed to know. It was Victor, and he wanted Yuuri.

"I cannot bear it anymore." Victor's voice, reedy and visceral, sent chills down his spine. "I love you. I've loved you since the moment I first saw you. I love you more than anyone. More than anything."

The confession felt so natural to Yuuri's ears, like he had heard it coming from the Tsar's mouth many times before. The mere words made Yuuri sigh contently, the tiny sound turning into a whine in his throat a second later.

That alone was what broke Victor's restraint, as the Tsar finally, finally began replenishing Yuuri's lips, sealing them with his own and ridding them of their unfair despondency.

Oh, yes. Yuuri kissed him back like he had been starving for it. At last. At last. Oh, at last-

Yuuri woke up gasping, so loudly his throat hurt.

Panicked and already sitting up, he grabbed the end of his sheets, tossed them aside in a haste, and saw, with horror, that the front of his trousers was soiled.

He put his hands on the sides of his face, squeezing his cheeks and groaning in utter shame.

He… he had an orgasm dreaming about Victor merely kissing him.

And Victor… Victor was saying these things, things that he won't ever say in real life, things that Yuuri would never want to hear.

Yuuri felt so embarrassed he wanted to die.

His entire body shivered, and Yuuri looked toward his fireplace, heeding the smothered fire he had forgotten to renew before he collapsed on his bed.

With a sigh, he began to move out of his comfortable position, knowing he had to change his clothes and make a fresh fire before he froze to death in his own room.

He couldn't shake off the anger and frustration as he worked, because Yuuri felt humiliated; even remembering that godforsaken dream made his cheeks red. He had heard of this sort of thing happening to adolescent boys, boys who were as old as Otabek and younger, not someone like him, a twenty year old grown man, and a sex slave to boot.

Yet, just the memory of how sinfully good it felt was enough to arouse him all over again.

Irritated, he tossed one last log into the fireplace and watched it burn hotly, just like his unsedated desires.

And at that moment, Yuuri finally made a decision to put an end to this absurdness.

The next time I'm with him, he told himself, determined, all resolve breaking. I will make him touch me. I won't leave before I do.

As expected, Yuuri couldn't get a blink of sleep after that.

"You are very kind, sir." The woman next to him said for the fourth time during that walk. "I'm sorry for troubling you, really."

It was one of those windy afternoons when the dark was barely settling and the majority of the castle residents were either in their rooms taking naps to relieve the tiredness of the day, or doing chores that they didn't have time for later at night.

Yuuri, however, was too restless to remain in his room, so he decided to stroll around the seemingly empty castle, finally finding some time alone with himself, Emil having been dismissed for the day.

That's when he spotted one of Victor's handmaidens, and curiosity got the best of him.

The Tsar had many, many servants who were always by his side, flocking around him, ready at all times for any demand he would or could have. Yet, this one was special, Yuuri knew, because this one was without a doubt Victor's favourite.

She was one of the four handmaidens who always prepared him for the Taking every fortnight, the one who told Yuuri how Victor felt during his own sessions, and she was the one who gave him the towel and pushed Yuuri to enter Victor's washroom that day.

She was also the only one Victor bothered to exchange words with, no, had conversations with. Whenever Victor needed to dress, whenever Victor had a random chore, it was that woman who got called, and the Tsar always spared at least a few minutes to chat happily with her, like close companions rather than master and servant.

And, admittedly, it made Yuuri envious, for he never stopped struggling when it came to figuring out how to talk with the Tsar like a proper human being.

She always made it a point to treat Yuuri with kindness. The sort of kindness he received from her, however, always felt like it had hidden intentions behind it.

Because more or less, that handmaiden looked at him as if she knew something he didn't, and it amused her.

And Yuuri wondered, had always wondered what it was, since the Tsar must've confided in her in a way he would never do with Yuuri.

"It's nothing, miss." Yuuri told her, "Besides, this basket seemed very heavy."

"Oh, please call me Bella." Pretty blue eyes, as navy as the silky skirts she was wearing, narrowed sweetly. "I am soon to be a missus, you see." She held her hand in front of her proudly, her fingers separating to reveal a glinting silver band. "I'll be happy to lose the title as quickly as possible."

Yuuri eyed the ring, awed at the sight. "Congratulations, Bella."

"Thank you, Yuuri," nothing about her gratefulness seemed forced. "And I apologize for constantly smiling inappropriately; I just can't help myself!"

Something about that woman's joy, so completely foreign to him, made Yuuri chuckle in amazement. "Smile as much as you want."

"Is that so?" she laughed back, "Can I boast as much as I want as well? Because I feel like I might explode otherwise."

Slightly uncomfortable, but still curious, Yuuri adjusted the basket of clothes in his hands and said, "Go ahead, please."

"Oh, he's such a perfect man, my betrothed!" the word made Yuuri's heart sink, but she continued, unguarded. "Considerate beyond words. Charming beyond limits. Handsome beyond belief. And he's from a very respected Noble house on top of it all. What more could a woman ask for?" she wrapped her hands together and brought them to her chin, looking so much like a smitten woman it was slightly comical. "My darling knight. He might be overly proud at times, but he's humble when he needs to be. You must have heard of him, haven't you?" she didn't even wait for Yuuri to answer. "Of course you have! He is, after all, his Majesty's most capable knight. No one in this castle, no, empire, is capable of disarming him. Just thinking of being called 'Mrs. Leroy' brings a blush to my face!"

Yuuri couldn't help how his smile slowly turned genuine, all suspicions gone as he began to take a liking to her, "Mister Leroy is a very fortunate man, then."

"No, Yuuri, no," she grabbed onto his arm, grinning, "The fortunate one is I. Oh, our romance, Yuuri, it's something you can never even imagine-" she paused, laughing sheepishly at herself, "How silly of me to say that..."

"No, no," Yuuri assured her, feeling very amused and wanting nothing other than to hear her talk more about her happiness, her love. Listening to Bella was like reading a very unrealistic romance novel. It kind of made him think the world wasn't such a dark place, after all. "Don't stop on my account..."

"Yuuri, I'm talking like you don't understand; I forgot who you were for a second." Bella explained, abashed, "But taking things into account, our romance comes quite short, doesn't it?" she blushed, giggling away, "What you and his Majesty have, after all, is the stuff of dreams..."

In his shock, Yuuri's feet stopped moving, his walk coming to a sudden stop and the basket almost falling from his grip.

His eyes almost bulged out of his head as Yuuri stared at her, countless thoughts thundering in his head spontaneously. What in the world is she talking about? Does she not know? Had Victor not told her?!

Bella took no notice of his reaction, for her eyes detected a figure standing at a corner of the hallway and everything else was abruptly forgotten. A dazzling smile made its way to her face, her eyes warming with nothing but pure, unconditional love.

"Isabella."

The voice came from a very tall, very muscular man a few feet in front of them, and from what Yuuri could tell by his outfit, he was definitely a royal knight.

"I shall leave you two alone." Yuuri all but dashed out of the hallway, leaving the couple alone without hearing Bella's response, his heart still racing, his breathing still haggard, and his brain still throbbing with conflicted thoughts.

Before he completely left them, Yuuri took one glance behind his shoulder and couldn't help but see some sort of familiarity in the way Leroy stared at his fiancé, his eyes all but glittering, his smile golden, and his hand soft and loving on her cheek.

Yuuri was exiting the laundry room, mindless of the people washing their clothes behind him, when he heard it for the first time and almost didn't believe it.

"Yuuri."

Startled, he slowly turned, as if a ghost had spoken to him, a ghost that, when she was alive, had never once uttered his name, had never once addressed him with something that wasn't derogatory or belittling.

Having just washed her clothes, her yellow skirt was tied at her side, parts of it wet and turning orange. Her slim calves were now exposed all the way to her knees. Yuuri never noticed how pale she truly was until then.

"I need to speak to you. Privately." Bianca said, her tone akin to a plea. She nodded her head toward her right. "Follow me."

"No." Yuuri answered her bluntly, walking in the opposite direction as if this exchange never took place.

He was halfway back from where he came from when Yuuri heard frantic footsteps behind him. "Yuuri," Bianca rasped out, running to catch up to him. Hearing her say his name wasn't any less unsettling the second time. "I do not intend to hurt you!"

She had done enough of that already; there was no way Bianca could hurt him more than she already had. It was the fact that Yuuri didn't want to look at her face that made him so distant and cold.

"I just want to speak to you..." she whispered a curse, grabbing him by the elbow and whirling him around. "Stop avoiding me like I'm some sort of disease, damn it!"

Bianca was a tall woman and almost reached Yuuri's height, but he still felt like he was looking down at her when their faces came only centimetres apart. Two pairs of brown eyes, one much more empty and blank than the other, locked together, unfaltering, the events that occurred between the two making it seem like they'd known each other for a lifetime.

Up close, Yuuri could see the full extent of her disheveledness, and what an uncanny transformation it was. Bianca was nothing but a shell of her former self; the past five months had surely drained the soul out of her, slowly and painfully, leaving a woman who reeked of sadness, despair, and defeat. Her short hair was neglected and unkempt, the puffy eyes and hollow cheeks became a permanent part of her face, and her body no longer looked healthy, no, if anything, it looked fragile and breakable.

"In a way, you are." Yuuri replied, not even slightly apologetic. He snatched his elbow from her grip easily, but he made no move to keep walking or make more distance between them. Certainly, she'd take it as a sign of weakness if he did.

"Listen, you... you-" Bianca clenched her teeth and, with visible effort, stopped herself from cursing him. "Yuuri," she exhaled his name. It gave him nothing but goosebumps. "I… The New Year is approaching, and I'll be departing from the imperial palace in less than two weeks."

Yuuri answered with a quirk of his eyebrow, wondering why she was telling him something he was already aware of, something that Yuuri was counting the days for.

"It's nothing I haven't been prepared to face. In fact, it's a miracle that I've managed prolong my stay this far..." Bianca's lashes fluttered in exhaustion. "But as it is, I might regret it for the rest of my life if I left without apologizing to you first."

Yuuri wanted to laugh in earnest.

What is this madness? He thought to himself. What is the world coming to?

The Bianca he knew would never consider apologizing, because she'll know that Yuuri wouldn't want it, would have never considered it, and would have never asked for it even if it was presented to him. The Bianca he knew would be aware that nothing she does or try to do will erase what she had done.

Instead, his disbelief came out in the form of a tight smile, which Bianca had taken for permission to proceed. For some reason, Yuuri didn't stop her.

"I'm not a heartless woman." Was the first thing Bianca said to explain herself, and Yuuri strongly begged to differ. "I've always known what I was doing was wrong and unjust. And trust me, believe me when I say that I'll forever regret what I had done." She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders."I apologize to you, Yuuri. I apologize for all the hurt I had caused you, I apologize for every instant my control slipped." Bianca chuckled, wincing like she was in physical pain. "And I'll have you know… I've never once believed in witchcraft."

Yuuri's jaw clenched. Useless, he wanted to shout. All these words are useless.

He'd never want Aki to apologize for giving him years of suffocating loneliness, the clergy for being the one to force Yuuri to escape, the merchant for stripping him from his dreams, the Noble for kickstarting his four years of pure misery, or the Madams for ruining him.

Yuuri didn't want an apology, no matter the person uttering it, no matter the reason behind it.

But Yuuri desperately wanted, for once in his life, to understand.

"Why?" he bit out, trying his hardest to not show any change of expression, no matter how angry, how vexed he was. "Why did you do it?"

"I knew it was wrong." She confessed, "But… but there was… there was this anger, this resentment inside me," her hands tightened into fists by her sides. "All directed towards you, towards the Tsar, that I could never control. Doing all these things to you was the only safe way I could let it out, the only way I could think of in my helpless state."

Again, Yuuri heard nothing he wasn't already aware of. It frustrated him even more. "You talk vaguely."

She shook her head. "You do not want to hear a clearer explanation."

He grabbed her arm, and if possible, brought their faces even closer together, giving Bianca a start. His grip was shaking in barely hidden rage. "Trust me. I do. I'll never forgive you if you don't tell me."

"I don't want your forgiveness, no more than you want my apology." She hissed through pursed lips. "All I ask of you is one request. You can choose to not to-"

"Tell me why and I might consider it." Yuuri said, desperate to know the truth. "Otherwise, I'll leave right this instant."

That seemed an effective enough of a threat, as she relented once Yuuri loosened his grip.

He watched her as she looked straight into his eyes with increasing apprehension, as if she was seeing a window to all her past mistakes. He watched her suffer as she went through the memories, trying to bring her reasons back to life.

And at last, the long-awaited words started to pour out.

"I've always known." Bianca smiled mournfully. "I've known since the moment I first saw you enter the harem. I knew I was doomed." Tears were slowly accumulating in the corner of her eyes. "I knew I had no other choice but to hate you. I knew he wanted you, and only you, the night he entered the harem, looked at each of us, and left because you weren't there. I mean, how could I not have known it was you his Majesty was looking for?

"I thought that, if I pushed hard enough and let him have you, then it would end, once and for all. That's it, he won't come back and make you his first favourite, he'd move on to the next. Even when it finally happened, I still had a sliver of hope that he won't choose you, that you weren't that special to him as I had feared. Oh, I've never been more mistaken in my life."

Her eyes travelled upward, like she was confessing her sins to God.

"You have no idea what it's like to love someone you know you could never have. Not in this life, and possibly not even in paradise. In fact... I don't think you know what love even is, Yuuri." She squeezed her eyes shut, letting one tear fall, then opened them again. "But let me enlighten you. It's wicked, it's possessive, and it's nothing but torment. It makes you hateful toward everyone and everything when you don't get anything back from it, nothing but pain. It's the sort of pain you've never dealt with before, the sort that makes you almost lose your sanity when you watch the person you love being taken by someone else right before your eyes. And you know then, you know that you could never do anything but watch helplessly, you know you cannot compete, that you're worlds away from ever coming close, that you're nothing but a fly at their presence.

"Ah, I've lived in poverty for as long as I could remember, scrapping for food, dignity nonexistent when faced with hunger." She smiled again, but everything about it bled sadness. "So, life after I was captured was significantly better. I've never once hated being a slave, truth be told. Not until I met you." Bianca finally let her eyes go back to Yuuri's face. "And here's your reason. Are you satisfied?"

"I mean this not as praise," Yuuri told her, bitter that his suspicions had been correct, that once again, nothing he heard had been new. "But I truly thought you're smarter than that." The conversation felt intimate, as if Yuuri was not only talking to her but to a part of him as well. "Falling in love with a man like the Tsar, who's so beyond a concubine's reach, who can dispose of you at any moment. A man whom you can never stand next to as an equal, who would never love you the way you want him to." His resentment toward her was carried heavily with his next words. "You should have known the moment you received your golden armlet, not the moment you saw me."

Bianca's laugh rang through every corner of the hallway it could reach.

Yuuri gaped at her, worried that the last bit of sanity finally left the other concubine, judging by the way her whole body was spasming.

"It's so like you to say this. It's so like you, damn it!" she was laughing still, but nothing about it had any hint of humour. It was nothing but manic laughter, crazy and unstable. If anything, it sounded like she was talking through pained sobs. Bianca breathed in, brought her hand to his cheek, and looked at him fondly. "It's so like you to think I was talking about the Tsar..."

Yuuri felt like his entire body had been dipped in ice cold water.

He became paralyzed, the tips of his fingers and toes stung, his eyes stopped blinking, and only then did he realize how close their faces were, how Bianca's lingering gaze slowly moved downward, settling on his parted lips.

She leaned in, almost sealing the small gap between them, and Yuuri did not know what happened after that.

Those few moments were a complete blur, since the next thing he saw was Bianca staggering a few feet away, nearly losing her balance and falling.

Yuuri looked down at his outstretched, flexed, and trembling hand, and feared that he might've hit her.

His fears did not linger because, after looking at her incredulously, he started to remember.

Bianca was about to kiss him. She was about to kiss him, him, Yuuri, her arch nemesis, after she had confessed her love, her love for him. And, his breath hitched, if Yuuri had not covered her mouth by his palm and pushed her away with all his strength, both of them would've been hanged the next morning.

"Now you know." Bianca spat as she steadied herself, her pride visibly wounded. "It's about bloody time you finally noticed."

"No." Yuuri shook his head, taking a few more steps backwards, still unnerved by how he had mindlessly allowed the distance between them to become so small just a few moments ago. "No. No! No!" he yelled, on the edge of being hysteric. "No! You lie! You're a liar!"

That's it, his mind justified. She tried to lure me into a trap, that's what she was doing. She tried to set me up and make me do an act of treachery so she can have me hanged. That's it. That's it.

"How dare you?!" Yuuri went on, "You can't, you can't say that! I won't believe it! Not after everything you had done-"

"Spare me." Bianca snarled. "The one thing worse than rejection is denial. I've been humiliated enough for one day. So spare me."

"No." Yuuri repeated, more to himself, because she sounded too genuine, too truthful. "No…"

"I've done my end of the bargain, so here's yours." Bianca spoke, trying her hardest to ignore Yuuri's harsh remarks. "My request is very simple. I just wish before I part with you forever, to hear you once say my name. That's… that's all I ask of you."

She stared at the floor, rubbing the length of her arm, her head ducked and her shame painstakingly apparent.

And at that moment, when he heard that mundane, pointless request coming from her mouth, as if it meant the entire world to her, Yuuri finally came in terms with the fact that Bianca wasn't lying.

He should have known. He should have known that that godforsaken dream was nothing but a terrible omen.

His subconsciousness wasn't trying to torture him, no, it had been trying to warn Yuuri of something that could make him lose his grip on reality, that could finally break him beyond repair.

And there was the confession he had dreamed of coming alive, but it came from a mouth that wasn't Victor's, in a way which he could never hear it again and not think of her and the anguish she caused him.

Bianca had managed, mercilessly, to turn one word that in every existing language stood for the same thing, into something polarly opposite, something that Yuuri would want to die before ever being exposed to it again.

Yuuri was able to collect his bearings long enough to allow the resentment to pour in, more intense than it had ever been before, which was something he could have never imagined was possible.

"Bianca of Rome..." his tongue protested with each syllable that passed through it. "I shall never forget you."

The surprise was clear on the concubine's face, and Yuuri was glad she looked at him with so much appreciation and gratitude, and perhaps the love she spoke of.

"You see, I have met countless cruel people in my life, as any other slave would," he told the unsuspecting woman, whose ears perked in interest, for Yuuri never spoke of that part of his past to anyone. Anyone. And it fit, it fit so well that Bianca was the one to hear about it. "I've met men who were more monstrous than human. I have been beaten until my bones broke. I have been sexually abused until I started loathing my own body. I have been starved. I have been betrayed. I have been abandoned. I have been broken both physically and mentally." He paused, and the next part came out with a voice Yuuri did not recognize as his own. "You, however, you somehow managed to be the most vile of them all." Yuuri's words were harsh, piercing, and they seemed to hit where it hurt the most. He took a moment to relish the pain she was exhibiting so generously. Good. Good. Go rot in hell. "You're correct, I've never loved, and perhaps never will. But if love means making another person's life utterly unbearable, forcing them to consider suicide time and time again, then I wish to never love anyone. All I feel, and all I've ever felt towards you, is searing hatred." He tilted his head, thinking of one final line to hurt her in a way it could be engraved in her memory. "I hope to never see your face again for as long as I live."

With that, feeling completely and wholly satisfied, Yuuri turned around and continued his way, paying no mind to the stream of broken sobs he left behind. Growing, growing in intensity, growing in volume, and, to his twisted pleasure, growing in heartache.

"You're cruel!"

Those were the last words Bianca had ever said to him, and even decades after that one windy afternoon, even when Yuuri would start to fade with age, losing bits and bits of the memories accompanying that woman, those words would be the only thing that he'd never forget from Bianca of Rome.

And he'd only reminisce about them, not an ounce of hatred or resentment left in his body toward her, because then, then Yuuri would know that those were the words that had changed his life.

You're crazy! At that moment, however, all he wanted to do was whirl around and shout after her. How can I be the cruel one after everything you've done?!

And there, at the end of the hallway, far enough to not be seen, but close enough to hear every word of the exchange that took place, Yuuri spotted a phantom of a person making their retreat, the end of their skirts visible to his eyes before they disappeared completely.

Skirts. Blue skirts. Blue silky skirts. The same blue silky skirts Victor's most favourite handmaiden was wearing earlier that day.

Yuuri hung his head and closed his eyes in despair.

It only took three hours.

Three hours for Isabella Yang to inform the Tsar of what she had witnessed. Three hours for his Majesty to make a decision. And three hours for the royal guards to come and escort Yuuri to the north wing.

'Words travel faster than wind,' Phichit had said wisely. 'And even walls have ears.'

"Yuuri..." Emil said through the enclosing silence. "Have you done something when I was not watching you?"

"Nothing you could have prevented." Yuuri assured him, his voice steady and disinterested.

"Yuuri..."

"Honest, Emil." Yuuri said, following a royal guard in front of them and hearing the rustle come from the other two behind. "Someone said inappropriate things to me. It would've happened regardless if you were there or not."

"Yuuri-"

"It was not an attack." Yuuri went on. "Not verbal. Not physical. So you won't-"

"Yuuri," Emil raised his voice, receiving questioning looks from the men surrounding them. Frustrated, he uttered the next words closer to Yuuri's ears. "I'm not worried about that, I'm worried about you."

Feeling strangely detached from the situation, Yuuri took his eyes off from the pretty glint on the guard's golden armour and met Emil's worried gaze, "But why would you?"

Yuuri hadn't anything wrong, had he? He had pushed Bianca away, had prevented her approach and rejected her twisted feelings toward him on the spot. Unless Bella chose to lie - which Yuuri doubted, since she had absolutely no reason to - he didn't need to worry about being punished.

"It's the look on the guards' faces that's troubling me..." Emil whispered so said guards won't hear. "I can tell from that alone that his Majesty is not calling you for a happy occasion."

Yuuri hummed in response.

Maybe it wasn't a happy occasion, maybe the Tsar just wanted to see Yuuri in order to inform him about Bianca's punishment. The Tsar, for sure, wouldn't be upset with him.

That's right. Victor wouldn't be upset. Yuuri was Victor's favourite. His darling. He made him read a book for four months just so he could hear the sound of his voice.

For a moment, those were so unlike Yuuri's normal and turbulent thoughts that it scared him. His anxiety was taking an unusual leave of absence, and he felt his whole character change without it constantly being there.

It was as if hurting Bianca had given him peace of mind, as if Yuuri had just been fed by her suffering, as if someone's misery was his new favourite meal and his appetite had finally been sedated.

He heard the whistling of hinges and Yuuri thought the servants really needed to oil the doors of the Tsar's quarters more often.

Soon he was walking down the narrow corridor once again, like he had done countless times before, but this time with no delay, no concerns, and no reflections, just plain curiosity and a desire to get it over with as quickly as possible. He realized, faintly, that he had been so absent-minded he missed what Emil tried to tell him before they were separated.

It will all dawn on him soon, Yuuri knew, but he was going to panic and maybe have another episode when he did so, therefore he didn't mind being in that nonchalant, eerie state. As long as it would have him, at least.

He stared at the mahogany door of Victor's bedroom, finally feeling something for the first time in three hours, and that something was disbelief.

Yuuri must have been imagining it, surely he must.

He shook his head a short second later, dismissing it as nothing but a hallucination.

Because there was no way he could actually have sensed something ominous behind Victor's bedroom door, coming in with hefty waves, all of it unmistakably directed toward Yuuri. Something as inviting as it was repellent.

That was the stuff of dreams.

Since he really didn't have much energy for exaggerated and loud courtesy, Yuuri savoured the warmth inside Victor's bedroom and was about to quietly state his greetings, but he stopped dead on his tracks before he could, taken aback by the scene before him.

He blinked wordlessly.

Wine glass in hand, the Tsar was only a few feet away, standing on the bearskin rug in the centre of the room, his side to Yuuri. Victor's feet were bare, he saw, his hair was wet and falling against his cheeks, two or three strands sticking on the area under his right eye. His face was slightly flushed, from the hot bath he took, or the wine he'd been drinking, Yuuri wasn't sure. He was wearing a silky sleeping attire as black as the kohl dressing Yuuri's eyes, the top unbuttoned all the way down.

Had he been pacing around the room? Was Victor really that impatient to see him?

Yuuri couldn't hold on to that idea much longer, because his thought process instantly broke apart when the naked skin of Victor's pale chest landed in his vision. His heart lurched, excitement coursed through his veins, and the lower half of his body really appreciated the unusual but delightful sight. Victor rarely allowed himself to look that casual, and it was just so undeniably attractive to him, possessively so, since no one could see Victor like that but him.

Moreover, he hadn't seen the Tsar naked since the night they first had sex, so Yuuri couldn't help but be entranced by the mere strip of skin and muscle, as pathetic as it was. Pathetic and silly, because Yuuri found that even the Tsar's feet, buried in the fur like that, looked smooth and white and delicate, and never before in his life did he care about anyone's feet.

Yuuri gulped, fighting the rampant thoughts running wild in his head, and forced his gaze to meet the Tsar's, his belated greetings on the tip of his tongue.

Then, the wine glass was being flung across the room.

The suddenness of the action made his breath catch. Yuuri blinked some more, his lips parting in shock. It should have reminded him of the time Victor threw another wine glass at the wall, shattering it to pieces in his rage, but it didn't. The glass did not break; Victor didn't throw it as much as he carelessly tossed it aside, like he wanted it out of the way.

It happened in less than a second, and with his now empty hand in the air, the Tsar beckoned him to come closer using only his forefinger, no words uttered as he looked at Yuuri sharply, unsmiling.

Something about that quick gesture he made, so unlike the usual attentive, talkative, and cooing Victor, made Yuuri obey him instantly, for it was a command more powerful than any words he could hear that night.

But Yuuri didn't seem to be obeying fast enough, because he barely managed to walk halfway there when the Tsar lost his patience and grabbed him by his arm, pulling Yuuri flush against his chest.

Nervousness found its home again, creeping into his body in alarm, but Yuuri appreciated that at least for now, he wasn't fully panicking.

"Are you upset?" Yuuri looked up in a daze, utterly confused. "Please tell me if you are, your-"

The Tsar's blue eyes twitched ever so slightly, whatever Yuuri had said seemed to do the exact opposite of what he intended, as Victor immediately silenced him with a hand touching his jaw, tilting it upward.

Yuuri's face began to heat up, partly because he felt chastised, and partly because Victor's touch was still as gentle as a lover's caress. Yuuri felt no threat, for some reason, and only focused on the proximity between them, reminding him of how badly he longed for any sort of contact.

Victor's eyes drew to his mouth, watching it like it was a jewel, and before Yuuri could tell him that no, he swears Bianca did not kiss him, Victor sealed the space between them with the firmest peck on the lips.

Yuuri couldn't even react by the Tsar leaned away and cupped Yuuri's cheek, thumbing at his lower lip and pulling it down with the pad of his finger. Some of the tension on his face dissipated, he saw.

He didn't know what came over Victor, why he seemed so agitated, or why he had kissed him like that, but Yuuri was painfully aware that their bodies were still glued together, the other man's nakedness now in direct contact with Yuuri's clothed chest. The ghost of Victor's lips still haunted his own and Yuuri's mind and body went astray with desire. Despite not acting like himself, soft and calm and attentive, it was Victor's unusual self, the upset and agitated and impatient, that had taken him to bed the last time.

And Yuuri wanted that, god, he wanted that.

Yuuri wasn't thinking, because who was he to fight such a ruthless pull? It had been a month, a month of long, indigent, and unfulfilling stares, a month of lewd thoughts and unsatisfied needs.

Controlled by those desires, Yuuri pushed on his feet, squeezed his eyes shut, and closed the distance between them once again, this time with a real kiss, a desperate and sure kiss that screamed of wanting, of wanting much more.

Yuuri inhaled a sharp, loud breath when Victor kissed him back instantly, almost desperately, the Tsar's hand slipping down to grab the small of Yuuri's back, pushing their bodies together in another soft collision.

The smacking of their lips, vigorous and rushed, the sucking, the nibbling, and the long presses felt so surreal. The heady breaths, audible as much as Yuuri could feel them against his own mouth, was something he imagined before in his dirty fantasies.

But he knew, he knew this one wasn't a dream, he knew by the feel of Victor's muscular shoulder blades when he ran his hands against them, he knew by the scent of roses and lavender filling his nose, by the twirl of a wet tongue inside his mouth, tinged with sweet wine, mapping it out to get the best reactions out of him as it can.

And it did, because Yuuri's breaths turned frantic, his throat released whining noises, and his hands grabbed on blindly, tightly on Victor's back, pulling in opposite directions in hopes of getting rid of the top and revealing what was beneath.

Yuuri's head craned back, Victor's mouth turning more and more forceful against his until it pained his neck to stay that way. Yuuri reached behind Victor's head, pulling him away by the hair to align them better.

Victor grunted, gasped quickly for breath, then proceeded to kiss him even more violently, his fingers digging into Yuuri's skin.

Victor liked that, Yuuri urged himself to remember for a later time, if there ever was any, and while he did so he felt himself being pulled forward, his body being led to the bed by Victor's long but uncoordinated steps.

Yes. Yuuri couldn't contain his excitement, and if his mouth wasn't being so deliciously occupied, he would've been shouting these words in triumph. Yes.

His past self would've been horrified to find him in this state, but Yuuri decided that his past self knew nothing and all he did was waste their time and deny him of this pleasure he so desperately craved.

Suddenly Victor's body slipped under him, their mouths parting with a shining thread of saliva. Yuuri managed to catch two long breaths before his body was pulled downward.

Yuuri fell on Victor's lap, the mattress dipping with their combined weight as their lips reconnected. His neck strained even more now, back arching lewdly and hands falling flat on the sheets behind Victor.

The Tsar grabbed him by the sides, his grip rough and slightly painful as he pulled Yuuri's body fore and up, all the way until they were in the middle of the bed. Yuuri's head was on top of Victor's this time, his arms wrapped around his neck to keep himself steady until he found himself locked in an embrace, an embrace of the best kind, of moving lips, seeking hands, and brushing groins.

Victor dragged Yuuri's already riled shirt to his armpits and promptly broke their ravaging kisses, head bending down and lips latching on one of Yuuri's nipples instead. He sucked on the bud and Yuuri threw his head back, moaning involuntarily.

Wanting to hear that sound again, Victor jerked his hips against his, and Yuuri couldn't hold himself back from making any filthy sounds after that. Especially when the Tsar grabbed his behind, squeezing but never pausing from his other movements, and Yuuri, at that point, was left writhing like an animal in heat.

It was obscene, it was obscene how insanely good Victor was at this. Yuuri was all but a captive under his deliberate and practised ministrations, every move driving away more and more of his wits. It was obscene, it was obscene because Yuuri might reach his climax just like that, just with those hands, mouth, and friction between their clothed cocks.

This was so unlike the dream. There were no sweet words, no love confessions, and no gentle touches. But this one was real, not ending with just one kiss, and Yuuri didn't intend it to stop anytime soon, either. His hands, knuckles white as they grabbed tightly on Victor's shoulders, found purpose when they, persistently this time, moved to discard the man's loose top.

Victor stopped everything he was doing and moved his arms behind him, allowing Yuuri to strip him while he did nothing but stare, his chest raised with his laboured breaths. It was that same look again on the Tsar's face, the look of a starving man eyeing a feast.

Yuuri tried, but he was unable to maintain eye contact when Victor was finally topless, the black silk sliding down and exposing the flex of his muscles in that position, and damn him, Yuuri loved Victor's shoulders, he could spend days carving them out and would never be satisfied.

His eyes might've not been able to revel in the sight, since Victor's lips were back the moment the man was freed, silencing him, distracting him, then leaving him in a daze when his mouth moved to suck under his jaw, forcing Yuuri to mewl when his teeth grazed the tender skin there. But Yuuri still wanted to feel them as his hands cupped at those gorgeous naked muscles, stroking every curve and dip, admiring, appreciating, memorizing.

And memorizing he did, because sometime later, as he lay naked on his back, breathless, panting, and his whole body moving up and down with every harsh inhale, Yuuri wouldn't be able to remember much from their lovemaking except for the feel of Victor's shoulders against his fingertips. His memory of it was so vivid he was sure he could sculpt a statue of it with his eyes closed.

The rest of it was a blur of limbs, of loud huffs and filthy moans. It was two bodies desperately seeking one another, skin sliding against skin, clothes being discarded quickly, bruising kisses stolen in a haste. It was of pinning hands, of begging, of a scream, and of an untamable, but finally attainable release.

His sanity was slowly returning the more he stared at the ceiling, the Tsar no longer lying beside him. With the absence of the other man's warmth and the sudden clarity after his ripping orgasm, Yuuri soon realized that his eyes and cheeks weren't wet due to sweat alone; tears had now joined them.

Because alas, with his sanity came the apprehension and fear and horror and that's when everything finally dawned on him.

The lighting in the room seemed to dim as he heard Victor move around the bed, the flames of the kindled candles swayed, forming dancing shadows against all surfaces, and Yuuri's tongue moved inside his closed mouth, in sync with the shadows, the words fighting to come out.

He shouldn't say it. He shouldn't mention it. He should forget it now and forever. He shouldn't even dare bring it up.

But of course, Yuuri did, because Yuuri was a foolish man who couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Please don't hang her."

Victor's padded steps halted for a heavy second before they went on, and that's about all the response Yuuri received.

"Her… her blood will be on my hands." Yuuri hid his face with the inside of his elbow, not daring to look at the Tsar in the eye. His request turned into a plea. "Please, please don't-"

Yuuri's body jerked when he heard the door of the washroom slam shut.

He did not say a single word, Yuuri thought, completely alone in the bedroom, worry and panic consuming him. Not then, and not once since I came here.

Yuuri wondered why sleeping with the Tsar always felt like a mistake.

Perhaps if Victor didn't look so dejected every time, he wouldn't, because Yuuri himself no longer cared. In fact, his problem wasn't the sex, his problem was anything but the sex.

As he watched Victor enter the room again, fully clothed and his hair still a mess from Yuuri's earlier fondling, as he watched his back when the emperor settled in front of the small table, producing a fresh serving of wine, as he watched him sit down on a couch with his legs crossed and face filled with nothing but dissatisfaction, Yuuri felt overwhelmed by how frustrating it was to not know what Victor wanted from him.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, Yuuri tried to not show his displeasure and focus instead on the red patch on the floor, a result of the wine that had spilt earlier. Yuuri had his trousers back on him and was about to slip into his top, his arms already inside the sleeves, but he couldn't ignore the discerning feel of Victor's eyes on his naked back anymore.

With caution, Yuuri looked behind his shoulder, gaze instantly locking with the Tsar's.

Victor stared at him for a long time and did not move nor speak. His pupils were dilated still, yet his pretty blue eyes no longer held the usual shine they had. He seemed extremely unfocused, and when he finally spoke, his voice was eerily distant.

"Yuuri," he cocked his head to the side, regarding him with an amused and sardonic look. It struck him that his Majesty might've been slightly drunk.

"Do you love me?"

Yuuri's slumped shoulders turned stiff, so did his entire body, and he couldn't help but look away. His breaths were quickening in pace and the pressure of that absolutely bizarre question was spreading through the air around him.

This was the first thing Victor said that night, and the Tsar was not making any sense. Yuuri strongly blamed the wine he had been drinking for that.

Because Yuuri, having already forgotten half the things he told Bianca when he was in that state of anger, thought it was nothing else but a drunken taunt, failing to see the connection between what he previously declared and Victor's sudden question.

"Of course." Yuuri answered softly, not turning around to say it to his face. His voice quivered as he quickly put on his shirt and adjusted it. "Of… Of course, I do."

Victor was completely quiet after that, making Yuuri more anxious by each passing second.

What else was there to say? Victor was the Tsar of Russia, for goodness sake, and Yuuri had to admit, he was a good Tsar, one of the best this empire had ever had. He was a ruler who, thanks to him, a nation was prospering, a ruler who was kind to his people, his family, and even his servants and slaves given they don't cross him. Everyone loved the Tsar, furthermore, he was by far Yuuri's most decent owner. There was no reason to answer otherwise, even if he didn't have the option to.

Victor, however, Victor drank the rest of his wine in three successive gulps, pointed the empty glass at Yuuri with a bitter smile, and said, "You're cruel."

Yuuri's head jerked back as if he'd been slapped. More than the insult, more than the accusation, and more than anything, the fact that Victor spoke the exact same words as Bianca troubled him the most.

He didn't like that, Yuuri decided, taking offence, no, not at all. He didn't want Victor to remind him of her in any way, did not want the two to have any link to each other whatsoever.

And why did he call him that, anyway? Had Yuuri chosen the wrong answer? What did he want to hear him say, then? Did he want Yuuri to declare he hated the man? But that was not true, at least not anymore. Victor wasn't the monster he thought he was, he was not a saint either, Victor was just Victor.

The Tsar's scathing look intensified the more Yuuri stared at him in disbelief, like Yuuri's shock was something offensive to him.

But Yuuri was completely lost, so lost he thought he had been hallucinating Victor saying these word, he made it clear with his furrowed eyebrows and uncertain voice when he spoke. "Uh... your Majesty-"

"Don't call me that!" Victor all but shouted at him.

Before he realized what he was doing, Yuuri had jumped out of the bed, flinching away in shrewd fear.

Victor had never snapped at him like that before, not even once.

"I don't like it when you call me that!" the Tsar's outburst went on, "And you know that very well, yet you still do it!" he put the wine glass away haphazardly. "It's like you only do so to spite me!"

"I- I would never do such a thing…" Yuuri answered honestly, his voice trembling. "I wouldn't do anything you don't want me to..."

"Let's not lie, shall we?" Victor lowered his voice but did not reduce the venom in it. It was then Yuuri realized that he had not been drunk, perhaps a bit tipsy if anything. Angry, that's what he was, the emperor was severely angry. "The one time, the one time you spent the night with me, you left the first chance you had! And I'd be damned if I wanted you to…" Victor rubbed his face with both hands, leaning his head into them in frustration. "But of course, you know that as well. You always know what you're doing to me."

Yuuri stood completely frozen and speechless, eyeing the Tsar like the man had lost his mind.

Did he think Yuuri angered him on purpose? That all of his reservation - which was a product of his constant fear of him and his incurable anxiety - was just a way for him to play with the Tsar? Did he honestly think that he, Yuuri, would ever have it in him to plot such a thing?

But how could he?! He'd expect this kind of accusation from anyone else in the palace, in the empire, in the world, but not from Victor, for he was the only human being whom Yuuri was openly vulnerable to, openly pathetic, openly scared and helpless. Had he not seen all of that?

"Speak." Victor threw his hand in the air exaggeratedly. "Here's your permission." He said it like it was a curse. "Go on, tell me why you're doing this, or so help me God-"

"With all due respect," Yuuri interrupted him snidely, his own voice raising beyond the volume of conversation. "You seem to forget that all I am is a concubine in your harem." Someone had said those words a long time ago, but he couldn't remember who. "I won't talk unless you allow me to. I won't say your name when you don't give me permission every time. I won't stay in your bed not knowing whether you want me there or not." His hands balled into fists, shaking in contempt. "I'm a concubine." He repeated, louder, firmer. "I do not want to be punished unwarranted. And neither would anyone else in my position."

Neither would you! he wanted to scream, but he still had some sense not to.

The hands on Victor's face now ruffled his silver hair. The whole action seemed so unlike him Yuuri wondered if it was still the same graceful man he knew. "After all I've done for you- you still…"

He stopped talking, cutting himself off and leaving Yuuri still baffled and shaken. What did he want from him? What did he think Yuuri wasn't doing for him that he seemed so unfulfilled? So obviously unhappy?

When, Yuuri wanted to ask, his bruised lips shaking. When will I ever be enough for you?

"I don't think of you as a concubine."

Victor said it so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that Yuuri could not trust he heard him right.

But Victor looked so subdued, like it had been something he'd been trying to convey for the longest time and couldn't believe he had to directly say it, couldn't believe he even had to.

Yuuri waited, he waited desperately for Victor to take these words back, to realize how utterly unfair they were, how harsh, how idiotic. But the Tsar wasn't, he merely stared at Yuuri, seeking his reaction.

So Yuuri had to do it for him instead, because that was enough, enough. He could take no more. Yuuri had to put his foot down on the amount of hurt the other man was causing him, show him that there was a line in their relationship that even a powerful emperor cannot bend at his will.

Yuuri couldn't be calm anymore, not when he had reached his utmost limit. "But that does not change the fact that I am one!"

Victor scowled, perhaps because of what his words meant, or perhaps because Yuuri was screaming them on top of his lungs.

But Yuuri's anger was barely seeping through, for there was much more underneath, so much waiting to escape the cracks. Letting himself be driven by it, Yuuri started toward Victor, his footsteps thunderous and his chest forward as if he was going to attack the other man.

Instead, he pulled at his sleeve when he was a few feet away, his grip shaking as he showed the Tsar something he seemed to ignore easily. "Do you not see it, Victor?!" his golden armlet shined against no apparent light source, like it was proving its presence and power. "Do you not see this piece I wear? Do you not know what it signifies?!" Yuuri was heaving, his face flushed with exasperation. "When you wrapped your hand around my arm, didn't you feel it? When you bathed me, didn't you touch it?" he went on, wanting his owner to know, wanting him to understand. "What do you expect me to do when it's there on my body and it dictates all my actions?!"

Yuuri glared at the man sitting in front of him like he was an enemy, his ribcage quaking with the force of his yells, yet the Tsar's reaction was only a firm headshake.

"My hands are tied." Victor presented his wrists in a resigned gesture, tone still confrontational and chiding. "I could have freed you a long time ago. In fact, I could free you right now."

The world around Yuuri stopped moving. The hands of the clock halted their ticking, the winds outside the windows paused, and the shadows from the candles stilled. Only Yuuri's body moved from the impact of that statement, quivering from head to toe.

Victor did not take notice of that, however, and he went on to shatter Yuuri to bits. "But by that, I'll lose ownership over you." The Tsar said matter-of-factly, like it was obvious he will never free him, would never even think of freeing him. "Do you know what that means?"

Yuuri stared down at the Tsar, his early hatred resurfacing, his new portrait of Victor Nikiforov reshaping back to the exact same man he resented with so much passion. The man who just now used his unattainable dream to mock him, who spoke of his freedom so offhandedly, so coldly, as if Yuuri did not spend every waking moment wishing and dreaming for it. As if he did not spend countless nights praying for it and danced every dance with it on his mind.

He remembered Yurio, gentle and kind Yurio, who had once freed him believing he did had the authority to, so determinedly, so easily and without question.

What a lurid contrast it was.

"It means I'll no longer be a member of your harem." Yuuri wasn't speaking to only Victor anymore, he was speaking to every owner he'd ever had. "That you'll no longer be able to have me in your bed." His words cut sharply, not only the veil of decency between them, but Yuuri's dignity as well. "That you'll no longer be able to use me whenever you wish, to satisfy your sick pleasures."

Ah, Yuuri smiled despite himself, seeing his end nearing with no one else to blame this time but him. I've gone and done it.

Yuuri kept his gaze steady throughout his admission, watching how Victor's eyes widened more and more, and by the time he finished, they were as big as saucers.

Then when everything registered, they sharpened into seething slits.

"Yuuri." Victor hissed as he stood. If Yuuri had charged toward him earlier like he was going to attack the emperor, then Victor looked like he was about to grab Yuuri and murder him. "How dare you say that to me?!" he roared, "How could you even think that?!"

"Am I wrong?" Yuuri challenged, stupidly unafraid.

He should've been too terrified for his life to say anything back, really, but it didn't matter now, because Yuuri had already given it away.

"Of course you are, you brainless, foolish, stupid man!" Victor cursed him so maliciously Yuuri had to close his eyes from the assault. He never knew that being cursed at by the Tsar would hurt so much, but it did. "You'll no longer be under my custody! By the new Russian law of slavery, I'll have no choice but to send you back to your home country, to hand you over to the Japanese authorities!" he grabbed Yuuri by the shoulders, leaning down to scream at his face. "If I free you, I'll be sending you with my own hands to your bloody execution!"

Yuuri blinked his eyes open, and for a second time that night, the world stopped moving. Victor's face was so close to his, his eyes so sharp and angry and hurt and good god, what had Yuuri been doing?

Then too soon, time resumed with a kick, and suddenly everything coming out of Victor's mouth sounded much, much worse.

"What kind of Tsar I'd be for breaking a law I had enacted in the first place?!" he shouted at Yuuri, his fingers digging painfully into his shoulders. "I can't do that! So do you still want me to free you, Yuuri?! Do you still want your freedom?!"

Yuuri was close to tears. "N-No!"

"Then what do you want me to do about it?!"

Yuuri gritted his teeth, his earlier frustration coming back with vengeance. "What do you want me to do about it?!"

They were fighting, Yuuri processed. They were at each other's throats and they sounded like they completely loathed one another, didn't they?

Yuuri stepped back and slipped out of Victor's hold, feeling sick to his stomach, wanting nothing more than be away from the man and not be forced to look at him anymore.

So without thinking, and for the first time in front of the Tsar, Yuuri turned around, quickly walked to the door, and exited the quarters without permission.

Victor called his name, but Yuuri ignored it and slammed the door behind him as hard as he could.

He had never seen the guards so shocked and speechless, eyes following him like Yuuri had just grown wings.

What did just happen? He thought, shocked and terrified. What did just happen?!

'Stuff of dreams,' Bella had said to describe what he and Victor had, and she couldn't have been more wrong and delusional.

Because all they had between them was the stuff of nightmares.

Love. Love. Love.

A word so foreign, so strange, something that did not belong in Yuuri's world, something that he had just related to fictional tales and passing stories, the same word which was now haunting him ferociously, not sparing him a second of peace.

He hadn't even heard the word being uttered aloud to him in years, not when he was in Italy, France, or even in Spain, and he never expected he would, not in a way that remotely involved him, and certainly not in Russia.

But in a span of only two days, that very word turned his world on its axis, ruining and undoing so much hard-earned progress, bringing him back to square one.

What did he do to deserve this? Were his own existing troubles not enough? Did he not suffer already for all the sins he had committed? Will he continue to suffer until the moment they lower him to his grave?

"Uh, maybe we should do this at a later time..."

"No," Yuuri shook his head and brought back his focus on where he had left off, "We won't."

"Yes, we will." Phichit took the massive book sitting on Yuuri's lap and closed it too forcefully. "We're putting away this mind-numbingly boring textbook before I pull all my hair out."

The young lord was not mistaken about the medical book, not at all, for they had spent days translating those endless pages and Yuuri could honestly say he had no idea what it was about.

Phichit's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And you're going to explain to your doctor why you look like a bloody corpse."

Yuuri smiled, but he knew well that it was only a blank arching of his mouth. "My doctor is not here, though."

"Yuuri!" Phichit gasped comically. "You have just shattered my heart to pieces!"

Yuuri's smile completely vanished, so suddenly and quickly that there was no way Phichit could miss it.

Phichit of course didn't. "Yuuri, I'm not going to meddle with your private matters, but when was the last time you had slept?"

He rubbed his face tiredly. "A few days."

"A few days!" the Lord exclaimed, "With the amount of work you force yourself into, you should sleep for eight hours minimum. Your body will collapse otherwise, you hear me? And I can see that you are skipping meals again, so unless you want to end up on-"

Yuuri glowered. "Say, am I a cruel person?"

Phichit's mouth was still hung open from the scolding that Yuuri interrupted, then it shifted into an incredulous frown. "Huh?"

Yuuri looked down at his lap, "Am I-"

"You're one of the kindest people I know." Phichit said confidently. "Who would even think that of you?"

Yuuri clutched his hands, nails digging moon shaped creases on his palms "Some."

"Huh..." Phichit studied him intently, contemplating the vague answer. "Well, perhaps you did something to warrant that."

Yuuri sighed. It was a good point, indeed, but he was none the wiser. "Perhaps."

"We can dwell on that while we eat some food." Phichit patted his knee and urged him to stand, "I think they're serving porridge today. Come on, we can eat together. At least I'll know you're not starving yourself."

Yuuri held a hand in front of him, stopping him before the Lord got to his feet.

"Wait. Listen. Someone… someone asked me whether I loved them or not." Yuuri blushed, unable to keep it a secret from his friend any longer. "And I told them I did."

Phichit stared at him like he had grown an additional head, the words taking their time to sink in.

But he went on, unprompted. "So tell me, how could I be cruel for saying that? It's been plaguing my mind and I can't seem to-"

Yuuri stopped talking when he realized that Phichit had sprung out of his chair and was by the door of Cialdini's quarters, hurriedly checking the hallway outside before closing it quickly, then locking it, then pulling it to make sure it was locked.

"Yuuri, Yuuri." Phichit seemed completely horrified. "For both our sakes, please tell me that that person is Victor Nikiforov, precisely the third of his name." He pleaded. "And if it isn't… well, I shall sit down with you for many hours and list countless reasons for why you should give your life more value."

The blush on Yuuri's cheeks deepened. "Of course it's him." His lips thinned in annoyance. "Who else would it be?"

"Well, I don't know! You don't have a shortage of admirers, that's for sure!" Phichit retaliated, but not harshly. He rested against the door and exhaled in relief. "Oh, Lord… Oh dear, sweet, sweet Lord..."

Yuuri was beyond confused. "Are you alright?"

"I am now." Phichit released a shaky breath. "Give me a warning next time, will you?"

Yuuri slumped in his seat. "You're the one who made assumptions."

"I worry, Yuuri. I do not envy the position you're in, trust me." Phichit said, "And, uh, to answer your question..." the Lord was eyeing a bookshelf at the other side of the room, frowning before he looked back at Yuuri. "Well, do you love him?"

The question caught him completely off guard.

Because it was different then, it was different in every way imaginable. It struck him that he had the opportunity to answer however he wished, unlike when he was in front of Victor.

In front of Victor, Yuuri's two options weren't 'yes' or 'no', they were either to be obedient or to insult the Tsar and possibly get himself punished for it.

He did want the Tsar physically, that's something he had settled a long time ago. He wanted him that way, and he wanted him badly.

Furthermore, Yuuri did feel helpless seeing how Victor was sad sometimes and almost always unhappy. He did seek Victor's approval. He did thrive to impress him and make him proud. And yes, he did want the man all to himself and the idea of being replaced one day, while inevitable, seemed dreadful.

However, that did not mean that Yuuri loved him. He couldn't love a man just for these things, and it would be unfair to claim he-

"No." Yuuri finally answered the question, eyes wide as he finally grasped the whole situation. "No, I don't."

"Oh, Yuuri." Phichit said gently. "You are cruel..."

It was bizarre how a chapter of his life could end so easily and abruptly.

Yuuri expected horns so loud they were deafening. He expected screams of joy and screams of horror that could not be told apart. He expected the sun to rise in the middle of the night and the birds to migrate back in December. He expected god himself to descend from the skies and announce the long-awaited conclusion.

But none of that happened, instead, it came in the form of a public announcement, read by a very uninterested sentinel, told before lunch hour so by the time the food had been served, it was long forgotten.

Only Yuuri remembered. Only Yuuri spent sleepless nights after it reflecting on the news, so long and so hard that his eyeballs dried from exhaustion and lack of sleep.

Bianca of Rome had been exiled from the imperial palace, it had been said.

There was no mention of Yuuri, no mention of treachery, not even a mention of why she was sent away. There had only been a warning for all the other concubines to revise the laws and avoid similar punishments. The sentinel herself spent a few minutes repeating the rules which every member of the harem had to abide by, just in case anyone had not already memorized them by heart.

And Yuuri, for the longest time, couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Bianca of Rome had been exiled.

Not hanged. Yuuri repeated to himself, just so he won't forget. Not executed. Not killed. She was exiled.

If Yuuri thought mother birds were cruel, then he wasn't prepared for what he had to encounter with a different species.

"Those sounds are painful, aren't they?" the servant crouching next to him commented.

Yuuri's was indeed in severe pain, both at the helpless cries and at the depressing sight. He turned toward the girl, their faces coming close as he whispered worriedly. "What… what do you think we should do?"

"She wants her mother." The girl said uneasily, her voice muffled by the endless footsteps on the other side of the hallway, "And you said you looked for her everywhere..."

"I did." Yuuri told her, feeling powerless. "Emil and I searched the entire floor."

"We checked the balconies as well. There was no sight of her." Emil said above them. Even the guard sounded troubled. "Can we at least take her somewhere warm?"

The servant shook her head, her blond curls bouncing on her shoulders. "If we touch her and cover her with our scent, her mother might never take her back."

Both men groaned. "So we leave her to die in the cold?" Yuuri said unhelpfully.

"Her mother may come back..." the servant did not sound very convinced herself. "She won't leave her, will she?"

Yuuri sighed and shook his head. "I think she already had..."

"What are you bastards doing?!" a scolding voice thundered through the hallway, startling the three of them. Prince Yurio, looking thrice as big, halted on top of a kneeling Yuuri, his green eyes widening upon his discovery. "Is that… is that a kitten?!"

Otabek stared from above Yurio and Yuuri's heads, examining their findings with lucid wonder. He wore the exact same expression as Yuuri when he found the abandoned kitten hours ago, and it seemed like he, too, had never seen a cat that small and vulnerable before.

"Why are you hurting her?!" the Prince accused, pushing through Yuuri and the servant. "I could hear her cries all the way from the ground floor!"

And then, to everyone's horror, Yurio grabbed the kitten and cradled her to his chest.

"Your Highness!"

"Yurio!"

"Don't not!"

"What?!" Yurio snapped back at the three of them, panicking himself. Otabek just stared at the kitten, processing the sight. "What is it?!"

"She's been separated from her litter." Yuuri stood up, frustrated at the boy. "Her mother might reject the poor thing now you've rubbed your scent on her."

The Prince's eyes shined in recognition. "A litter?"

"Oh." Otabek came to the same realization as the Prince. He shook his head, "The mother was attacked by a fox yesterday."

Yurio nodded woefully, stroking the kitten's head and somehow reducing the painful cries she was making. "We used to leave food for her every day."

Otabek carefully, very carefully caressed the kitten's neck with his index finger. "The gardener said the entire litter was gone as well. Probably eaten. It's a miracle that this one made it here."

Yuuri was horrified, Emil mournful, and the servant was stuck between choking back tears and being in absolute awe at the presence of the Tsesarevich, of all people.

"You." Yurio addressed said servant with a tilt of his chin, "Take her to my handmaidens at the west wing. Tell them to see that she's taken care of until I come back."

"W-with pleasure, your Highness!" the servant received the kitten gently.

Yuuri was going to offer to take the kitten himself if the whole situation hadn't crumbled an exact second later.

"Oh Yuratchka, my little fairy..." a soft voice came from behind the group. Although the call came in a very amused and friendly tone, it still had them all freezing in place with utter horror. "We can't have you wandering around like that when an entire party is waiting on you, now can we?"

From their positions, Yuuri was the only one was facing the opposite direction, so by the time he managed to turn around fully, the rest had already reacted: Yurio grunting, Otabek stiffening his shoulders, Emil taking an exaggerated bow, and the servant following with a loud, undignified shriek.

"...Yuuri?" and of course, of all the people present, the Tsar chose to acknowledge only him.

To make matters worse, Victor wasn't alone, behind him, at the far end of the hallway where he had heard so many footsteps earlier, stood about a dozen and a half guards, knights, and handmaidens, some of them familiar but most of them alien, and all their attention settling on him as well.

The attendance was large, even by the Tsar's standards, and Yuuri could tell by the way he was dressed, in leather trousers, riding boots, and everything else covered with a massive fur coat, that Victor was on his way outside the palace, which explained why Yurio looked so big upon first glance; they had covered him from head to toe with protective clothes against the December cold.

All that inspection took less than a second, really, but the pause took about an entire minute, or two. Needless to say, the rest was just the two of them staring at each other, blatantly, a thousand and one thoughts revolving through Yuuri's head, and many expressions going through the Tsar's face at the sight of him.

The audience was not overlooked by Yuuri, because he could feel every single eye of almost twenty three people on him now.

Yet, none of the looks was more intense than Victor's, whose gaze was unflinching and somehow private, since, for his part, Victor seemed to forget that there was anyone else present.

Yuuri couldn't help but clench and unclench his hands, trying his absolute hardest to not cave in to the sudden overwhelming scrutiny and collective hush.

This was different, unnervingly so. It wasn't one of his performances, where the attention was justified and shifted according to who stood on stage. This was different from the Taking, where Yuuri got used to the reactions accompanying the ritual. And it was even different from the time Victor spoke to him in front of the entire harem, because instead of jealousy, spite, and hatred, Yuuri was now sensing only bafflement and confusion from the spectators.

It's as if they were collectively thinking, 'That's Yuuri of the Forbidden Kingdom?' in the most perplexed, disappointed way possible.

Yuuri felt the urge to shrink into himself, to run away, hide somewhere, and never emerge until everyone forgot about his existence.

He was about to do exactly that when he heard a loud grumble.

"Oh, Jesus Christ." Yurio did not break the silence as much as he demolished it to fragments, allowing the entire hallway to breathe again. "You're repulsive, Victor." The boy snarked, "And don't call me that ever again!"

And just like that, Victor seemed to break out of his reverie, the crowd registered what was happening and resilient whispering ensued, and finally, the poor servant girl next to him started to understand what was happening and gasped loudly, scanning Yuuri from head to toe, like he was a different creature now, like they hadn't spent the entire morning together tending to a kitten.

Victor shook his head but did not seem to register Yurio speaking, as he completely ignored him and took two rushed steps toward Yuuri, stopping halfway in reluctance. "Darling, listen to me, I'm-"

"Leave the piggy alone." Yurio, the brilliant, helpful, and considerate boy, resumed his rescue. He walked past Victor and toward their attendance, forcing them to look away in shame and gather themselves. "You've embarrassed him enough."

Victor looked abashed, but not for the reason Yurio wanted him to be. He glowered at the boy's back. "What did you just call my-"

"Your Majesty," Otabek intervened gracefully, diverting the emperor's attention with a bow of his head. "It's his choice of endearment."

"Endearment?"

The crowd was utterly confused about who to follow, since the most important man in the empire stood still, while the second most important man in the empire was moving forward and leaving them behind.

But it didn't matter because, by the time Victor turned around again, Yuuri had already disappeared out of sight.

As he ran away from the mortification of being recognized by the Tsar in front of such a massive crowd, Yuuri couldn't help but allow relief to wash over him, soaking every muscle and bone. It made his feet move unnecessarily quickly and his steps skip like a child, giving his guard a hard time in able to keep up with him.

But he was relieved. So relieved. So relieved.

Because Victor had called him 'darling' again, something he did not do the last horrific time they saw each other. And Yuuri, despite his demons yelling otherwise, thought that the Tsar was about to apologize to him, or at least forgive him for everything he said and did. Yuuri saw no difference between the two.

A bright smile break across his face.

Everything will be alright. Yuuri told himself. Everything will be alright after he comes back and I see him.

For the first time since he entered the imperial palace seven months ago, Yuuri dressed himself to go outside.

His wool coat, although tailored perfectly for his body, did not seem to provide much warmth. The air in the palace gardens, however, was not as cold as he had predicted.

Besides, with Mila's arm wrapped around his elbow as they walked, the Princess covered from head to toe with a warm, navy blue fur ensemble, Yuuri actually felt comfortable.

"I cannot believe they left me behind." The Princess was saying, fixing her ushanka with her free hand. "Why was Yurio allowed to go and not me? I'm the one who had plans in town."

"May I ask where they went?" Yuuri said gently, still curious as to where both the Tsar and Tsesarevich went earlier that day with such large attendance.

"To the outskirts of the city." Mila pouted. "Checking on constructions for god knows what. I wish I had Yura's ability to pester people, I swear to you he could go on for days until everyone succumbs to him. I, on the other hand, try to be sweet and agreeable, and look where it got me. I'm still cooped up in this castle like a prisoner."

Makkachin's bark could be heard far ahead, as two guards tried to chase her back to where the rest of the party was.

"See? Even poor Makkachin is happy to see sunlight for a change." She huffed. "And they tell me it's for safety reasons, and that my popularity might cause a ruckus- Oh the audacity! My following cannot hold a candle to Victor's, for goodness sake. And safety? My knight might not be Jean Jacques Leroy or Otabek Altin, but Seung-gil is still capable!"

"Ser Otabek is an exceptional knight, I take." Yuuri observed, "If you're comparing him to Lord Leroy."

After all, and even though Yuuri heard conflicting opinions about the man, Isabella describing him as 'proud at times', and Michele dubbing him 'the cockiest bastard to ever walk this land', no one denied that Leroy was the most skilled knight in the empire, Victor's very own sword and shield. Though, Yuuri was sure he only accompanied the Tsar outside the palace, as Yuuri rarely saw the man, and not once near Victor. Perhaps they didn't get along? He wondered.

"Oh, yes, indeed." Mila nodded, "The Altins might not be known for their wealth, but they are more or less a family of warriors. Otabek was groomed to be a fighter and was knighted by my mother when he was only fourteen, making him the youngest knight in the empire."

"That's very admirable," Yuuri said, awed. He might've never seen Otabek without his sword, but to imagine the soft-spoken, calm, and collected boy as a fighter was surprisingly difficult.

"I'm glad you think so, Yuuri." Mila sighed. "Not many do."

"Why is that?" Yuuri frowned. "Ser Otabek is one of the most respectful people I know."

"You see, the Altins were one of the first families that immigrated to Russia with a royal invitation." The Princess explained. "Almost twenty five years ago, I believe. It was one of my uncle's few original practices that Victor did not discontinue. The previous Tsar invited many families from various countries, families that were known to excel in specific fields, and arranged for them to live here, given that they aid the royal family."

Yuuri tilted his head toward her. "I did read about that. His Majesty even extended invitations to other classes."

Also, Yuuri did see it by the variety of people surrounding him, from Phichit, to Cialdini, to Minako, Sara, Michele, Emil, Leo, and most handmaidens who weren't Russian. It was as if Victor gravitated toward foreigners.

"Correct. It surely makes for a colourful castle, Victor's proudest achievements." She told him, "However, the Altins, while still nobility in their own merit, lack the fortune, and that, accompanied with their superior skills and race, poses a threat to the rest of the class, hence why many people are not keen on recognizing their influence. Ask a local nobleman who the youngest knight in the empire is, and they'll make a valiant effort to not mention Otabek's name."

It was interesting to hear all this from the Princess, because even if Yuuri had read about it in detail, Mila was focusing more on the reception it was all getting, something he could never figure out himself, secluded from outside society as he was.

"I've lived most of my life in a community of a single, pure race." Yuuri shared, "The environment is very new to me, but I still find this behaviour bizarre."

"You don't know half of it, Yuuri," Mila replied, staring ahead solemnly. "The public's opinion shifts faster than a pendulum, and the one thing they react violently to is people who are different." Her arm wrapped more tightly around his elbow. "And not just when it comes to race or class. Even people like me and Yurio have been subjected to discrimination."

"Your Highness." Yuuri's steps slowed, bringing their walk to a sudden stop. "You are a princess of a pure royal blood, and Yurio is the Tsesarevich."

She shook her head, smiling sadly as they continued walking. "We are still Feltsmans. The empire would rather have my mother rule after Victor, so long that a Nikiforov sits on the throne."

Yuuri suddenly felt unpleasantness. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Mila patted his arm affectionately, "I still have it better than Yurio; I did manage to gain popularity over time. I don't remember much, but the year Victor announced him as a Tsesarevich, a title that Victor deemed fixed even if he had future children, the empire collectively loathed his very existence."

"Why not your mother as the heir?" Yuuri asked, curious and had never found an answer in any of his books. "Why not prince Georgi or you? Why the youngest child?"

"It was a family decision." Mila informed, her eyes grim. "My uncle, the previous Tsar, he… he was not a very pleasant man. He left the empire in ruins and traumatized everyone who knew him. And with the way we were raised, you could say that we were horrified of ever claiming his title and having such frightening power." She gulped. "Even my other uncle, Victor's father… he..."

"He disappeared shortly after Tsar Victor was born." Yuuri recited when Mila did not seem willing to finish, "Presumably kidnapped and assassinated."

Mila's grip, at that point, was almost painful. She turned toward the attendance following them and waved a hand sharply. It only took seconds for them to walk far enough to be out of earshot, no one moving to follow them.

"He fled, Yuuri." Mila said. "He was next in line and could not bear the weight, and he was accused of treason for it. He was kidnapped and assassinated, but it was by my uncle." Her eyes turned glassy, "And do you know what the public did when they found out their Tsesarevich had been killed? They celebrated."

A chill went through Yuuri, not fully comprehending why Mila was making him the bearer of such horrid information.

"Yurio has endured a lot for a boy his age. You do not see it because we are in a circle of our supporters, but the public's opinion was never favourable toward him, and the worst part is that he's aware of it, aware that one day he might end up like Victor's father. It had made him bitter, defensive, and always on edge." She wiped her tears, and Yuuri felt dread creeping in into every corner of his body when she went on. "Because what are fancy titles to the people's hatred? No one is safe. Not me, not Yurio, not even Victor."

Before Yuuri could react to such a grim statement, a loud bark and sounds of exclamation snapped his attention to the inside of the gardens.

"What is it?" Mila inquired, startled herself.

"She's getting too close to the gates, your Highness." A royal guard heaved heavily, as he was the one chasing Makkachin earlier. "And every time I try to bring her back, she runs away."

"No one can catch her, can they?" Mila giggled, her smile returning. "How precious."

"Shall I go and compete?" Yuuri smiled, knowing that Mila would at least cheer up if he did. "I think it's about time we establish who's the fastest between us."

Emil's sensitive ears picked up on the exchange, and his reaction time was impressive. "Yuuri, no-"

Before his guard could stop him, Yuuri took off like a cheetah toward the direction where Makkachin stood, the dog unmoving and wagging her tail far ahead, as if challenging anyone to reach her.

Amused, Yuuri believed he was very capable of taking her on, and Emil could vouch for that, as the guard always scolded him for running faster than anyone else he had ever seen.

The dog sprinted out of his reach the moment he came close, but Yuuri hadn't been running in full speed, causing Makkachin to look back at him a few times, her tongue dangling like she was mocking him for his insolence. Yuuri laughed joyfully at the adorable sight.

The poor dog did not realize she was massively underestimating the best dancer in the palace until it was too late, Yuuri caught up with her in less than a second and lunged at her. His body landed on its side on the cold grass and he made a grab for Makkachin's torso, successfully managing to put a stop to her antics.

Safely, he rolled on his back and took her with him, ending up in the same old, same old position they always found themselves in. He did not realize that he had been laughing the entire time.

Makkachin licked his face enthusiastically. Not a sore loser, then, Yuuri decided as he grabbed the loose leash dangling from her neck. He settled himself in a kneeling position in front of her, patting her just as lovingly.

He loved that dog, Yuuri thought, he genuinely did. In a span of a minute, she managed to erase all the worries that came from the conversation he had with Mila.

The dangerous side of Russia, his blindness to the public opinion, the difficulties that poor Yurio had to face, and the fact that even Victor might not be completely immune to his people's hostility, all of it was forgotten when such an innocent creature only wanted to have a good run with him.

"Yuuri!" Emil cried, voice uncharacteristically frantic.

Yuuri looked up just in time to see an object flying towards him. For a split second, he thanked every deity he knew for the adrenaline left from chasing Makkachin, because his reflex was quick enough to dodge the piece of rock shooting directly at his head.

Yuuri was stunned, his vision blurring and his entire body shaking in alarm. It was the sight of the rock, that now rested behind him, that made everything so hazy.

Because it was big and heavy enough to crush his skull to pieces.

"Yuuri, behind me!" Emil had reached him before Yuuri realized, grabbing his elbow and pulling him to his feet faster than he could process what had just happened.

Makkachin was growling, sensing aggression nearby, but she still followed when Yuuri pulled at her leash. He allowed Emil to push him forward as they moved back to the side of the garden.

He heard three clacks behind him, and Yuuri knew that it was the sound of three more rocks being thrown and making contact with Emil's armour.

"What happened?" Mila asked as soon as they made it past three other guards, who were standing in a semi-circle in front of their princess like an assembled shield. "Yuuri, are you alright?!"

Yuuri's heart was pounding so frantically he was having a hard time breathing, Emil however, was collected and focused, in fact, he was more focused than Yuuri had ever seen him. He had been spending so much time with the man that Yuuri had forgotten that Emil was a royal guard trained to handle these very situations.

"The commoners outside the palace gates, your Highness." Emil answered dutifully, "They started throwing rocks the moment they spotted him, and while we are a fair distance away, I urge you all to return inside the palace immediately."

Mila's eyebrows furrowed in worry and confusion. Clutching her hands together, she looked back and forth between Yuuri and Emil instead of issuing a command, "Yuuri?"

"I have told him countless times not to be separated from me," Emil sighed, turning to him. "Please do not do that again, if anything happened to you on my watch-"

At that, Yuuri finally came back to his senses, the threat to his life losing its importance the moment he realized what would follow.

The first thing he did after regaining mobility was handing the leash to one of the handmaidens and pulling Mila to the side by her arm.

"Your Highness," Yuuri said, his voice rough. "Listen to me, do not tell His Majesty."

"What?" Mila's entire body recoiled. She looked at him like Yuuri had lost his mind. "Nonsense, I'm going to tell him as soon as he comes back, he'd be-"

Yuuri didn't have the patience for this, not for her, not for Emil, and not for the ruckus that this will surely cause.

"Your Highness," He snapped. "What will Victor do? Do you want a person to die just because they tossed a harmless rock? Another person who didn't harm me?! Think!"

Mila's lips quivered like she had never been yelled at in her life. She seemed to slowly recall what happened to the concubine she reported months ago, the concubine who was hanged the very next day. "I'm… I'm sorry. That girl... I swear- I never-"

Yuuri groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration, barely registering that not only did he say the Tsar's first name casually, but he had just yelled at Russia's only princess.

She is just a child. He scolded himself. Of course she didn't know.

"No, I am." He bowed. "Please forgive me for raising my voice, it was due to shock. It won't happen again."

"You're forgiven." She pursed her lips, took a long breath, and turned back to her attendance, sounding like an entirely different person once she addressed all the four guards and three handmaidens, "Everyone, inside, now."

No one needed to be told twice, as the entire party started moving back to the palace entrance at the sound of her authoritative, but calm voice, the voice of a royal which she seemed to have mastered much better than Yurio had.

"Listen carefully, all of you," Mila instructed as they moved, "We have to report to his Majesty that there are protestors at the gates and that they're turning violent." She glanced fleetingly at Yuuri before she went on, "However, none of you is to mention who their target was. Neither I nor Monsieur Yuuri had been in the gardens today, do you understand?"

A predictable echo of 'yes, your Highness' followed, and that concluded Yuuri's first ever visit to the castle gardens.

Yuuri, in his haste, recognised that his understanding of Cyrillic was all but perfect, to a point where he's even able to read even the sloppiest and most incomprehensible handwriting.

Because on that rock aimed at his head, written with white chalk, was a word he hadn't heard in a while and almost forgot about.

'Whore'

It was not every day that Yuuri was unoccupied.

He read one more page, did not absorb a single word, and put back the book on the grand library's shelf. With no documents to look through and translate, and no chores that late in the day, Yuuri found nothing else to do but go back to the harem without any of his nightly reading done.

It was not the incident with Mila earlier that day that occupied his mind, not really. After all, Yuuri was no stranger to such attacks, be it from fellow concubines or commoners, it made no difference to him.

It was new, but not unfamiliar in a way that would trouble him so. Being called a 'whore' was still deeply offensive, but at that point, Yuuri was beginning to wish that people tried to be more creative with their insults.

Besides, he was repeatedly assured by Mila that none of the witnesses would inform on what happened, and Emil had repeatedly proved himself to be trustworthy when it comes to these matters.

In short, Yuuri found that, for the first time, he was not worried about anyone being punished because of him. And to his utter astonishment, his mind was for once clear.

There was no worry and apprehension to fuel of his anxiety, to keep his mind hyper-aware, which resulted in him returning to his room after supper with absolutely nothing to do.

Yuuri would've forced himself to pick up another book and read more, but he was heavily discouraged. Truth be told, since the unpleasant fight he had with Victor three days ago, Yuuri had realized that, although he spent most of his time trying to gather information, he still knew nothing.

The Russian law of Slavery, for one, was a shock to him.

Yuuri always had an obsession with literature, not out of fondness, but out of habit and necessity. He had to know things, he had to be aware. It was drilled into him since he was a child, the clergy repeatedly making him fear ever being in the dark, ever forgetting the names of politicians and monarchs, not knowing historical, geographic, or scientific facts, or artistic works, or great authors and poets. 'A lord of such high status should never look like an idiot.' The clergy often exclaimed.

He didn't know that this obsession had stayed with him until Victor, who always praised him for his intelligence, pointed out his ignorance on something.

Granted, Victor did call him brainless, foolish, and stupid. But it was out of rage of being insulted. The clergy, however, had his stick, and the clergy never failed to strike him whenever Yuuri did not know a certain fact, for no reason other than not knowing.

But Yuuri had done it on purpose; he could read about everything and anything, but whenever a document mentioned slavery, he would pointedly put it aside. A part of him expected to be punished for it every time.

And that same part realized that the habit was broken, because the punishment never came.

Thus Yuuri decided to only read something when he wanted to. And it felt so empowering to consider going back to the library but then refusing to because he didn't feel like reading anything tonight.

Who knew that it'd take four years for Yuuri to be free from shackles he didn't even know existed?

Furthermore, now that Yuuri was left alone for once, what was he supposed to occupy his time with?

The first time Yuuri asked, his guard was taken aback.

"Did he call for me?"

"His Majesty?" Emil said, confused. Maybe because the last time Yuuri was in the man's quarters, their malicious shouting had reached every ear. Or maybe because it wasn't the night of the Taking. Maybe both. "No, he didn't." He furrowed his blond eyebrows. "Is he going to?"

Of course he's going to. "I think so."

Emil brows drew together even more. "You think so?"

Without elaborating, Yuuri left the guard at his post outside the harem entrance and retreated back to his room.

The second time Yuuri asked, merely half an hour later, Emil's curiosity was piqued.

"Did you do something, Yuuri?" the guard said softly, but they both knew that he, just like Michele, was ever suspicious of him, especially when it came to getting himself in trouble.

"No." Yuuri said, restless, "I swear I didn't."

Emil did not seem convinced. "I'll let you know when he does."

The third time he asked, Emil started to worry.

"Should I be prepared for anything?" the guard inquired, "If you're still thinking about the protestors, I assure you that no one would tell."

"I'm not worried about that." Yuuri truly wasn't. "But are you sure no one came?"

"The Tsar has not returned yet," Emil informed him. "But I assure you I'll fetch you the second he calls."

Emil clearly thought that Yuuri had been afraid, but to be fair, every single time he was called liked that, it was due to Yuuri doing something horribly wrong, so he didn't blame his guard for not noticing.

Yet, it wasn't that hard to see the shift in him.

Yuuri might not able to see how he was acting from an outside perspective, but even he himself felt how out of character he was being. If he had been scared, or restless, or afraid because he had done something to anger Victor and awaiting the consequences, Yuuri would've hidden in his room and wouldn't have emerged unless forced to.

No, that night, Yuuri felt the opposite of that.

He couldn't stay put and had to ask, because he didn't know what else to do with himself; the minutes were turning into hours, and not once did Yuuri hate Victor's busy life like he did then.

He had no idea what was happening to him, but Yuuri knew that for the first time, seeing Victor was all he wanted.

The fourth time he asked Emil, however, Yuuri was met with a very different response.

"No, he did not call you." Emil wasn't even looking at him, his eyes roaming around the harem entrance. "Yuuri, for the last time, I will notify you if his Majesty does. It's getting late, please stay inside and don't come out unless I tell you to."

Yuuri did not fail to notice the abrupt change in his demeanour, and certainly not how 'when' had suddenly turned into 'if'.

Something happened. Yuuri instantly knew.

He took a second to take in his surroundings. Yuuri couldn't see anything, but he could swear that the air around him was slowly shifting, each hair on his body standing alert in response.

"Yuuri," Emil said, no more gently. "Go inside."

Something definitely happened.

Yuuri was at the gallery where everything had started, when everything was falling apart.

All Emil wanted was to keep him inside the harem, and all Yuuri wanted was to get out of there and see for himself, so safe to say, it wasn't that hard to use one of the many other exits of the harem and slip away from the guard unnoticed.

Yuuri didn't see anything, however.

By the time he reached the gallery, the entrance of the palace had been emptied and the earlier commission had long ceased, all evidence of it erased save for the red stains where the servants were still mopping the floor.

He had jogged from one hallway to the other, trying to understand why the imperial palace of Russia, one of the busiest places in the whole empire, had become so vacant and empty.

The buzz around the castle that usually quieted down by twelve o'clock had fallen into uncharacteristic silence by nine, doors squeaked as they shut and locked, exhausted chatter turned into feverish whispers, and the discernible tiredness vanished, apprehension taking its place.

Yuuri had been out of breath when he reached the gallery, his questions unanswered, his worries intensifying, and his ears sensitive to any sound they picked up on, anything, anything to help him understand.

And that's when he had overheard the whispers.

Yuuri wished he had listened to Emil and never stepped a foot outside the harem, because he had not been ready to hear any of it.

"The blood, I tell you, I almost fainted at the sight of it!"

"And his hair! His beautiful silver hair had been painted scarlet!"

"Oh dear, the sight of him being carried… so still… so lifeless…"

"His Highness was also there, and good god, the little boy's screams... It was heart wrenching!"

"What will become of this empire? What will become of us?!"

And this is where it had all left him, sitting in the centre of a raging storm, soaking every word, the voices almost eating him whole.

And Yuuri was letting them.

Because that marked his end.

Because Victor's party had been attacked by protestors.

Because Victor had been stabbed.

He had been sitting on the floor behind a pillar for possibly hours, hugging his knees like a child who had lost his way.

While Yuuri was busy doing nothing, forgetting about the commoners at the gates, forgetting about the safety protocols, forgetting the fact that it was dangerous to go outside the castle, Victor was being ambushed, Victor was being stabbed, and Victor was being carried back still and lifeless.

Victor was stabbed.

Victor was stabbed-

Victor was-

Yuuri was not a religious person. He was born a Buddhist, but everything about that belief was laced with the same hatred he had for the clergy who taught him everything about it. After that, whenever Yuuri arrived in a new country, one of the first things they did was convert him to whatever religion his owner identified with.

It was hard to believe in a god when Yuuri had seen the world and every religion claimed to be the most righteous, that no, their god was the true one.

But Yuuri prayed, he prayed in every way he knew how to. He prayed to the Buddha, he prayed to Allah, to Yahweh, and the Holy Trinity, and nature, and the spirits, and the animals.

He did not feel that it was enough, furthermore, he didn't even know what he was praying for. Was he praying that Victor was alive? Or was he praying for him to come back to life? Was he praying to not lose the one thing keeping him together? To not go back to be traded all the around the world? To not become a prostitute sold from one merchant to another?

He didn't know what else to do but pray to his own god, the one he always prayed to every single lonely night in Japan. For that deity, and for that deity only, his prayer became clear.

He'd give everything to not have the last conversation he had with Victor be the last ever.

"Yuuri!" and there she was, descending upon him, her hand plunging him back into the solid ground. "Yuuri!"

He looked up from the shrouding darkness and blinked to see an array of light.

"Yuuri, thank goodness," Minako sighed, her shoulders slumping. Both her hands were on his arms, and Yuuri wondered how long she had been shaking him. She stood on wobbly feet, and Yuuri saw that she did not look any less shaken than him, but at least she was more in control of her emotions. Minako stared ahead of her helplessly, then grabbed him by the elbow, pulling him to his feet with strong hands. "I'll take you with me. Come. We need to hurry."

He was in no state to follow her quick and frantic steps by his own, so he let her guide him with a tight grip on his hand, more or less pulling him after her.

Yuuri swallowed a sob. "Is he- Is he-"

"I don't know." She said through pursed lips, sounding as panicked as he. "But whatever it is, they're making it sound much, much worse. Don't believe everything you hear."

Yuuri couldn't help but quip. "You seem to."

"The blood, I saw." She clenched her teeth. It might've been the first time ever that he had noticed her limp. "But the source of it, I did not."

Yuuri didn't know how they walked most of the castle so shaken and fidgety, he did not know how they managed to pass so many frightened people without hearing a word they said, and he did not know how many stairs they ascended and tiles they crossed to reach the north wing.

He only realized they had reached their destination, to the hallway guarded by Victor's guards, when Minako more or less shouted, "Is it true?!"

"Miss Minako," one of the guards greeted, immediately comforting her in a way he seemed to be repeating a thousand times that day. "It was one of the knights. His Majesty is completely unharmed."

Minako let go of Yuuri's hand, stood against a wall, and breathed a gallon of air. She hissed 'Yokatta' so many times Yuuri couldn't count them.

Yuuri, still in a shell-shocked state, had lost the ability to comprehend his surroundings and did nothing but stare vacantly.

Much steadier and alive, Minako exchanged a nod with the guards and entered the hallway, walking halfway to the quarters before recalling that Yuuri was still there. "This man is with me, he's-"

"Please enter, sir." The guard said, and he must have been imagining it, but the man spoke to him even urgently than he did Minako.

Minako shook her head, as if scolding herself for forgetting who Yuuri was, but she did not waste a single second and made her way to Victor's bedroom as quickly as possible.

When Yuuri reached the door of the room, the room he had spent countless hours in, he froze, not recognizing it anymore.

There were crying handmaidens. There were scattered guards. There were servants running around the room. There were nursemaids who stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do when not needed.

Isabella and Jean Jacques Leroy were standing in the far left corner, whispering to each other and not noticing the evil, perhaps anthropomorphic painting right next to their feet.

There was a handsome, blue eyed young man leaning against the fireplace, dressed in one of the androgynous and colourful ensembles that Tsarevich Georgi was known for.

Said Tsarevich was watching worriedly as another man walked back and forth in front of him, older, heavier, gruffer and angrier than everyone in the room combined.

And in the centre of the chaos was Victor, sitting on the edge of the bed between Lady Lilia and Mila, the former rubbing his back soothingly, and the latter hugging his side as if to make sure he's still there.

Like an electric sock, Yuuri was overcome with the fact that he had never wanted anything more than to be in her place.

"Your Majesty." Minako had gone inside, completely forgetting about Yuuri once she saw that the Tsar was in good health. She bowed stiffly to her right as she walked forward. "Your Graces. Your Highnesses."

"He's well." Lilia announced calmly. Her face was expressionless, as always, but she looked worried and relieved in her own way. "My boy is well."

"Had I not pulled his Excellency from the crowd in time, we would have been faced with a far bigger calamity." A bright, deep voice commented. Isabella gave Leroy a meaningful look, but the knight went on. "And of course, I would have disarmed the attacker long before he attempted such shameless and abhorrent act, but alas, I have only two hands-"

"Shut your mouth for a second!" a powerful voice zapped through the room, silencing every single person in it. "Even Minako is here and Yuratchka's still nowhere in sight!" with such authority, given the presence of so many royals around him, Yuuri did not doubt that the speaker was none other than Grand Duke Yakov himself, "Why is he not with his cousin at this dire time? When will this boy learn common courtesy?! For goodness sake!"

"You know where he is, father." Prince Georgi commented dryly, no doubt used to Lord Yakov's outbursts.

"Where he should be." Mila defended. "Vitya is not the only one who currently needs support."

"You gave us a fright, your Majesty." Minako said softly, cutting that argument short. "I almost fainted on our way here."

"Us?" confusion crossed blue eyes, which a second ago were far away and vacant, giving them a shine and making them wander around the room, barely noticing that there were so many people in it. Years seemed to pass until they finally found Yuuri, who was loitering behind the door like a skittish cat. "Oh…" a smile made its way to Victor's tired face. "You're here as well?"

Every single eye in the room turned toward him.

The nebulous and surging attention did not matter to him, in fact, Yuuri did not even register it, because what in front of him stole his entire focus and refused to give it back.

He saw Victor's hair, a few shades darker, sopped by a bath he must've taken shortly before, not a single tuft painted with anything other than its beautiful silver, certainly not scarlet in any way. His skin looked pale, but not with pallor, perhaps a bit from shock and exhaustion. There was not a single bruise, a single scratch or discoloration on him of any kind.

His chest was swelling and shrinking, the lapel of the white shirt he had opted for moving along accordingly. His long, silvery lashes flittered along his lids, eyes blinking in proper intervals, not too far about, but not close either.

He's not gone. The scene finally sank in. He's… he's-

"Now, who in the hell's name is that?!" the locus expanded, and suddenly more than two dozens of people were gawking his way, and Lord Yakov was yelling, making Yuuri jump in fear and break out of his trance. "And at a time like this?!" the Grand Duke waved a dismissive hand, the veins on his forehead bulging. "Leroy, would you please get rid of this-"

"Yakov." Lady Lilia chided, instantly silencing him.

He wanted to run, but not toward the exit, he wanted to run as fast as he could and wrap Victor in an embrace, just like the man did so many weeks ago when he heard Yuuri was hurt.

But in the presence of all these people, it was impossible in every way imaginable. He was physically incapable of pushing himself into that room.

"I'm… I'm sorry for imposing at such an inconvenient time." Yuuri almost broke into tears at how badly he was berated, at how badly he didn't want to be here. He managed to lock eyes with Victor and quickly say, "I- I- I'm relieved that your Majesty is unharmed."

Victor was trying to shift out of his cousin and aunt's secure hold, but Yuuri did not linger long enough to see anything beyond that.

For the second time that week, Victor called his name and Yuuri ran away as fast as he could, leaving a cacophony of noise, whispers, protests, and giggles erupting behind him.

He didn't want to go, he didn't, he didn't; the idea of leaving the Tsar was fraying Yuuri's being little by little as he pulled himself along the hallway, the trip never, ever feeling that long, that incessant, that unbearable.

But he knew, and Minako knew, and everyone there knew, that Yuuri did not belong in that room, not anymore, not then, at least, not when it was no longer Yuuri and Victor's secluded, intimate space. He only belonged there when it didn't matter.

And perhaps it was for the best, because he didn't know what could be worse. Yuuri could try to attune to that new setting, restricted from even something as simple and granted as sitting close to the Tsar, instead to ebb away and stand awkwardly, outlandishly in some corner too, too far from him. Or he could discard all decency, all respect to the other royals, and jump into Victor's arms right then and there, just like those blue eyes had urged him to before he ran away from that need, the need that wasn't entirely his own. He didn't know.

"Otabek." Was the first thing Yuuri uttered when he reached the guards, asking, with a chilling whisper, before he even realized why he was asking in the first place. His mind was in such distortion that even simple concepts seemed to take much effort to understand. Victor's alive and unharmed, one of the voices took pity on him and elaborated. Which means- "Where's ser Otabek?"

If not for the fact that he had practically memorized that route, Yuuri would've lost his way more than once due to his growing dread.

He had made it there, however, he had managed to reach Cialdini's quarters in less than five minutes, navigating through the castle with a clear intent rather than his earlier desultory wandering.

Yuuri spotted a mass of yellow hair and sidled his way to Yurio. The menacing crimson unfortunately existed, polluting the tips of his front strands, but they did not look as terrible as people had suggested. There had been at least some vitality in the sight.

Despite Yuuri's quiet gait, Yurio's entire body whirled around at the first echoes of his footsteps.

He did not know what to expect to find, but Yuuri was shocked and confused to see that, aside from a couple of guards near the door of the infirmary, the boy was completely alone. His eyes sought Yuuri's, and in unexpected candour, the Prince's expression crumbled at the first sight of someone he knew.

Even if he hadn't seen it, he still recognized the yearning instantly, the wish for guidance, the coveting for the support he had been denied from. The unmistakable need for a pillar.

Once he came face to face with the boy, Yuuri did not dare retread and pulled Yurio into an embrace as fast as he physically could.

Noxious and masked emotions seemed to evaporate into the air as Yurio broke into noisy sobs, clutching at his shirt and staining it with tears. Yuuri did not discourage it in any way, for he only pushed the boy's head further into his chest.

"They were going to stab me!" Yurio was incapable of conveying what he meant by that, and Yuuri didn't blame him, because none of it was easy to understand. Was he still unable to process that he and Victor were targets of an assassination attempt? Was he thankful that it had been abated? Was he searingly mad that it did? "Not him! Me!"

He had no idea how to handle this, but the role had been passed on, and he could no longer be the Yuuri anymore, he needed to be the Minako in this situation. "You're both still here."

"Are we?!" the protest confirmed that he had not been talking about Victor. "He… he lost so much blood, oh god, oh fucking hell- he's going to- he will be-"

What am I to do? Yuuri looked around, pathetically helpless. What am I to say?

"Shhh." He found himself stroking the Prince's hair, and it seemed to do something at least, as Yurio's panicky whispers turned into more comprehensible sentences.

"What- what will I do if-" Yurio buried his face into Yuuri's top once again. "He's my best companion. We… we spend every minute together. With him, I'm no longer so, fucking, alone. If something happened to him… For god's sake, why him? Why not that prick Jean-"

"Don't say these things." Yuuri sighed, scared himself of what might happen to the knight. "I'm sure he'll-"

On cue, they heard the private infirmary door creak open. Yurio scrambled out Yuuri's embrace to see who had emerged, his green eyes wide, red, and pleading.

Cialdini pulled down his cotton mask, and the smile on his face was enough for both of them to exhale in relief, Yurio's coming out sounding like a high pitched snivel.

Cialdini chuckled as he approached them, "There, there, your Highness." He patted the Prince's head affectionately, and Yurio let him. "It was a very clean and very sharp blade, which in my book is appreciated. The knife went in and out of his shoulder without causing too much damage." He told them, holding the top of Yurio's head and smiling reassuringly toward Yuuri. "He'll live for a few more decades, and he'll be left with a scar he will surely gloat about."

"He won't." Yurio snorted, finally regaining himself and shrugging away from Cialdini's hand. "Otabek would never gloat."

And that, well that concluded a nightmare Yuuri never wanted to experience again.

When the ensemble of people in the north wing slowly migrated to Cialdini's quarters, surrounding Yurio's with delayed, but welcomed support, Yuuri was quick to flee.

And in the confinement of his room, he was quick to sink into the floor and let everything pummel onto him, indulging in a well-timed and much-needed rest.

It wasn't a rest as much as it was a good ten to twenty minutes of crying and babbling nonsense into the air, but he still felt that his whole body broke when he did.

His head drummed with ache, his limbs felt numb, and his eyes stung, but none hurt more than his heart, which had been taking a perpetual beating for the past hour. And it wasn't because of woe, or threat, pressure or all the helplessness he had experienced, no, it was because of the relief.

When Victor had called 'darling' earlier that day, Yuuri had thought that no relief could bypass that, but he had been mistaken, oh so mistaken. The relief he felt seeing Victor simply breathe and blink was ineffable, and delaying his reaction until he made sure Otabek was safe and sound only made it worse.

This kind of relief was too intense, too painful to take in, it could not have been received with ardour, but only with a sense of something being forcibly ripped out of him.

The woe, the threat, pressure and all the helplessness mentioned were fused into him, and they have been taken off with something completely opposite of the clean and sharp blade Cialdini was thankful for. No, his were taken out with a blunt and contaminated claw.

When it reached a point when Yuuri thought he had been too acquainted with his carpet, he reached out for the nearest object he saw, anything to fill that hole.

The piece of clothing carelessly discarded was his coat, flung closely to where the rest of his unloved clothes where. Sliding it towards him, Yuuri lessened it into precise, plain impulsive folds, then reached for something else and did the same, and before he knew it, Yuuri was doing something long overdue.

So with tears that were barely drying, he found himself arranging mountains of unorganized clothes in the middle of the night to mountains of organized clothes, since he had no wardrobes or chests to keep them confined. Sara repeatedly told him to request more furniture, Yuuri recalled, but he could never find it in himself to do so.

At some point, he started humming a familiar melody in between sniffles, finding the mere act of folding garments somehow soothing. It left him alone with a dissonance of chaotic thoughts, until some of them seemed to become comprehensible.

At some point, Yuuri wondered why he had so many garments to begin with.

And then he remembered that they were gifts, all of them, since Yuuri had never spent single a coin on clothes.

Yuuri saw that he was unconsciously sorting everything into three piles, first were the clothes given to him by Sara, who always brought him things she thought he needed, sleepings attires, working clothes, scarves, caps, and boots. There was another pile sent to him by Victor's three handmaidens, outfits that chosen concubines usually wore, outfits so sultry and degrading that Yuuri had a sudden urge to burn them in a bonfire.

And for the third pile, Yuuri put everything he wasn't sure of there, as they were always delivered by servants and handmaidens he couldn't recognize in the last month or so. To his surprise, there were suits, dresses, and pieces that were covered with either gold, silver, or other sorts of expensive embroidery. There were pieces of silk, of fur, of other material that Yuuri's mind instantly registered as things only nobles wore.

Yuuri was staring at that pile in astonishment, knowing that they together must make a fortune. There was no mistaking it. Victor had sent him those, long before Yuuri asked him to stop, long before they had that unnerving fight.

It didn't end there. Because there was a fourth pile, already sorted neatly in the corner of the room, delivered specifically when Yuuri wasn't present. Yuuri shuffled his way towards it, noticing it for the first time and having no idea what it contained, since each piece had been wrapped, unlike the other ones.

As he tore through each package, his humming intensified, quickened, and loudened, as if Yuuri was losing his wit with every piece he unveiled.

Maybe he was losing his wit, because that delicate, tender, and romantic melody Victor played, which Yuuri fell in love with the first time he heard it, was starting to sound like the other piece of music he hated with all his heart.

Like they were the same exact tune but with different tempos.

The revelation did not matter, because in his hands, in that pile, were extravagant dancing costumes, with colours so vibrant he could've never imagined them on fabric. He found feathers, he found glitter, crystals, and mesh, he found all sorts of complementary accessories, from masks to wigs to gloves to props of all kinds.

Yuuri was close to breaking down into another fit of tears.

Victor had once called him the most beautiful dancer in the world, and that, that was exactly what Yuuri imagined the most beautiful dancer in the world would have in their wardrobe.

He was becoming dizzy with an amalgam of guilt and delight, barely processing anything anymore when he picked up the last package. This one was different, as it had a card attached to it.

With shaky hands, Yuuri flipped it open and read through delicate and pretty handwriting.

'Who am I to be in the way of greatness? - V'

Yuuri didn't have time to be furious at Victor for still sending him gifts, even after he told him not to, because inside was one of the most beautiful outfits he had ever laid eyes on.

In truth, Yuuri had seen it before, he definitely had. It revealed itself somewhere in his tortured mind, exploding from the depth of deprived imagination during the first time he danced in front of Victor. The suit, the sparkling, perfect suit he saw himself wearing, happy and strong and so, so free.

Though, the suit wasn't blue. It was a gradient of white, silver, pink, and violet. Yet, Yuuri found that for the first time, blue wasn't the only colour he wanted to wear proudly.

And Yuuri, the fool, had once entertained the idea of Victor never letting him dance.

He didn't know what it was then, but Yuuri looked around his room, at the opened card that signed a simple V instead of V III N, he looked at the first pile of clothes, made for a servant, the second pile, made for a seductress, at the third, a gentleman, and then at the fourth, a god.

He fell on his back on the carpeted floor, surrounded by dazzling costumes, and he closed his eyes, doing nothing but think, and think, and think about everything that had been happening to him recently.

All the favoritism toward him by a Tsar who had never done such thing before, Victor's general treatment to him, his protectiveness, the two pieces of music he played that were the exact same, the way he hated being addressed by honorifics, how he did not consider him a concubine, his violent reaction toward Yuuri admitting false love, his undivided attention when surrounded with so many other people.

He thought of Victor's smiles, his compliments, his gentle touches, and the way he called him 'darling'. He thought of the way he played the violin, the way his fingers stroke Makkachin's fur, and the way he looked at Yuuri with so much adoration. He thought of how, even considering he was a man of such majestic power, he was still sensitive and easily hurt by the most mundane things.

Until finally, all of it rained down, crashing on him like a rickety mountain of revelations.

When Yuuri opened his eyes hours later, he felt like a different man.

"Yuuri?"

"Yes?"

"His Majesty called for you."

It was very easy to see the monumental difference in Victor's bedroom now versus when it was filled with so many people earlier.

It felt more massive, its air more breathable, his own presence much louder and significant, and Victor's even more so, as all focus shifted to him sitting on the corner of the bed, his posture tense, but his deference toward Yuuri still clear.

"I would call you cruel for running away from me a third time," Victor said in false and blithe disregard to the current situation, hands joined and pressed against his forehead. "But I know you had no choice."

Without being told to, Yuuri shut the door behind him and tediously made his way to the centre of the room, which was none other than Victor himself.

He hugged the book he was carrying to his chest and lifted his free hand toward Victor, but he was struck with not knowing what to do with it.

Yuuri wanted to speak, he truly did, but he found that he had so, so much to say that it was near impossible to compute and express it all. How could he begin to tell Victor everything he had come to realize? All the misdeeds he had done? All the false, sordid assumptions he had made? It was so clunked together, so intertwined, so overlapped that he had no idea where it all began or ended - if it did at all.

Besides, this definitely was not the time for it. He had no choice but to push it all to the back of his mind to dwell on it later, preferably without Victor ever knowing about his internal debacle.

Hating himself passionately before he even did anything, Yuuri had remained standing in perturbed silence in front of the Tsar, so close, but too far to his liking.

He knew what he wanted to do; Yuuri had known the moment he was called, the moment he saw Victor in Mila and Lilia's arms. But there was still an invisible hedge Yuuri couldn't cross, no matter how hard he wanted to, no matter how well he knew that the man wouldn't mind.

Victor sighed at the quietness. He lifted his head and for a split second, Yuuri saw his face, wanly and exhausted, before the Tsar clasped Yuuri's offered hand and used it to jerk him forward, bumping his head against Yuuri's abdomen.

The book fell on the floor, leaving his empty hand hovering just above Victor's shoulder, so, so desperate to touch him and turn the contact into an embrace, but he was too stunned, too cowardly to do so.

Victor inhaled heavily against his shirt, his entire form relaxing. "Ah, I knew it was not the scents they bathe you in..."

Yuuri had no idea what he was referring to. "Sorry?"

"You smell nice."

"Oh." It took Yuuri a long moment to find a reply to that. "You think so?"

Victor nodded against his stomach, and for a while, none of them spoke.

Yuuri's lips thinned, cursing his inability to form one, one coherent conversation between them and feeling increasingly worried about how solemn the Tsar was being. His worry was intense enough to overcome his cowardice and finally put his hand on the Tsar's shoulder. The spike of warmth was immediate in his palm.

His skin seemed to start burning when Victor's hand moved to cup his, yet, that was the only response he received. Victor made no attempt to speak, to explain, or to even talk about the horror that took place hours ago. Yuuri had expected to have a bigger role in comforting him, not to just stand there for the Tsar to take in his presence.

Perhaps, taking in his presence was all the Tsar wanted, but it was definitely not what he needed, did he?

"Are you… are you alright?"

Yuuri winced at how stupid his own question was.

The Tsar took another long inhale. "No."

A torturous minute passed by with him waiting for an explanation before Yuuri completely lost his patience. He tightened his grip on Victor's shoulder and found his voice, "Would you please tell me what had happened?"

He had expected Victor to either scoff his pathetic meddling or dodge the question entirely, but instead, the Tsar nodded and recalled, with much more details than Yuuri foresaw, the incidents that had been taking place these last couple of weeks.

Victor Nikiforov was a reactive but also heavily proactive Tsar, something he promised to be when he found an empire being passed down to him in a state of complete disarray.

Being reactive meant entering his court each morning, receive information from his counsellors about current affairs requiring his intrusion, then set to deal with them accordingly, simply meandering.

Being proactive, however, meant being much more involved, much more aware and prepared. It meant dealing with things that did not require immediate attention, but if not dealt with, might accumulate in the future into calamities.

Rebuilding the Grand Chapel, which was subtle in its failing state but still deemed to collapse in a few years, was one of those things.

The way Victor described it, the place was nothing short of a public peril. Although he wasn't a religious person, the Tsar did not intend to make that a public knowledge, thus he never failed to attend orations every other day. And during his visits, instead of focusing on his love and devotion for the divine, he focused on the creaking, musky pews, on the water droplets escaping from the numerous cracks in the ceiling and gathering in tiny pools on the floor, he focused on the limited space and the people left with no choice but to stand on their feet, he focused on the wind escaping a few broken windows, and most importantly, he focused on the chilling cold that would later linger in his bones even after leaving.

Victor had been planning to rebuild the chapel for the past year and a half, and those two weeks were when he put the plan in motion.

Since it was the Grand Chapel where most of the town residents attended, it had been agreed upon to only tear it down once a temporary chapel had been built in the outskirts of the city.

"I had been most excited about it," Victor smiled weakly, "Ah, Yuuri, I'm not much of an architect, but the blueprints took my breath away, I wish you could see what they created. A building of the same size, but thrice as spacious, warm, and pristine. A chapel truly befitting my beautiful city, one looking like it had been touched by God himself..."

The ardour on Victor's face was hard to look at, especially with how a moment later, it all dissolved away, especially his smile.

"I don't understand." Yuuri told him honestly, "Nothing about this could ever elicit such violent reaction."

"You're no more surprised than I am." Victor now covered Yuuri's hand with both his, rubbing his thumbs wherever. "You would think I'd no longer be naive after eight years on this throne..." His lips clipped together, "But here I am, falling once again into the stratagem of my enemies."

"It's that political?" Yuuri frowned, "But who would make an enemy out of you? And why?"

"The very entity I'm trying to aid." Irony laced his voice, "Sadly, the Faith of Russia has never been adherent of my work, or existence, for that matter..." he shrugged, "Our relationship had always been quite tenuous, the Faith and I, even in my days as a Tsesarevich. I've had no choice but to try to lessen their influence over the years lest they'd interfere in every aspect of my life, private and whatnot. It had worked, to a degree..." he let out a tired breath. "When I proposed my plan to rebuild the chapel, I had no idea that I'd be framed so horribly, given that they seemed so cooperative. The rumours were quite absurd, but people tend to follow clergymen blindly, I suppose."

"I know." Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut. Nobody was more familiar to the power of rumours and clergy as much as he was. "I know. But what is it that makes the Faith so averse to you?"

"Well, the separation of the church and state might be one reason, I don't think they were too thrilled about that..." he cringed, "But then again, that was due to me reaching the limit of my tolerance…"

"To what?"

"That, darling, is a story for another time." Victor's intonation changed when he went on, and Yuuri did not dare press further. "Anyway, it was supposed to be inside information, but they went ahead and spread the news that I'd be tearing down the chapel soon, without my authorization. But it got worse; words of my dislike to the Faith circulated, my mocking of their religion, my distaste for their practices… And, ah goddamnit, I wouldn't blame my people for being defensive when it comes to something so fundamental to them. It might not have been my intent, but it looks exactly as they claim. Me disregarding the Faith and monstrously destroying their place of worship. I've wanted to bring joy to my people, not… not to enucleate the city."

Yuuri had no idea what to do or say. He had entered a new domain and was left, once again, to navigate unfamiliar territory. It was unlike him with Minako, where he poured every ounce of his pain into her like a basin, unlike him with Yurio, where he absorbed all the boy's troubles like a sponge and made them his own.

Victor, well Victor seemed composed enough, but nowhere near comforted. Instead of pouring or absorbing, he seemed to share his pain with Yuuri, like the other would have any answers. 'We don't discuss these matters.' he once told Phichit, and it was for a reason.

Yuuri was left in a stump where almost any solution he offered would sound like him overstepping, meddling with things that did not concern him.

Yet, it was impossible to say any empty encouragements or shallow words of support, because Victor must've been hearing them all day, and Yuuri wanted to do something. He didn't want to be cast aside as a faceless person in a sea of followers.

And besides, Yuuri wanted to show Victor that he could help, that he could read the situation very clearly, and honest to god, the solution was far too clear.

"Then... why don't you make your plans known?" his voice quivered. The urge to assert his help won, for sure. "One announcement is all it would take, wouldn't it?"

Victor nodded, making Yuuri sigh quietly because thank goodness, he had not said the wrong thing.

"That's exactly what my counsellors are begging me to do…" he smiled warmly, reaching to stroke Yuuri's cheek. "You people are smart, but I, unfortunately, am a very stubborn man."

Well, Victor surely made his words sound useless, but at least he put Yuuri on par with his counsellors. That was far better than another faceless follower, or anything he hoped for.

"There's a reason why I had been so secretive." Victor's thumb grazed Yuuri's chin. "You see, my people love me when I surprise them, and I shall, just like I have continuously been doing since the beginning of my rule." The corner of his lips lifted, talking adoringly as if the group of protestors surrounding him earlier were only misunderstood and not attempting to murder him. "I can handle their dismay for a year or two until the chapel is built. They reckon it won't take long, since the foundation is already there."

Yuuri did not like the sound of that, and he had barely noticed his heart beating faster and faster at the thought. "What… what if you were attacked again?"

"My, my," Victor tilted his head, rapt but teasing. "Is my Yuuri worried about my wellbeing?"

Yuuri's face fell.

"Of course I am." He wanted to say much, much more, but he feared that he would break down crying right then and there. His throat felt constricted enough as it as. "I thought- I thought-"

He cut himself off and looked away before the tears started to fall.

"I'm relieved." He heard Victor say, and a sudden and unprecedented urge to slap him came to mind, but he held himself. "I thought you'd still be upset with me. I've… never seen you like that before."

Yuuri met his eyes and Victor's smile faltered. "Aren't you?"

Victor shook his head. "Being in a near death experience... it revealed to me how utterly mundane everything is." He shook his head again, as if to further his point. "The knife was aimed at my heart, Yuuri." He slid Yuuri's hand to palm his chest. "Right here." Yuuri caressed the folds of Victor's shirt, trying to feel for any scratch or graze that Victor might've overlooked. "It's so… reminiscent of what I said to you that day. It's quite morbid, really."

Under his hand, Yuuri felt Victor's heart frantically beating. "Then do not make stupid promises."

"Oh, Yuuri, but I did keep my promise, didn't I?" He chuckled, "No knives to the heart, not when Otabek, heroically and recklessly, had stepped in and took it instead. Thankfully, he's a short man, so it got him in the shoulder." His smile turned into a frown, all amusement gone. "For some reason, Yurio thinks that he was the one about to be stabbed. I think it's due to shock; he was several feet away."

Somehow, Yuuri finally found something to say to further the conversation. "What were you thinking then? When it happened?"

"I thought, 'That's it. I've become my uncle. I've failed my people and now my empire hates me.'"

"They don't." Yuuri found himself saying. "It was a singular case, I'm sure of it."

"Aye, but my mind wasn't there, to be honest." Victor's heart beat much faster. "When I saw you at the door, and you ran away, I thought, 'Yuuri does as well. He doesn't have a reason not to.'" He took Yuuri's hand and brought it to his lips, kissing one of his knuckles. "But I'm still here, and I want you to have a reason, I want you to have many."

"I already do," Yuuri told him sternly, shaking his head. "Many... Many."

"Oh." Victor laughed a little, unconvinced. "You're surely hard to read then, darling."

Yuuri stared at him, astonished when he shouldn't be, not when he never considered Victor's side of everything, not when he never thought of how his actions, or lack thereof, might seem to Victor.

Like then, when Victor's confidence seemed to falter the longer Yuuri looked at him blankly, when his usual hollow sadness appeared the moment Yuuri snatched his hands away, moving away so they weren't touching anymore.

Once free, Yuuri did what he had been aching to do since the moment he came inside. He sat next to the Tsar, gathered all the courage he did not have, and hugged Victor as tightly as he could, just like Mila did.

Of course. Of course Victor wasn't able to see it, because he himself had only realized it tonight.

Victor's arms fell around him and Yuuri pressed his face into the man's collarbone, breathing in his essence and relinquishing all his hesitations once he was finally where he wanted, in the arms of someone who needed him, someone he needed. Suddenly he was pulled out of an ocean of doubts, fears, dirt and blood, and was instead surrounded with a comforting ambience of roses and lavender.

"Yuuri," Victor said absently, with his chin resting on Yuuri's head, his hands running against his back. His voice was far away and he took so long to continue that Yuuri thought that he had forgotten what to say. "Have you ever been close to dying?"

Without dwelling on the consequences, he nodded against his shoulder.

"Hm." Victor considered for a long, silent minute. "What did you think of?"

He remembered a balcony, a garden, a marble fountain, harsh winds and melting snow. He remembered the echoes of the universe's laughter, and the drowning, and drowning, and drowning in two abysses of a uniform colour.

Yuuri's eyes fluttered, narrowed, then closed in resignation. "You."

And he left it at that, turning the air tense with his confession, Victor's soothing touch against his back becoming tense. The shock, and perhaps the pleasure that it gave Victor, was very short-lived, for it took him a moment to realize that Yuuri was talking about a recent event, rather than an old recollection.

"Darling," he sighed, talking softly, bone-tired, as if he didn't have the energy to be mad anymore. "Will you ever tell me who the culprit is?"

Despite himself, Yuuri started chuckling sardonically, a call for Victor to tighten his hug before he started crying again, which the Tsar instantly complied.

"There is no culprit." He went on letting out more truths in a span of one conversation than he had had in years. "No one wants my death more than I do."

There. Yuuri felt his whole body slumping against Victor, slowly drowning in the comfort of his presence. There, I've finally said it.

Victor was a smart man; Yuuri doubted that he'd believe him, given that the past couple of attacks won't make any sense in that context. After all, Yuuri wouldn't have punched himself in the face or slapped himself while Mila watched. Yet, he wished that Victor would believe him and finally forget about the ongoing nonsense that wasted the Tsar's valuable time.

And Yuuri, never failing to contradict himself, hoped that Victor won't believe it, because the man will wonder why, and worse, he might even demand to know, which was something that no even Michele, the bearer of his secrets, knew fully.

But all Victor managed to utter was a tired, "Oh."

Yuuri felt both shame and guilt, the former for doing something that many considered a sin, and the latter for stressing the Tsar when he was supposed to be the one comforting him.

"It doesn't matter." Yuuri told him, "It's nothing."

Victor's seemed to work on a protest, but he shook his head, letting it go. "Be that as it may," he sighed, "But, here's something to think about next time…" Victor was pulling away from him ever, much to Yuuri's chagrin. One of Victor's hands moved to lightly frame his cheek. "No one dreads your death more than I do."

Yuuri pursed his lips and turned his head away, but not for long before Victor's hand was on his chin, making him look at the determined and lucid eyes of his.

"No one." Victor repeated.

Yuuri breathed out. "I was supposed to here to comfort you."

"Were you, now?" Victor's eyes crinkled, bumping their foreheads together. "Not really, no. I just missed you, is all."

Yuuri could hear the amusement, can understand the flirtatious tone and can tell it wasn't true, but he still felt fear creep into him. Victor sounded too much like his dream version when he said that, too much.

To distract himself from that irrational fear, Yuuri bent down and retrieved the book that had fallen from him earlier, piquing Victor's curiosity.

"What did you bring with you, darling?" the Tsar secured his arm around Yuuri's middle once he sat upright again.

"You said you read every single book in your library." Yuuri examined the cover like it was the first time he has seen it, completely lost in thought until Victor hummed affirmatively. "So I- I brought this to read for you," he held it close so that the Tsar could see it. 'Ravissanté', the title, glowed on the cover in a metallic golden font. "It's from Lord Chulnanont's personal collection. Translated from Thai to French."

Victor smiled genuinely for the first time that day, gazing at Yuuri and silently scrutinizing him for what felt like a minute or two.

"You are lovely," his smile only widened. "Have I ever told you that?"

For a moment, Yuuri was about to retort that yes, he has, many times, but the compliment managed to make him stiffen in place, a faint blush dusting on his cheeks at the unexpectedness of it.

Until Yuuri took a glance at the book's title again, and the nervousness turned into abrupt bubbling in his throat. And the next thing he knew, Yuuri was laughing for the first time in front of the Tsar.

By the way Victor snickered and kissed his forehead excitedly, Yuuri gathered that his plan to comfort the Tsar had somehow worked.

Yuuri stared at the glass wall with so much intensity he wondered if it may crack and break by the sheer force of it.

It was a clear, cloudless night graced with a full moon, and from where he sat, Yuuri could make out the outline of the St. Petersburg shore, a sight only accessible from the northern side of the castle.

Yuuri perhaps never paid attention, or perhaps considering the hazardous events, the servants had forgotten to draw the curtains that night. But he saw, with clarity, what looked like a razor thin, silvery horizon.

And he stared, feeling troubled and reminiscent but not remembering why.

Something about that scene was so familiar, so nostalgic, and so troubling, but Yuuri couldn't place what it was exactly.

He felt a hand brushing against his shoulder, sliding down his back in tender, featherly contact, snapping him out of his strange and unwelcome trance.

"Come back here." Victor's voice was hoarse, thick of slipping consciousness.

Yuuri still detected the momentary dismay that came with his request, and he felt guilty for making Victor think he had escaped again.

But not tonight. Tonight was when Yuuri stayed.

So he obeyed, returning to his previous position, slithering into the cocoon of Victor's limbs, sheets, and pillows, his back flush against Victor's chest. The Tsar held on to him, his head buried in the crook of his neck.

"Victor?"

"Mhm?" Victor croaked out, then lazily opened his eyes to process what he heard, sounding delighted to hear his name. "Yes, my Yuuri?"

"You want to make your people happy, no?" Yuuri's own eyes were becoming heavy with sleep. "By surprising them?"

Victor smiled against his neck. "Correct."

"Well," Yuuri yawned. "If you think about it... now is the best time to surprise them." Victor went rigid, and Yuuri was half-certain he was asleep. "They're already upset and expecting the absolute worst. If you wait, their anger will fade, and they won't be half as surprised when it happens, really."

Yuuri knew that now, more than any time before, he had interfered directly with things far greater than him.

The counsellors, after all, had been begging him to do it, and Victor had stubbornly declined. And Yuuri would later realize that all argumentative voices he heard in Victor's room earlier were coming from his family, his cousins, uncle and aunt, advising him the same thing.

But as it was, he was far too drained to care, not even noting the murmurs that came out of his mouth at that point. All he knew was that his chest ached whenever he remembered Victor's state upon his entrance, how so far into despair he seemed. And he wanted to help.

"'Words travel faster than wind, and even the walls have ears.'" He went on, mumbling into the air. "Say the inside construction remains heavily guarded… All it would take is one eyewitness and a few whispers for the truth to break out before you could have a grand reveal."

Victor, who Yuuri doubted had the ability to ever ridicule him so, did not seem dismissive, did not dissect his words, or try to put him in his place. He merely sighed and kissed the side of Yuuri's neck, encouraging him to fall asleep and forget about such things.

Yuuri remained awake, however, though he was content because at least, he could never say he didn't try to help.

Yuuri eyes remained fixed on the scene that overlooked Victor's quarters, and that was when he finally remembered.

The never-ending horizon, the sound of crashing waves against the rocky shores that only existed in his mind.

He remembered how, many years ago, the scene elicited an untamed pain, desire, and want. The want of travelling out of his current dimension and exploring what was beyond.

It was a presentation of the sin that was his freedom.

Now, however, it only signified his imprisonment. He had broken his chains and crossed over to the other side. He had seen, he had explored, and he had witnessed horrors he never knew existed.

Crossing over again meant returning to his earlier cage, but not to dwell on his petty loneliness any longer, but to await his execution.

It was time. It was finally time for Yuuri to let go of his dream, to spit it out of his system and focus on the present, on what was important.

Whether he had intended it to be this way or not, it was right then when Yuuri was as free as the universe would let him. Right there, where Victor needed him so badly.

He rolled around, burying his face against the Tsar's chest, his hands reaching out to wrap around his body the same urgent way they were on him.

"You're affectionate tonight." Victor chuckled, his lips pressed on Yuuri's forehead. "If I knew it'd take an assassination attempt, I would've faked one long ago."

Yuuri smiled.

Perhaps it was just that night. Perhaps Victor and he would never have such raw, untainted, and intimate time with each other after this, but Yuuri cherished it, nonetheless.

That. That was important now. Comforting Victor was important. Making sure he could help with everything he had was important.

Victor found comfort in his company, and Yuuri offered it, as much of it as Victor would want.

And if what he wanted was to hold him tightly in the night and not hear advice about his problems, then Yuuri was content with just holding onto Victor in return, just as tightly, if not more.

The very next morning, something took place which puzzled the Tsar's inner circle to no end, but nonetheless made them happy and relieved.

And so was Russia, as it was suddenly blistering with her elevated love for her Tsar, who had made it a priority to announce the building of a new chapel as the first of his errands that day.

The protestors at the gates had turned into apologists overnight, the rocks being thrown had blossomed into flowers, and the vile words that polluted the air had become cheers of appreciation.

It was Yuuri of The Forbidden, and Yuuri alone, who had just asserted power that far exceeded his domain.

But Yuuri, who barely recalled their conversation the night prior, had gone with his day with the healthy smile of a man who finally came in touch with his own reality.

Unbeknownst to him, however, he was currently - and for a while now - in possession of great power and influence.

Yet, it was still merely a glimpse of what he was soon about to possess.

+ Kimono: Traditional Japanese outfit

+ La Chute du Prince Charmant: The Fall of Prince Charming

+ Mochi: Rice cake

+ Yokan: Red bean jelly

+ Nihon: Japan

+ Ushanka: A Russian fur cap

+ Yokatta: 'Thank Goodness'

+ Ravissanté: Lovely (Victor basically made a pun)