EVEN THOUGH ITS REALLY LATE, HAPPY BIRTHDAY AIRKNITTER!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Wolfram remembered that day with a certain clarity that any other memory would not have been rewarded. He remembered the crooked road, the taste of dirt and blood in his mouth, the rags that covered his body, and even the position of the sun in the sky. He still remembered the pain that the bruises had brought and the sight of the scuffed up shoes that had entered his line of sight. He remembered the face of the young man who had knelt down on the ground beside him and asked if he were alright. He remembered the dark clothing and the sweet smile. The soldiers who hovered even after he waved them away. The horses tied to trees and the heat in the air that could only be brought along by the condensing of several bodies into one area.

But most of all, he remember that dark hair and those black eyes that sparkled like stars in an endless night sky. He recalled the certain way that the regally attired man had turned his way and the way that his tan skin caught the light as he bore those eyes into Wolfram's. He remembered taking that man's hand and standing on shaky legs. He remembered being questioned. He recalled not being able to give them a name. An identity. His name was to be 'Wolfram' after a flower that grew within a castle somewhere. He remembered that man's blinding smile when he agreed to the name. He remembered wobbling to the horse and being settled just in front of the dark haired beauty, and if he focused hard enough, he could just remember the specific way the dark haired man tightened his arms around Wolfram before whipping the reins and heading off to some unknown land.

Wolfram didn't have much memory of anytime before that. He had probably had a family at some point…a life…a home…but at that point in time, he could barely recall what those words even meant. He was found on the side of a dusty, beaten road covered in injuries and rags. The only memory that he carried of his previous life was an image of a woman with shining blonde hair and green eyes and the emotion that they held as flames engulfed them.

He knew not who the woman was, but some gut instinct had told him that that woman had been his mother at one point. The fact that he couldn't even recall the image of someone who normally held a great power in someone's life didn't bother him. He couldn't remember what role his mother had served in his life other than being associated with the word 'mother' so he did not miss her. He had no way of telling if she were abusive or kind or flighty or serious. There was simply nothing. It was like attempting to remember someone whom you have never met: impossible.

The man who had taken Wolfram in was the king of a great kingdom. The Great Demon Kingdom to be precise. Wolfram was taken directly to the castle and washed and dressed in clothes fitting a normal servant. The finery of the nobility was not wasted on him and he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that he couldn't wear the lacy shirts and frilly jackets as opposed to the plain tunics and short jackets given to him. He was in no way ungrateful, but something told him that the fine clothes that aristocratic boys his age wore would have suited him better.

Wolfram didn't know if going with the Maou on that day was a bad decision or not…but he didn't care. With almost no memories to base his life off of, he chose to live in the moment each day rather than rely upon knowledge gained from experience and stored in his mind. He had no use for such things considering that very knowledge could be lost in the blink of an eye and discarded in time.

He rarely saw the Maou, Yuuri as he was told to call him, after that day. Yuuri was always busy with paperwork or studies with very little time to spare in between. Every spare minute was dedicated to baseball with his personal guard, Conrart, to play some silly ball game in which one throws a tiny white ball back and forth. Wolfram couldn't make much sense of it, but he didn't try too hard to. He simply went along with his days, working in the castle as a servant alongside the maids.

The work was long and tedious, the days were long, and the blisters were ever present. Yet still, Wolfram continued to endure it. Had he anything to offer these people, he would have quickly offered it and then carried on his way to discover himself. But he didn't. Like it or not, there would be no getting around the fact that the Maou and his retainers had taken him in without a second thought, clothed, fed, and housed him. He would forever be indebted to them.

But after three months of living at the castle, he started to feel a certain frustration. Certainly, there would be more to life then sleep, eat, work, repeat, right? Surely the point of life wasn't simply to get up every morning and work until you felt faint, and then go back to bed? He felt misplaced…misunderstood. He had no idea how to act around these people. What was acceptable and what wasn't. How was one supposed to greet the king? How was one to greet his chief advisor?

Wolfram tried not to allow these thoughts to linger for too long. He cast them off like rags and moved on. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he attempted to wash away a stain. He tried to clear it away from the once pure fabric. His hands were callused already and it frustrated him to no end knowing that they had been there even before he came to the castle and yet he couldn't recall where they had come from.

The first time King Yuuri talked to Wolfram after first finding him, Wolfram felt his heart stutter. He struggled for breath for only a moment before trying to conjure some form of intelligent conversation that could save him from perpetual embarrassment. He said a simple hello. How are you? This seemed to work. The Maou's eyes instantly sparkled with joy and he began to babble on about how he hoped that Wolfram was enjoying life in the castle. How he hoped that they could be great friends. Wolfram couldn't stop himself from craving the very same. He craved this dark haired half-stranger like he had craved no one else before. It was a burning fire in the pit of his stomach that clawed at him and demanded that he follow King Yuuri to the ends of the world.

These feelings scared him. They were taboo. Not allowed. Forbidden. And yet still, Wolfram couldn't fight them off. Every time he tried to banish the sinister thoughts and heart stopping moments, they would return with a fury that they didn't have before. He tried to tell himself that these feelings would only hurt him in the end. The relationship couldn't possibly ever go past the current stage. A king and a servant weren't meant to be.

After that day, Wolfram didn't see King Yuuri a lot. Once again. It seemed that the Maou was occupied with other things and Wolfram thought himself foolish to expect otherwise. Of course the Maou wouldn't seek him out again. Sweeping the stone hallway angrily, Wolfram fought the urge to scream. He wanted to break something. Rip it. Destroy it. Ensure that it would never resemble what it once was, ever again. He wanted to shout out and draw attention to himself. He wanted someone to look at him.

I'm still here! Look at me! Here I am!

But Wolfram felt silly for feeling such intense anger over something that he knew would have happened. He should have expected that it would turn out like that in the end. He calmed himself. Took deep breaths and tried to slow his heart beat down. Breathe in. Breathe out.

For some reason, those ministrations felt familiar. Practiced. Natural. He had done that before. In his past life. In the life that he held before this mess. What had his name been? What had his life been like? Had he been a servant at that time, too. No…no he hadn't. He knew that much. He had never done work like this before. His body didn't remember how to go through the motions of sweeping like it knew how to tie his boots. It was so frustrating. Not remembering.

Wolfram ignored that train of thought—like he did a lot now a days—and continued to sweep.

When it was announced that there was to be a ball, Wolfram grew excited. He couldn't remember any party that he had attended so he was happy to go, even if it was just to carry trays with tiny finger sandwiches and tarts. He grew eager to observe the rest of the party goers. See them dancing and enjoying themselves. Most of all, he longed to see King Yuuri again. Elegant and dark. He stopped thinking about that and instead pondered over what it would be like to be around so many people at the same time. What was he supposed to wear? Oh…right…he only owned his uniform. Maybe he should stop getting excited over a party that he wasn't going to particularly take part of. With this in mind, he cleared the dinner table from that night, noticing how the vegetables were practically untouched on almost all of the plates. He would tell the cook that it wasn't to their tastes.

Wolfram didn't have many friends in the servants' quarters. He kept to himself. Detached from the rest of them. They didn't bother him, either. They must have understood that he wasn't there to make friends. But then why was he there? What was his purpose? These thoughts frequented his head often. He tried to drown them out with thoughts of mops, brooms, and dusters but it didn't always work. He was a servant, but this didn't seem to be enough for him. He wanted more.

The night of the ball, after all of the servants had cleared out of the large room that they all slept in, Wolfram, spent an obscene amount of time in front of the floor-length mirror that the servants all shared. He fluffed his hair around the nape of his neck. Twisted from side to side. Observing himself. Blonde hair. Green eyes. Beautiful. Why was this so? Why did he look like this, have the body of a prince and at the same time wear the short pants, white button down shirt, and apron of a servant? It seemed contradictory. Wrong. He was not meant for this life. He was Wolfram von—

He shook his head to clear it of that train of thought. 'von'? 'Von' what? He was Wolfram. Just Wolfram. No 'von,' no last name. Just Wolfram the servant. He shook his head once more and steeled himself. Wolfram reached the door that connected the room to the kitchen, but before he could bring himself to open the door and exit the room, his eyes were drawn back to the mirror. Back to his face in the reflection. And for the millionth time, he wondered who he was.

After grabbing his tray from the kitchen, Wolfram headed to the grand ballroom where the festivities were to take place. His feet automatically headed towards the main door. Luckily, he reminded himself that the servants had to enter through the smaller side door so as not to draw attention to their entrance. Wolfram felt a strange unease turning away from the main door, but he wrote it off as some silly form of nerves. With a steady hand, he pushed through the oak barrier and introduced himself to the life of a noble.

Everywhere there were bright colors. Ladies with dresses in every shade and hue. Men in suits, tailcoats, vests. Some wore tight trousers, some even wore riding pants. The women stuffed themselves in dressed two sizes too small with fabric in gaudy colors. Their bosoms were put on display and their eyes were accented. He felt very sorry for one lady in particular whose feet were crammed into delicate slippers that were so obviously too small, that the seams looked like they would come apart and the skin of her ankle bunched up. Elaborate hairstyles and head dresses glittered in the dim lighting and the few lords and ladies who were comfortable enough to move freely, danced in a central circle near an orchestra. The grand ballroom was large and spacious under normal circumstances—Wolfram had cleaned it enough times to know—and yet the mass of bodies made Wolfram feel suffocated. He moved slowly as he had been told to. Offering finger food to the nobles every once in a while. When his tray emptied, he was replaced with someone else until he refilled it and returned.

Sometimes when he passed, he would hear a whisper or two. Some curious. Some envious. Who is that young man? Why, he couldn't possibly be a servant! Oh dear, I suppose seeking his company after this stuffy party is out of the question. Wolfram's eyes steadily narrowed with each comment, and by the time the upper nobility arrived, he wanted nothing more than to return to his shared room and just sleep. Some party.

A hush spread across the crowd suddenly. Silence stretched out. Wolfram wondered irritably to himself whether or not that women in the plum colored dress had finally just spilled out of it like he had assumed she would at some point. He glanced around the room and noticed how almost everyone had turned to face the main door. So what? Hundreds of guests had poured in through that door that night. What was so special about this person?

Wolfram, for appearances, decided to face the honored guest as well. His heart stopped.

The Maou…the Demon King…King Yuuri…Yuuri. He was stunning as always in clothing the color of the night sky. He smiled that naïve smile and waved at everyone and Wolfram struggled to hold back the chuckle that wanted to escape his lips at the contradictory action. Here was the king of such a large and powerful kingdom, waving at his guests as if they were mere friends. Just people rather than dolls with title. Wolfram's train of thought was cut off abruptly as King Yuuri spoke. A few words. Just an introduction. But that short sentence. That short 'how are you all doing?' stopped Wolfram's heart.

He would have clutched at his chest if not for the weight of the silver tray of confections reminding him of the presence of work that must be done. He quickly averted his eyes and waited the commotion out. When the dancing started once more, Wolfram continued his rounds. Walk around. Offer food. Repeat. He didn't think about the Maou again, choosing to focus on the task at hand rather than the foolish hope that the king would dare be seen talking to a servant in public. Unfortunately, though, his body had other ideas. His eyes kept straying to the dark haired beauty socializing with the noble lords and ladies. His body leaned towards the king if he paused for even a second. His heart fluttered whenever he heard King Yuuri laugh. Wolfram refused to admit that the smile that he wore was for the Maou. He wanted so badly to just give in to the desire to just admit his feelings, but he couldn't. It wasn't allowed.

She was beautiful. Or course she was. She wouldn't be where she was right now if she wasn't. Wolfram hated her. He hated the curvy figure, the long chestnut hair and hazel eyes, the emerald green dress that flowed and flared in such a way that drew the eye to her. She was graceful. Lithe. Confident. She was dancing with the Maou. Talking to him. Making him laugh. Stealing what wasn't hers. Wolfram's remorse for this rapid hate lasted for only a half minute before he went back to internally reciting her flaws. She was too short. Her hair was frizzy. She had an obnoxious laugh and a deep accent. She was imperfect. Impure. She should just go away. Disappear. His fists clenched and his teeth gritted and he had to fight the urge to do something. Anything.

King Yuuri continued to dance with the woman, twirling her around the dance floor like he had been born to do it. She spun gracefully and submitted to his dance steps. Together they were beautiful. They were noble. Royal. Together they were the image of the perfect couple. She was the vision of a perfect queen. A perfect wife. And in that instant, Wolfram was reminded of his place. He was not a suitor of the Maou. He was the Maou's servant. He worked in the castle. He followed orders rather than give them out. His clothing was plain and suited for hard labor. Her clothing was the elegant silk that suited women not meant to work. He was nothing compared to her.

Some voice inside of him screamed in protest. It told him that he was more than her. That he could crush her under his boot if he wanted to. He wasn't a servant. He was –

Once again that same train of thought entered his mind! That same blasted thought! He was a servant! He was no lord. He wasn't rich nor famous. The giant hole in his memory meant nothing to him now. The life he currently led was all that he had. If he ever was a noble, he certainly wasn't one, now.

The woman stayed with Yuuri for the rest of the party, and by the time it was over, Yuuri was inviting her to stay in the castle for an undetermined amount of time. Wolfram went to bed with a broken heart.

The woman, Lady Sophia he later learned, stayed in the castle for so long that Wolfram thought that he would go insane. She and the Maou soon became enchanted with one another and one was rarely seen without the other. It was infuriating that this woman would throw herself all over him. Wolfram wanted her to leave. She was very bossy towards the servants. She didn't bother Wolfram too much, but poor Doria was constantly being ordered to complete silly and tedious tasks. King Yuuri didn't see any of this, thought. Of course not. She wore her pretty mask in front of King Yuuri. Anything in order to win his heart.

Wolfram was there when King Yuuri proposed to her. He was clipping the roses in the garden when he overheard their conversation from the tiny, white tea table that had been set up on the other side of the bushes. The Maou, for some odd reason, got down on one knee and presented her with a ring, requesting her hand in marriage. Of course she said yes. Of course.

The next thing that had happened had terrified Wolfram beyond all reason. First it was just a hint of smoke. Just a tiny tendril that twirled into the atmosphere. But then, out of thin air, the roses were being engulfed in orange flames. The flowers were consumed by the heat and blackened into ash, the fire consuming everything in its path. Wolfram had screamed and backed away from the roses, terror shining in his eyes. Just when he was about to run for help, the fire was suddenly gone. Wolfram was soaked through the bone with water as were the once pristine rose bushes. Looking across the grounds, he saw long black hair. Slanted cat eyes. Water floating in the air.

Wolfram's eyes rolled back into his head and he black out.

…

Wolfram heard voices…Is he going to be okay? What happened? Those were good questions…He didn't know what had happened. All he could remember was sudden heat. Fire. Flames engulfing everything. Had he done that? Had those burning flames come from him? But for some reason, it was familiar…all of it…

He felt a presence at his bedside. Curiosity drove him to finally open his eyes and sluggishly glance around the pristine room that he was in. The walls were all white and the stench of disinfectant was clearly present. He must be in an infirmary. His eyes focused little by little and the occupants of the room slowly came into focus. Lord von Voltaire, King Yuuri's chief advisor, Lord von Christ, King Yuuri's tutor, Lord Weller, Yuuri's godfather, healer Gisela, and…King Yuuri…

He barely had a chance to speak before healer Gisela was informing him that whatever it was he did, he should never do it again. He had been out for three days. Three days of lost time…more memory that he didn't have. Lord von Christ was the first to interject. He had used magic. Fire magic. He should be properly trained to better use this ability to the betterment of the country. Lord von Voltaire wanted him in the military as soon as he was well enough to get out of bed. Wolfram was scared. Terrified.

King Yuuri saw this. He stopped the talking. Held out a hand. He requested in that naïve and happy way that Wolfram be added as a bodyguard. King Yuuri wanted someone his age to be around. He needed a friend. Lord Weller was quick to agree, Lord von Christ moaned of lost talent. Lord von Voltaire, on the other hand, had his doubts. What if he had another attack and lashed out because of anger? Yuuri denied this. He insisted. Wolfram's heart felt light…happy. He would finally be able to be around King Yuuri more…Internally, he was bouncing in joy.

Eventually, Lord von Voltaire relented.

The next day, Wolfram was moved out of the servant's quarters and into a room closer to King Yuuri's. His own room. Yuuri even insisted that he be given some better clothes. He claimed that the frills suited his better, anyway. Wolfram couldn't remember ever feeling so happy. He felt right. Like this is where he was supposed to be. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the person that he used to be agreed. The shabby clothes of a servant were replaced with the frilly shirts and vests of a noble. It was almost mind blowing how quick the change was. He saw the envy in the other servants' eyes, but he didn't care. He got to be with King Yuuri everyday and that was bliss.

But there was still Lady Sophia to worry about…King Yuuri was quite smitten with her. He even intended on marrying her. Wolfram chose not to focus on this…detail. At the moment, he had a job by the king's side. He got to spend almost every minute of the day with him. That was good enough. He would take what he could and he wouldn't expect more. It would only be borrowing trouble to expect otherwise.

Looking around his room once more, he smiled. It wasn't a royal bedroom by any means, rather it was the standard guest room for lesser nobles, but it was his. He had very little personal belongings, and the room held a hint of being impersonal, but Wolfram loved it. Personal belongings could come later. For now, the small room with just the bare necessities was perfectly fine with him.

He heard a knock on the door. He answered it quickly, practically running into the wooden barrier in his haste to open it. It was King Yuuri. He wore his goofy grin and his hair stuck out in that charming way that it usually did. Wolfram's breath caught in his throat and his heart stopped beating for a few moments before starting once more. Just the normal reaction to the double black. He steadied himself and then steeled himself for anything that King Yuuri might say. King Yuuri wanted to ask how he was doing, how he was adjusting. Wolfram wanted to take that tiny little half step that would connect their lips and would offer him the key to happiness. He didn't dare, though. The Maou was betrothed, now. Wolfram would never be with him.

Why was it so impossible to just accept this fact and move on? Maybe he was in love with the Maou. Perhaps it wasn't simply physical attraction like Wolfram had pegged it up to. Wolfram wasn't sure if he was prepared to accept this…

The days spend by. Wolfram spent most of them with King Yuuri. And unfortunately, Lady Sophia. But there were a few moments where Wolfram and King Yuuri had precious time together…alone. Wolfram cherished these sacred moments.

They were in the garden, all three of them—King Yuuri, Lady Sophia, and Wolfram- drinking tea when something surprising happened. It wasn't anything particular interesting to someone who didn't know better, but Wolfram did. They had been talking, as they usually did, and somehow the topic switched to the topic of war. Lady Sophia immediately stated that war was eminent and that when it came, it would be a welcomed relief. Wolfram had visions of his one of his oldest memories. Of his home being devoured by flames. Of the nameless woman who died in that fire. That fire that destroyed everything. Things like that happened in wars all the time, he assumed. War couldn't possibly be a good thing if it caused so much pain and suffering for so many people. How could anything like that ever be a good thing? He said as much to Lady Sophia. It was quiet for a short moment after he spoke. Just a moment. Barely there. And yet, Wolfram saw everything. He saw King Yuuri's eyes narrowing slightly at Lady Sophia before turning to him with an unfamiliar emotion. He saw Lady Sophia glaring at him for half a beat before plastering on her normal happy face. This small, barely perceptible point in time made Wolfram want to jump for joy. Apparently, the royal couple wasn't as close knit as they had presented themselves to be. Wolfram had a chance.

Now now, Wolfram, he thought to himself. This was risky. He should get his hopes up quite yet…he would need to bide his time.

One day, out of the blue, King Yuuri asked him what his favorite color was. Wolfram told him blue. The next day, he found a blue vest added to his wardrobe. He shrugged it off as an act of friendship, but something within him knew better.

Sometime later, King Yuuri asked him to take a walk around the gardens with him. Wolfram agreed but was slightly confused by the fact that Lady Sophia had not been invited. Once again, Wolfram shrugged it off. He went on the walk and ignored the hope that started to build itself up to staggering levels.

A few days after the vest and the walk, King Yuuri had ordered Wolfram to stop calling him 'King Yuuri'. He had done this before when they first met, but this time, he was adamant. Wolfram unwillingly agreed. This was something that Yuuri had only ordered Lady Sophia and Lord Weller to do. Family. Was that was Yuuri was to him?

Yuuri was acting…oddly. The attention that Wolfram was awarded was in no way unwelcome, and yet it still made Wolfram feel oddly. Confused. Was this normal behavior? Was this how a king was supposed to act around his body guard?

Wolfram mused over this as he passed the door that led to Lord von Voltaire's office. He heard voices. He briefly considered simply carrying on when he heard his name. He stopped…looked both ways…pressed his ear against the door…then he waited. The occupants of the room, Lord von Voltaire, Lord Weller, and Lord von Christ, were discussing something in hushed voices. He heard his name a few more times. He concentrated a little more on the conversation behind the heavy office doors.

Lord von Voltaire was talking in a hushed tone…saying that Wolfram had been kept in the dark for long enough. That he should know about who he was. Lord von Voltaire's voice progressively grew louder. Lord Weller disagreed. He pointed out that Wolfram seemed to be doing quite alright at the present moment and any move made in order to restore him to who he once was would only confuse and scare him. Besides, the Maou was being given a chance to get out of the engagement.

Engagement? What engagement? Wolfram staggered away from the door and mindlessly started to walk to his room. Did these people know who he once was? Were they able to finally unlock this great mystery? How dare they keep it from him! How dare they attempt to make such a decision without considering how Wolfram himself felt! And what was this nonsense about an engagement? Obviously, if Wolfram had been engaged at some point, then the person he had been engaged to would have come back for him. Would have loved him enough to find him again. Or maybe he had been engaged but it hadn't been for love. Perhaps it had been a sham. It didn't matter to Wolfram. The fact that he couldn't remember the person whom he may have once been in love with affected him little. He was in love with Yuuri. King Yuuri. The Maou. Whoever he had been engaged to in his past life held little meaning to him and obviously, that feeling was extended to him, as well.

In the end, Wolfram stormed off. But he did not forget the incident.

The king grew closer and closer to Wolfram. Yuuri continued to go out of his way to spend time with the blond. Lady Sophia was consecutively ignored.

The day that Yuuri kissed Wolfram for the first time was monumental to the blond. Wolfram would remember that day for the rest of his life. The way Yuuri looked in his wedding attire as he confidentally took Wolfram's face between his hands and thoroughly kissed him. Wolfram remembered his face heating up and his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. He remembered the quiet apology that escaped the lips less than a centimeter away from his own. But then again, this memory was tainted with the remembrance of Yuuri walking away towards the large double doors of Shinou's temple. He remembered the slight glimpse of Lady Sophia that he caught as she walked down the aisle. He also remembered the pain that every heart beat carried.

Following Yuuri's wedding, the time that Wolfram spent with him was considerably shorter. Almost every minute was dedicated to either matters of state or matters of his marriage. Gradually, Wolfram found himself floating into a state of depression. Everyday seemed like a chore trying to get through. Seeing Yuuri with Lady Sophia…or Queen Sophia, now, was incredibly painful. He tried to smash those feelings down, though. They would do nothing more than make him even angrier at himself and the queen.

Wolfram was plagued with nightmares soon after that resolution. Grueling nightmares of flames and fire. Of ballrooms and fancy dresses. Of delicate silver crowns perched on his head. Of a life that he no longer remembered. He knew that the nightmares were his mind's attempt to restore the memories that had once been hidden behind a mental lock and key. But Wolfram didn't know if he even wanted that life back. What would happen to what he had, now? Would the life that he's made for himself vanish? The prospect of never being able to be with Yuuri anymore was painful.

Wolfram continued his days as Yuuri's bodyguard. Every day, Yuuri would spend time with him in the garden before escaping with Lady Sophia. Every night, Yuuri would corner him with lips and teeth before returning to his Queen's bed. There was never any explanation given and Wolfram didn't ask for one. He just carried out the role given to him in this cat and mouse game.

Yuuri's kisses were too addictive to give up, anyway. The smooth lips pressing against his, ravaging his mouth with greedy want that Wolfram could only struggle to provide. Wolfram gave in every time. There wasn't much choice, anyway. To resist the king was unlawful. Wolfram belonged to Yuuri. In every sense of the word.

When Queen Sophia was pronounced pregnant, Yuuri's visits stopped instantly. No longer did the acts of self adultery occur. No longer did Wolfram enjoy the feast of Yuuri's lips. No longer did the king bless Wolfram with his presence. Queen Sophia was his only concern. Slowly, the months passed and slowly the Queen grew rounder with child.

It wasn't long until the child was born.

Yuuri had run into Wolfram's bedroom and grabbed him by his arm, worry and excitement glowing in his eyes. Together, they had sprinted down the halls at a breakneck speed until the sounds of screaming grew closer. Wolfram glanced behind him once and took in the sight of most of the castle's occupants lining the hallway, hope glowing in their eyes. Yuuri pulled them to a stop outside the door that Wolfram knew held the royal bed chambers. Without warning and amidst loud protests, Yuuri threw open the door with a big grin and dragged Wolfram inside.

The sight of the birthing room made Wolfram queasy. The sharp needles and blood were in sharp contrast to the white sheets. Queen Sophia laid sweat drenched on the bed. She was a mess of hair and blankets and she panted and screamed for mercy as the child within her fought its way out. Yuuri went to her. Held her hand. Comforted her. Told her everything was going to be alright. Forgot about Wolfram.

In that minute, the hate that Wolfram held for the stranger in his place was all consuming. He hated this woman for being where he should have been. For taking his kind away. For stealing away King Yuuri no matter how much of a wimp he was. This woman was a thief. Wolfram took deep breaths and attempted to suppress his rage. This was neither the time nor the place for such petty thoughts. This was supposed to be a celebration of life. Of a new beginning.

Wolfram sat back in the corner and hoped for the best.

That night, Queen Sophia died.

The process of child birth, as it turned out, was simply too much for her body. She died from blood loss. The child, however was completely healthy. It was a girl. A Princess. She had the same brown hair as her mother and the same eyes. Her facial shape, however, belonged to Yuuri as did the tan complexion. Yuuri had asked Wolfram to name her. Without a second thought, he chose Greta. Greta Izula Shibuya Princess of Shin Makoku. Shortly after her naming, the Queen's health began to fail. Little Greta was shoved into Wolfram's arms as Yuuri rushed to her, stroking her hair and begging her not to leave. Wolfram's concerned eyes fell onto the lithe form of the Maou.

Wolfram was lead out of the room when the Queen was confirmed dead. Conrad's heavy hand lead him through the thick doors, the image of tears rolling down Yuuri's face a constant thought in his mind. He awkwardly held the child, trying to hold her as comfortably as he could. He took her to her nursery.

Perching himself on the rocking chair in the room, Wolfram absent mindedly stroked the baby's back as he moved, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Telling her that everything was going to be alright. That nothing was wrong. Slowly, the night passed liked that.

Yuuri didn't speak to anyone for three weeks. He hired a wet nurse who took over the responsibility of raising Greta. Wolfram helped, playing with her when he had time. The princess grew on him. Soon, it was hard to think of her without finding himself smiling.

Wolfram could help but feel that by gaining Greta, he was losing Yuuri. This thought hurt. Terribly. It made his head hurt and his heart beat just the slightest bit too hard. Suddenly, nothing about Yuuri made sense. The slight tolerance that Wolfram was given when he talked to him. The cool attitude that he now wore. Yuuri barely gave him a second glance anymore.

At least, that was what Wolfram had thought…

It was a normal night. Wolfram was sitting in bed reading a book about parenthood. He was trying to verse himself on anything that might help Greta. He was tired. Just about to turn off the oil lamp and go to sleep. He turned a page, the crisp sound of parchment tearing through the silence in the air.

The door slammed open. Yuuri ran in. The door slammed shut. Wolfram had looked up suddenly in surprise. Yuuri hadn't visited him in months. Sitting up, the blond placed his book down on the end table near his bed and directed his full attention towards the black haired monarch. Yuuri's eyes were wild and his hair was unruly. His pupils were dilated and his brows furrowed and he took a few uneven steps towards the bed. Towards Wolfram.

Wolfram barely had time to think before Yuuri was on him. Hands, teeth, lips, hips. Wolfram felt him everywhere. His hands wandered down to Wolfram's shirt, unbuttoning it hurriedly. Yuuri's teeth latched onto Wolfram's neck while his lips caressed what his teeth couldn't hold. His hips grinded forward in an uneven pattern. It was rough. It was arbitrary. Wolfram didn't care. He threw himself into the actions that the king had started, eager and desperate to make Yuuri happy. Anything for him.

Soon, fingers were tearing into virgin flesh and thrusting at an uneven pace. The sudden pain surprised Wolfram and he clenched his teeth as tears rose to his eyes. Yuuri looked up. Looked Wolfram in the eye. Told him that he need him. Needed him bad. Wolfram wordlessly nodded and choked back his discomfort as Yuuri's swell of need pushed in much sooner than it should have.

Wolfram was not a woman. Yuuri didn't understand that Wolfram's body was made for this. It didn't stop the king. Wolfram didn't complain. The touch that he was being awarded, no matter how painful, was better than the harsh nothingness that had greeted him for months. This was enough. Even though the actions weren't preformed in love. Even though Yuuri would regret it the next day.

Wolfram smiled around the pain and ignored the feeling of tears sliding his cheeks. It was enough. He would never be a part of Yuuri's family and he would never be able to claim the position of Prince Consort. He would never be anything over then the whore that his king had made him into.

His life as Prince Wolfram von Bielefeld of Shin Makoku was over. The fact that Yuuri had abandoned him as fiancé and married some stranger didn't even sting. He wasn't that person anymore. He was no longer Wolfram the prince, the son, the soldier, the cousin, the brother, the advisor. He wasn't even Wolfram the fiancé.

He was just Wolfram the servant. Wolfram the whore. By choosing to love Yuuri, he chose to give all of that up. Guilt had driven Yuuri into the blond's arms. Wolfram would accept the king's touch with kindness. Even if it cost him the life that he once led. Even if he would never have the feelings returned. It was enough.

Yuuri soon collapsed onto Wolfram. The Maou was spent. Tired. Wolfram raised his hand and ran his fingers through the raven hair, green eyes shining with adoration as he whispered quietly.

"I love you, Wimp."

With that being said, Wolfram closed his eyes and allowed his body to rest. To recover. He would get up in the morning and smile for his king. Raise his daughter. And at night, he would submit once more and bury any memory that he held of princes in blue uniforms. It was for his king. And Wolfram would do anything for him. The Maou, the king of Shin Makoku, his Yuuri.

Anything.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIG BROTHER! I hope that you like it! _

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