Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. All of the original characters were, however, created by me.

Beta-ed by: G, whose support through all these years will forever be appreciated.

Warnings: Language, violence, general dark/adult themes, angst, sexual content, sexual content of dubious consent, blood, torture, and OC!character death.

Pairings: Yuuri/Wolfram. Other side pairings will be mentioned, including Murata/Elizabeth and Lyron/Wolfram.

Setting: Seven years post Season 2. Three years after the events of Love and War. Yuuri is almost 23, Wolfram is 89 (17), and Greta is 18. As with Love and War, please ignore all OVAs as well as the entirety of Season 3.

Rating: M

A/N: This chapter is more or less the same as it was, I simply updated it to something closer to my current writing style. Some superfluous paragraphs have been omitted. Others have been simplified. Certain pieces of dialogue are somewhat different, but the results of each conversation are the same.

Between Kings

by Mikage

Chapter One – Homecoming

It began, as all ominous things seemed to, in a dimly lit room.

There were no candles to light the way. After all, they could not afford to attract any unwanted attention. The chances of discovery were already high out without giving away their location. They could not risk an encounter with the wrong people.

Of course, in these circumstances, with the future of the monarchy at stake, most people would be considered the wrong people.

A man stood by one of the windows. One of his hands pulled the heavy, dust-ridden curtains apart to look onto the ground below.

The accommodations he'd chosen for this meeting were as discreet and inconspicuous as he could manage in such a populated, bustling place as Blood Pledge Castle, where maids scurried about every hall, and each wing and tower was monitored by guards.

Save one.

The old guest wing, once elegantly decorated and as lively as the remainder of the caste, now stood in disrepair, abandoned, closed off, and decrepit. The rooms were dusty; the antique furniture was covered by drab white sheets gone gray over time. Many of the windows were boarded up. The building itself was infrequently cleaned, seldom visited, and rarely open for anyone but the King and Prince Consort. It was guarded only on the outside, kept as gloomy and desolate as it had been when the Bearbees had hatched.

It was the perfect choice. The only choice. A meeting in town was out of the question; so many well-to-do men and women gathering in one place would attract too much attention. Chancing a rendezvous in any other wing of the castle would have been just as risky. They could not take the chance of the guards being alerted. Years he'd spent waiting for this moment. He would not, under any circumstances, allow anyone to come between him and the revenge he felt was rightly his to claim.

Through the grimy window he could see the King in the midst of a spirited spar with Lord Weller. His black jacket was removed, his collar loose and sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his hair a disheveled mess of black. It was not the image of a sovereign the Kingdom was entirely accustomed to, but one many inevitably grew to appreciate. The twenty-fifth Demon King had been ineffective. Cecilie likewise.

King Yuuri was, in certain ways, ill-suited for the throne. Yet perhaps it was that which made him most suitable. His Majesty's young age brought youth back to an old, haggard country. His fondness for common life brought relief to a previously exhausted treasury. His Majesty was a friend to the common man and, for the most part, amiable and welcoming to his nobility. He encouraged compromise, forever seeking a solution that would bring his country to everlasting peace and prosperity.

He was not a great king, but he was a good king. That was enough for now. Greatness would come later.

Once that pest Wolfram von Bielefeld was removed, His Majesty would not longer be anchored down and confined to mediocrity.

"Father..."

A second figure approached from behind and came to a stop beside him. She wore a gown of deep blue, her rich brown hair tumbling in curls over her shoulders. Her green eyes were as sharp and vigilant as his own.

"How can you walk so calmly into danger?" she said.

"The danger will be well worth the reward, Elise," he answered. He was careful not to pull the curtain aside too far, lest it be noticed by one of the guards outside.

"You oppose powered men," Elise cautioned him. "Lord von Voltaire, Lord Weller, Lord von Christ, Prince Wolfram—"

"Prince Wolfram is a threat only because he shares the King's bed. He is more a child than a man."

Outside, His Majesty parried an attack from his practice partner, perhaps not with the greatest skill, but with a great deal of determination.

"The rest are powerful only because they found favor with the previous Queen and assumed control of the country when she no longer saw fit to do so."

"Even so," Elise continued, "surely you can see how easily your plans could fail."

"They will not fail," he said.

"And if they do?" she asked. "Would you have me watch as you're tried for treason?"

He turned from the window and released his hold on the curtain. The room was once again cast in shadow as sunlight fought through the frayed and dusty fabric. He faced his daughter, noted the worry in her eyes, and brought his hands up to frame her face. She stared back at him with a chastening frown, her gaze imploring.

"You must understand," he told her. "If I am ever to avenge your brother—"

"Avenging Ehren is not worth the risk to your life, Father."

"—If I am ever to save His Majesty and this country from the greed and corruption the Bielefelds—"

"His Majesty does not seem as if he wishes to be saved from them," Elise countered. "Least of all Prince Wolfram. He is infatuated. Everyone knows of their insatiable appetite for one another."

"Be that as it may, my dear, they are hardly inseparable," he said. His lips twisted in amusement. "If that were so, His Majesty would never send Prince Wolfram off to Cimaron."

"Diplomatic missions to the lands of our allies is hardly the same as exile."

"He is only infatuated because Prince Wolfram is all he has ever known. Men are slaves to pleasure, Elise. Whatever his faults, Prince Wolfram is skilled in pleasuring the King."

"His Majesty will look to no one else,"

"He will. When he is no longer blinded by that willful brat he calls a husband."

Elise said nothing further; she simply stared at him.

"You will see," he said, caressing one of her cheeks. "All in due time, Elise. All in due time."

A noise reached them then—the tapping of a heel on the wooden floors, the quiet swish of fabric around a corner.

The man by the window released his daughter to peer about the abandoned chamber. He was wary but expectant. The rippling of a tapestry on one side of the room warned him of another's presence. Slowly the tapestry was pushed aside, and from a secret passage behind it appeared the tall, willowy figure of the aging Winifred von Yale, haughty and stern, her face perpetually sent into a frown.

Only a moment later, she was joined by the rest. They entered the room by different means, corridors and passages he had outline for them. Each separate route was carefully devised so that their coming to the same room would not be noticed. Marlena von Grantz—young but fierce—came trough another hall hidden behind a movable bookcase. Griselda von Hassel pushed through an inconspicuous seam in the wall and greeted her fellow ladies with a curt nod. She entered with her nose lifted high in the air, as if to make up for her poor height and weathered looks.

Only Auberon von Bielefeld arrived by the door. He entered quietly and shut the door with a soft click. This was followed by a second click as the lock was twisted into place—just as instructed.

They were greeted with an impassive expression, as green eyes settled upon Lord von Bielefeld. It was a look of suspicion.

Lord von Bielefeld's inclusion had been heavily debated, not because of any fondness Auberon might feel for their target (the years had proven no such fondness existed), but because of the personal offense committed by the Bielefeld's against his family. He and Auberon may agree on many things, but family was family, and Auberon—in spite of his complaints—was loyal to his, the brother most of all.

"My friends," the man by the window welcomed them. His arms made a grand gesture, opening as if to embrace them. "I have been waiting most anxiously."

"Spare us, Julius," Marlena began. She speared him with an impatient glare. "Why have you called us here?"

"To the point as always, I see," Julius von Mannheim observed.

"We cannot afford to waste time," Winifred said. Her voice was as icy as the penetrating look in her eyes. "We do not have the luxury of waiting for you to explain yourself. We have duties to attend to."

"I am sure you do."

And yet neither Marlena nor Griselda saw to the military or matters of state. Winifred herself was close to retiring, if she didn't waste away to old age first.

This, of course, was better left unsaid. Julius swallowed down the argument.

"You led us to believe this was an important matter," Griselda added, folding her arms beneath her ample bosom.

"It is, indeed."

"Then get on with it."

Julius looked between the Aristocrats before gazing upon his daughter. Her expression was far from impressed.

He knew the Aristocrats had little reason to trust him. For nearly half a century, he had not allied himself with either of the two factions the Aristocrats had split into during the war with Cimaron. He chose instead to wade between them. It was important to maintain his position over the army, and to make friends with whomever it was necessary to preserve the influence he had at court. He could not afford to isolate himself from anyone, even if he should despise them.

His relationship with Lord von Voltaire was stable. Indeed, of Queen Cecilie's three sons, Julius respected Gwendal most of all. They did not always see eye-to-eye, but each had well-respected military accomplishments. They spoke to one another frequently, and passed information between themselves and their spies. Likewise, Julius had always regarded Lord von Christ as a superb swordsman.

Others he cared notably less for.

Odell von Wincott was old and soft-hearted. Densham von Karbelnikoff was too passive.

And that insufferable von Bielefeld brat...

There were two people Julius despised most in all the world: Wolfgang von Bielefeld and his bastard son.

Julius's hatred of them surpassed even his loyalty to the King.

He spared another glance toward Auberon and watched him with increased suspicion, more so now that Auberon had yet to speak. Julius knew he would have to mind his choice of words. He must make his plans seem less like a work of revenge and more a necessity for the country's continued prosperity.

"I have requested your presence here to discuss a matter which is of the utmost importance to the continuation of the monarchy," he said. He weighed and measured his words carefully.

"That being?" Winifred prompted him.

Julius chose not to shift his gaze in her direction, but instead kept his eyes locked on Auberon as he said, "Prince Wolfram."

A tense silence followed. Julius could sense the mutual dislike for the subject. Yet they remained anxious, for the King had made it quite clear that this was a subject best left alone.

For three years, Wolfram von Bielefeld had made it explicitly clear that he wished to remove the Aristocrats from power. That was not an option Julius or his comrades intended to allow.

Auberon met Julius with a level stare. His face betrayed nothing of what he felt upon hearing his nephew brought up for discussion.

"What of him?" he asked. Auberon's voice was gruff. He seemed almost disinterested, as if he tired of hearing about his younger brother's bastard.

"He has not conducted himself in a manner many of us would expect from a Prince Consort," Julius said. "It seems he has acquired a few of his mother's old habits. He wastes enormous amounts of money on clothing and unnecessary social functions. Surely you're all aware that taxes have been increased to pay for his expenditures."

Winifred's brow raised in interest. Griselda's thin lips twisted into a sneer. Marlene's eyes stared in outrage.

But Auberon's expression never changed.

"Both His Majesty and my brother have informed me that the money gained from the new tax has been used to finance new additions to the Royal Navy," he argued.

Julius took the information in stride, but could not stop himself from commenting, "And your brother is sure to know, is he not?"

"I should think so," Auberon bit back, "seeing as His Majesty has seen fit to make him an Admiral."

"Regardless," Marlena cut in before Julius could counter with another acidic remark, "it is true that Prince Wolfram makes frequent use of the funds of the Royal Treasury, whether the new tax is meant to replenish it or not."

"Precisely," Julius agreed.

He paused to take a breath, settling himself so as not to make it appear as if he were riled by Auberon's defense of Wolfgang. The Admiral von Bielefeld was undeserving of such loyalty.

"What is it that you propose then?" Griselda said. "That we speak to the King again? It has never proven useful before, Julius. You know how His Majesty adores him."

Elise shot Julius a look, as if her point had been proven. Julius chose to ignore it.

"I propose," he said, scanning their faces to make sure he had their undivided attention, "that Prince Wolfram be removed from power, not by the King, but by us."

Griselda snorted at the same time Marlena released an amused chuckle.

"We've discussed this before," Marlena said. "An annulment would be impossible. They've long since consummated their marriage—"

"Many times over," Winifred muttered in displeasure.

"—and His Majesty is enamored of him. How are we to convince him that the marriage is more a detriment to the country than a blessing? He shows no concern for what money Prince Wolfram spends. I would hardly be surprised if the King encouraged him to do so."

"His Majesty is captivated by him, yes," Julius allowed, "but that should not stop our efforts to strip him of his title as Prince Consort. If we do not remove Wolfram then he will surely remove us."

"But how are we to manage it?" Griselda asked. Her voice took on an obvious tone of disbelief.

"I assure you that I have the means to do so."

"And if that does not work?" Winifred said. "What then? Will we not all be stripped of out positions and banished for making the attempt?"

"It will work," Julius insisted.

"But how are we to know?"

It was more opposition than Julius had expected. He had assumed that the ladies' abhorrence of the former Queen Cecilie and the current Prince Wolfram would be enough to earn their support. He'd been depending on them, especially as Auberon would likely prove the most difficult. He could not afford their unwillingness to cooperate. If he was to do this, he needed their guarantee.

"I have information that may sway the King's trust if the original plan does not provide the desired outcome," Julius said.

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" Marlena demanded.

"I cannot tell you, but I assure you that this endeavor has been planned to the last detail. The plan will succeed."

That none of them had bothered to ask for the details was not lost to him. He hoped, for the time being at least, to keep it a secret until he'd ascertained how deep Auberon's loyalties lied.

"What I need to know is whether or not I have your support," Julius continued. He held his arms open again in a gesture of innocence and defenselessness. "I am at your mercy."

Marlena did not look appeased; however, Griselda and Winifred appeared as if their interest had bene piqued. Auberon's expression, on the other hand, had not changed. He did not look as if he trusted Julius with the plan. Julius focused his gaze upon him again, beseeching him to acquiece.

Finally, Auberon said, "Very well. Let us see what you can accomplish. But know this, Julius," he added, staring at him with a warning in his eyes, "if you fail, I will not come to your defense. I will not thwart you, but I refused to be any more involved than that. The Bielefelds can afford no further accusations of treason."

Once, Julius might have frowned over the memories of a trial thirty years in the past. Instead, his mouth twisted into a confident smirk.

"I assure you, my Lord Bielefeld, I shall not fail," he said.

"It feels so good to be home," Greta sighed.

Blood Pledge Castle was indeed a most welcome sight.

Wolfram sat astride his mount. She was perfectly groomed and dressed for her ride through the capital; her white coat had been brushed to gleaming, her mane braided and threaded through with black ribbons. Wolfram could still hear the rowdy crowd behind them. They'd cheered for them both, hoisting banners and littering the streets with flower petals, crying their names in adulation. Normally Wolfram grew weary of such displays. Not so this time, he was so relieved to be home.

Yet even as Wolfram had smiled and waved and accepted the bouquet of Beautiful Wolframs gifted to him by the town mayor, his attention had been focused beyond the capital city. His eyes, for that brief time, had been for his people. But his heart, as always, was somewhere else entirely.

Blood Pledge Castle loomed larger and larger before them as their traveling party scaled the path that led to its gates. Wolfram had not grown to appreciate the sight until his travels grew more frequent; his trips beyond the borders of the Great Demon Kingdom had been practically nonexistent until Yuuri came along. A King who intended to unify the Humans and the Demon Tribe was never satisfied cloistered inside the castle walls.

Approaching the castle now, Wolfram thought there would never be a more comforting sight.

"I'm going to miss it," Greta said. She rode beside him, smiling wistfully up at the castle.

Wolfram tore his gaze away from their destination to stare instead at his daughter. Greta was breathtakingly beautiful at eighteen. She was of a darker beauty than the native born Demon Tribeswoman, but even more beautiful for it. Her russet hair, once worn short and frizzy, rippled down her back in glossy, elegant curls. And her eyes, once so wide with youthful exuberance, stared with a keen intelligence from a face that was less a girl's and more a young woman's.

She held herself with confidence and regality, straight backed with her head held high as Wolfram had always encouraged her to, and she wore purple—the color of human royalty—with the same natural splendidness with which Yuuri wore the color black.

Wolfram though he should be distressed that Greta was growing so quickly; he should be upset by her impending departure and approaching marriage. He was—she was forever his joyful, bright eyed Princess—but more than that he felt a deep sense of pride.

Somehow, he and Yuuri had managed to raise her well.

"The gates will always be open for you," Wolfram said. He could have easily frowned in sadness but chose to smile at her instead. "I'll expect a visit at least once a year."

Greta laughed. It sounded so charming and cheerful, so lively, that Wolfram felt his heart give an anxious flutter in his chest.

"And I'll expect you to come to Cimaron," she said.

Wolfram made a face. "You know I hate to travel," he said.

"You hate sailing," Greta corrected him.

"It all amounts to the same thing when we have to travel by boat to get anywhere."

"You could come across the border," she said.

"It would take longer than sailing."

"Well, you'll have to settling on something," Greta told him. "My feelings will be hurt if you never want to see me."

"I'll always want to see you," Wolfram said.

He would have reached out to stroke her hair but it wasn't so difficult to do on horseback.

"I'm sure you'll miss me terribly," Greta said. She eyed him with a cheeky grin she must have adopted from Anissina. "You'll make a great show of it when the wedding's over, sobbing and crying and carrying on like Gunter."

Wolfram snorted but didn't exactly deny it. Greta may in fact be correct. He didn't say so, of course. He couldn't afford to embarrass himself with such public displays. It would take every ounce of willpower to control himself when the time came.

They crossed through the castle gates together. Wolfram ignored the guards who manned the posts at the front of the castle. Instead, his eyes came to rest upon the group of figures that congregated by the front steps. From a distance they were only identifiable by the color of their clothing. He was mildly disappointed to note that Yuuri was not among them.

His mother stood at the fore, clothed in her usual black, long blonde hair glistening beneath the high noon sun. Around her stood Elizabeth in her customary red, Katherine Algren in her simple attire and modest apron, and Lady Elise von Mannheim, looking stern and severe in deep blue. Smaller figures flitted about—Alexei with his arm lifted in a spirited wave, Brigitta struggling to remove herself from Lady Elise's strict clutches, and Merry, nestled in Katherine's arms but watching alertly, a single thumb raised to his mouth.

Wolfram pulled his horse to a stop and climbed out of the saddle without waiting for the approaching groomsmen to assist him. He made his way to the group before the stairs. It seemed as if his mother would reach him first, until Brigitta managed to break away from Lady Elise. She pelted toward him to fling her little arms around his legs. Alexei followed at a more subdued pace, but seemed no less excited. Shy and reserved as he usually was, Alexei nonetheless failed to restrain a large smile.

"Prince Wolfram! Prince Wolfram!" Brigitta cheered. She jumped in place with her arms around him, tilting her head back to look up at him. The bonnet that covered her hair had come loose, slipping back on her head precariously.

"Brigitta! Brigitta!" Wolfram copied her.

She giggled amusedly. Wolfram crouched down to fix her bonnet and tuck a few flyaway strands of blonde hair beneath it.

"Prince Wolfram, I missed you!"

"Did you?" he said. He received a vigorous nod in return. "I hope the presents I have for you will make up for my long absence."

"You brought presents?!" she gasped, eyes going wide with excitement.

"Of course. They're packed away in my luggage, so you'll have to wait patiently for them," he told her kindly," and you'll only be able to see them if you've been a good girl while I've been gone."

"I've been very good! I minded my manners and went to bed on time, and I brought King Yuuri flowers and said they were from you just like you told me to, and he liked them very much!"

Wolfram smiled and patted one of Brigitta's rosy cheeks. Then he looked to Alexei as his nephew inched closer. "How are your studies fairing?" Wolfram asked him.

Alexei beamed with pride. "Gunter said I can read more than moderately well now," he replied, looking pleased with himself for not stumbling over the world "moderately."

"You're doing very well," Wolfram gushed. "Would you read to me latter? I'd love to hear a story."

Alexei's nod was almost as vigorous and animated as Brigitta's had been.

A shadow fell over them as Lady Elise arrived to retrieve her charges. Wolfram set Brigitta back and stood to be the same height as the noblewoman. He was made to wait a few moments longer than he would have liked for her to dip him a quick, shallow curtsy. She failed to honor him with the respec tof demurely lowering her eyes.

Wolfram squashed the desire to order that she try again.

"Your Majesty," Elise greeted him in a clipped tone.

"Lady von Mannheim," Wolfram replied, gaze hard and voice icy.

Elise took Brigitta by the hand and led her a few paces away, muttering a lecture about the proper manner in which to greet returning royalty. Wolfram snorted, as it didn't seem as if Elise had a proper grasp of it either. He brushed passed her with a cold air and didn't bother to avoid bumping her shoulder. She must know already and didn't care that he abhorred her. He was fairly certain the feeling was mutual.

While Greta came forward to greet Alexei, Wolfram moved to accept his mother's embrace. She hugged him tightly, kissed his cheeks and brushed her fingers through his hair like he was still a child. Then she held him at arm's length to look him over, as if to make sure he was still growing properly after more than a month away.

"You could so with some more sun," she said. She touched his face and peered at him closely. "You look pale."

"I'm always pale, Mother," he reminded her. "In any case, Cimaron is still quite cool this time of year. The skies were overcast for much of our stay."

"You'll have to spend more time outdoors now that you've returned. Too much time indoors is unhealthy. I suspect you were ill for most of the journey."

"Your suspicions are accurate, of course," another voice replied in Wolfram's stead.

Wolfram didn't need to turn around to know that is father had come up behind him. Truly, he didn't understand why his mother remained fond of his father, or why Yuuri kept him around, when they both knew how strained Wolfram's relationship was with him. Yuuri had taken such a liking to him that Wolfram's father was seen around court more often these days than when Wolfram's mother had been Queen. So impressed was he with Wolfgang von Bielefeld that Yuuri had more or less appointed the Captain-turned-Admiral solely responsible for royal sea passage.

While Wolfram had no issue acknowledging that his father made a wonderful Captain and indeed deserved the elevated post Yuuri had seen fit to grant him, Wolfram could not quell the discomfort he felt whenever his father was made part of his escort. When he could, Wolfram did his best to overlook him. When that failed, Wolfram was left to clench his teeth or bite his tongue around the number of acidic marks he would have liked to have made.

"Wolf," his mother gushed, leaving Wolfram by the stairs to greet her ex-husband with a tenderness and a concern one would not normally expect from someone who'd been divorced for three-quarters of a century. "Darling, I hope you'll stay a while."

"Only for as long as His Majesty has need of me."

Occasionally, Wolfram wondered if his parents were still intimate with one another. When one had Cecilie von Spitzweg as their mother, it was difficult to ignore her overt sexuality. Wolfram was never sure if he was disgusted by it or if he'd come to grudgingly accept it.

Whatever the answer was, he'd never been comfortable with the idea of her continuing to bestow her affections upon his father. Wolfgang wasn't merely another suitor; the man had had his chance and left.

"Surely your trip wasn't so horrible," Elizabeth said. She used Wolfram's mother's distraction as an opportunity to steal a hug for herself, lightly planting her lips against his cheek in the process.

"It was successful," Wolfram said. "That's all that matters."

"The wedding is still underway then?"

"For better or for worse. If all goes according the plan it should take place in Cimaron next spring."

"I'm sure it will be lovely," Elizabeth said. She looked as it nothing could ever be quite so wonderful of a wedding—but, Wolfram thought, she had her own reasons for maintaining that point of view.

A quiet whine interrupted them. Wolfram tore his attention from his childhood friend and set his eyes on Merry, who twisted in Katherine's arms and reached out for Wolfram with the little hand that wasn't shoved into his mouth.

"Merry," Wolfram said as he swept towards him.

He took Merry from Katherine and hugged him to his chest. Merry clung to him immediately, head dropping onto Wolfram's shoulder and free hand clutching his jacket.

"You should see the big ship Papa's making for you. It already looks so pretty at the docks. Geta and I were able to see it on our way home. Once it's completed, it'll be the grandest ship in the fleet!"

Wolfram brushed at Merry's blond curls, kissed his warm cheeks, and inhaled the smell of him—milk and baby powder and the gentle, scented oils added to his bath. Merry nestled comfortably against him. He looked up at Wolfram with the most beautiful blue eyes Wolfram had ever seen.

He was sure most parents thought such things about their children.

He was also sure Merry was easily the most beautiful baby of all.

"Mmmuuuummmm," Merry said around the thumb in his mouth. A bit of drool dripped down to coat his chin.

Wolfram fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the spittle away.

"You know you're not supposed to speak with your thumb in you mouth," Wolfram gently admonished him. "You also know that's not what you're supposed to call me. What's my name? Isn't it Wolfram? If you insist upon anything else, I'll settle for Father."

Merry pulled his thumb out of his mouth with a wet smack and crowed, "Wo-fu Mama!"

Try as he might to do otherwise, Wolfram could only smile resignedly.

"How was he?" he asked Katherine.

"He was an angel, Your Majesty," Katherine said. "He cried some for you in the beginning, but after a few days he was as sweet as a lamb."

"And how often did Yuuri see him?"

Katherine looked as if she wished she could give him a different answer.

"His Majesty... he came once or twice a week for half an hour on each occasion, but he restricted most of his visits to the evenings, once Merry had gone to sleep."

Wolfram frowned, sighed heavily, and looked down at his contented son. "Do you know where Papa is now?" Wolfram asked him. "What's Papa Yuuri doing?"

Merry blinked and gave no response except to stick his thumb back into his mouth.

"He's in his office?" Wolfram said as he turned back to Katherine.

"Yes, Your Majesty. With the Aristocrats, I believe. They've been in discussion all morning."

"And idea what about?"

"Nothing more than the usual, I expect. Lord Weller didn't seem too concerned."

"Then Yuuri won't mind me interrupting," he said.

He adjusted Merry in his arms to pass the baby back to Katherine. She took him easily, though Merry immediately began to fuss and whine over the transfer.

"Shh, I'll be back soon," Wolfram said. "I'm just going to find Yuuri. I'll see you again in a short while."

"Will you come to my room once you're done?" Elizabeth said. "There's something I want to show you."

"Of course," Wolfram agreed. He gave Merry a final kiss on the cheek. "Just give me a few moments."

With that, he turned to make his way into the castle.

The hall where Yuuri's office was located had become one of the busiest in the castle.

It was not much different from when Wolfram's mother had been Queen, except back then most of the mingling courtiers had been seeking an audience with the Regent and not the Queen herself. Yuuri, of course, allowed no such thing. Gwendal and Gunter could screen those permitted to enter, but Yuuri always made a point to speak personally with any inquiring parties.

Wolfram remembered how difficult it had once been to make his way down the hall to see his mother as a child. More often than not, he'd been petted and coddled and sent on his way back to the nursery, adored for his generally sweet disposition, but inevitably jilted due to his illegitimate birth. Stoffel had rarely let him into his mother's office; only Gwendal had ever been permitted to enter regularly.

As an adult, all those who had previously dealt with Wolfram with gentle hands, forced patience, and ill-disguised derision greeted him with a respect that may very well be feigned in some cases, but which was expected all the same.

The crowds parted for him as he turned onto the hallway. Many inched back to the walls and hastened to drop into the appropriate bows and curtsies. Some lowered their eyes as was appropriate, others did not. Wolfram responded with a gracious nod of his head to those that did, and was careful to make note of those who did not. A few greeted him in a relatively cordial manner, to which Wolfram showed a bland smile. He spent a good deal of time ignoring the sycophantic behavior. Observing Yuuri throughout the years had taught him to differentiate between sincerity and dishonesty.

A pair of guards stood by the door of Yuuri's office. They saluted as Wolfram approached. Though Wolfram caught them passing wary glances at one another, neither attempted to stop him from entering.

He would never hear what the conversation in the room was about. The minute Wolfram opened the door, the voices inside died completely.

Three years had done no good to Wolfram's relationship with the Aristocrats, as neither he nor they attempted to appease one another. Yuuri often encouraged a truce, but Wolfram did not care for a reconciliation. He felt nothing but contempt for them, had never quite earned their trust or support, and didn't expect that would ever change.

All eyes turned to Wolfram as soon as he entered; he shut the door on anyone who may try to peer in from the hallway. His uncle Auberon was barely able to conceal a sneer. The three lady Aristocrats speared him with unrestrained looks of disgust, and Julius von Mannheim did his very best not to look at him at all; he moved his eyes away and focused on one of the maps on the wall instead.

The rest had marginally more supportive reactions. Stoffel, Anissina's brother Densham, Suzannah Julia's aging father Odell, Gunter, and Gwendal respectfully stood to their feet in greeting. Stoffel rose a bit too hastily, with the result that his cape was caught beneath him and ended up twisting out of place. Gwendal move a bit too slowly, though Wolfram knew it was less because of the level of respect Gwendal had for him and more because he never did appreciate when a meeting was interrupted.

The Great Sage rose from his chair as well. He had settled in his usual spot beside Yuuri's desk. Conrart, standing sentinel in the corner, straightened and allowed a small smile to disrupt the seriousness of his expression

Wolfram noted all of these things in a hasty, impersonal glance around the room. Naturally, the majority of his attention went to the man behind the desk.

"Wolfram!"

Yuuri was already making his way around the desk and the long table that stretched in front of it. He was without his jacket—not at all uncommon. A few buttons of his shirt were left undone, allowing the material to hang loose and expose a small portion of his chest. Too much to be suitable for public, Wolfram thought. Yuuri's shirtsleeves had been rolled up, of course, revealing the entirety of his forearms.

Nearing his twenty-third birthday, Yuuri had more or less finished growing from a boy King into a man. His frame would likely fill out more as he continued his training, but he'd already surpassed all of their expectations. Yuuri stood just an inch taller than Conrart. He was fit and athletic and as full of energy as he'd ever been. His smile could still light up an entire room, and his eyes still held so much warmth and kindness. Even so, he'd managed to acquire a certain mature and serious demeanor he used whenever he was in the company of government officials. Wolfram suspected Yuuri had learned it after making a careful study of Gwendal.

Yuuri kept his hair short ever since going to war. Wolfram thought Yuuri might have had it trimmed again while he'd been away. There was another difference, too. Instead of staring into Yuuri's eyes, Wolfram's gaze darted to the curious patch of black hair left upon Yuuri's chin.

Wolfram smiled but held back an amused laugh. He needn't have made the effort; any sound he might have made was soon stifled by Yuuri's eager mouth crashing into his.

He heard the creaking of a chair as one of the Aristocrats shifted uncomfortably. There was a rustling of fabric as those who'd stood to their feet sat down again. Wolfram saw none of it. What could have been viewed over Yuuri's shoulder was easily blocked out when Wolfram's shut his eyes.

His face gained a slight flush. Public displays of affection were considered a breach of decorum. But then Yuuri's office was not quite public. Surely the Aristocrats didn't appreciate the display, but as Yuuri had been the one to initiate it Wolfram saw no reason for them to complain. Wolfram rather enjoyed how antsy they became. If half of them refused to accept his power and authority on their own, he had nothing against reminding them of his place.

Every kiss, every touch, every longing glance from Yuuri solidified Wolfram's place by his side as his Consort and heir better than any law ever could.

It was petty. Wolfram knew that. Truly it was not the manner in which he wanted to earn respect from people, but it worked and it wasn't entirely displeasing. At least he could be satisfied that he made Yuuri happy.

Yuuri grinned from ear to ear when they broke apart, hands on Wolfram's waist.

"How was it?" Yuuri said. He kept his voice low, like he hoped the others wouldn't hear.

"Fine. Varick and Arthur were both welcoming hosts, and there was no contention in the court. None that I was made aware of, at least," Wolfram reported.

Curiously he eyed the hair on Yuuri's chin, but decided to keep the questions to himself for the time being.

"Varick's reassigned a few of the dissenting voices elsewhere, or else he offered them a comfortable retirement with a generous pension they simply couldn't refuse. A few left of their own accord. Varick and Arthur have slowly been replacing them with men of their own choosing. As of now, everything's going according to plan."

"And their borders are still secure?" Yuuri asked.

"Isidore hasn't managed to find a way back in since Varick closed the borer to them," Wolfram reassured him. "There've been a few skirmished, but the battles have been contained at the border. Inner Cimaon is as safe as as peaceful as we could hope for. There hasn't been a single sign of the Black Knights."

"For now..."

"It's been three years, Yuuri. Lyron doesn't have the luxury of time the way the Demon Kingdom does. He'll be exploring new options now that his previous attempts have proven ineffective."

Yuuri nodded, unable or unwilling to disagree. "And Greta? How is she?"

"Still determined to go through with it," Wolfram said.

He raised a hand to Yuuri's face, cupped Yuuri's cheek before moving his fingers to play across Yuuri's chin. Wolfram lifted his brow in silent conversation while the subject of their verbal discussion continued in a more business-like fashion. For his part, Yuuri had the decency to look bashful.

"To their credit," Wolfram added, "Greta and Arthur get along wonderfully, and the people of Cimaron seem to have taken to her quickly. They're all quite excited for the wedding, nearly as much as they were when Varick and Lady Flynn were wed."

"Did you see Lady Flynn?"

"She arrived from Caloria a week after Greta and I arrived. She is not yet with child, but she and Varick remain hopeful."

"They'll manage it," Yuuri said confidently. "You didn't run into any problems?"

"No more than usual."

Yuuri's hands rose from Wolfram's waist to frame Wolfram's face. "How are you feeling?"

"Better now that I'm back on land," Wolfram said. He chanced a glance over Yuuri's shoulder to see the Aristocrats impatiently waiting. "How much longer will you be?"

"Not too much longer, I don't think."

"Too late for lunch?"

"Probably," Yuuri said. He rolled his eyes, but with his back to them the Aristocrats would neither see it nor take the hint. "But we can have dinner instead."

"I'd like that."

Yuuri smiled. It was as if wanted nothing more than to make Wolfram happy, which, Wolfram knew, was exactly the case. Yuuri pulled him in for another slow, tender kiss before they finally broke apart.

"I missed you," Yuuri said quietly.

"I missed you too," Wolfram said just as softly. "Don't keep me waiting too long."

"I won't, I promise."

Wolfram stole one last kiss. Then he allowed Yuuri to pull away and turn back to his desk. It was a struggle to leave when he wanted nothing more than to see his husband after their long separation, but he managed it admirably. Wolfram kept his back to the door as he opened it, his eyes focused on Yuuri as the distance between them lengthened. He turned to go only when he was once again standing in the hallway.

He departed satisfied that the Aristocrats were made wary and anxious by the show.

Wolfram retrieved Merry from the nursery before making his way to Elizabeth's rooms.

At precisely six years old, Merry was the size of a one-year-old human child. During Merry's time with them he had grown many of his baby teeth. He was eating solid and semi-solid foods. Merry could sit up by himself for as long as he desired, and he crawled around on his hands and knees to great effect. He was even beginning to add more words to his limited vocabulary, though "Mama" was still primary among them.

"Papa" and "Yuuri" had yet to be spoken. Wolfram suspected Merry liked to pretend he had no idea how to say them. He grew suspiciously disinterested whenever Wolfram tried to prompt him.

Merry was quiet as Wolfram carried him down the halls, content to suck on one of the curious devices Yuuri had procured from Earth in the hopes that Merry would be discouraged from using his thumb.

Upon arriving at Elizabeth's door, Wolfram adjusted Merry on his hip and used his free hand to knock. The sound of quiet rustling met his ears, soon followed by Elizabeth's shout of, "If that's you, Wolfram, you may enter. The door's unlocked. But make sure no one else sees!"

Confused, Wolfram grasped the door hand and pushed it open just enough to squeeze his way inside. He shut it behind him quickly.

Elizabeth stood across the room in front of a full-length mirror. Wolfram knew immediately what it was she'd wanted to show him. It was rather conspicuous, after all. Her customary red attire had been discarded; she wore a new gown instead. Its design was surprisingly modest. The bodice and full skirt met at her natural waist. The neckline was conservative and square-cut. An overlay of lace covered the bodice and shoulders; it ended with long, fitted sleeves.

More than the vision of modesty, Wolfram was surprised to note that the dress was comprised entirely of black fabric.

Elizabeth spun away from the mirror, the long skirt of her dress twisting about her legs. She lifted it carefully and straightened it out, smoothing her hand along it as if to be rid of a few wrinkles.

"Well?" she prompted. "What do you think?"

Wolfram could not immediately find the proper words. Black was truly a symbolic color to him. It was the royal color of the Great Demon Kingdom, of course. By law, few people were allowed to wear it—the reigning King or Queen, their Consort, their children, the previous King or Queen, and the Great Sage and his family.

For most of Wolfram's life, black had been his mother's color. She wore little else even now. Then there was Yuuri, who wore the color so magnificently Wolfram thought no one else could ever compare. The Great Sage barely did. Wolfram thought himself more suited to Bielefeld blue; black had the distinction and inherent impressiveness, but he was already so fair and pale the he feared his natural beauty was lost beneath it.

That was not so with Elizabeth.

"You look... beautiful," he said. It was the only thing he could think.

It was also the first time he'd ever said such a thing to her.

Elizabeth wore black like a Queen.

Quite suddenly, Wolfram was taken back to the days of their youth. So much time had been spent playing and running and chasing one another through the halls, dancing, pretending, arguing over toys, shouting over top of one another and turning away in fits of tears, only to nap off the frustration and return again to peaceful play once they awoke. All those hours in the gardens, in the courtyard—at Castle Spitzweg, at her family estate, at Blood Pledge. They took lessons together, learned to ride together, trained and sparred together until they collapsed in exhaustion and fell to sleep side-by-side.

Always, always, Elizabeth would insist that she would one day marry a Prince. They would live in a beautiful castle, throw all sorts of glamorous parties, and have a large brood of lovely children. Long ago, the Prince she'd had in mind had been Wolfram. There was a part of him that had known it despite his play at ignorance. Once, he'd even thought it only natural given how close they'd been.

But there was a louder part of him that was more adamant, that told him Elizabeth's fantasies could never be. He could love Elizabeth, but he could never desire her. He never had. He'd always suspected he knew why, though he hadn't been sure until Yuuri.

Even so, it hurt to know that Elizabeth would soon marry another man—not quite a Prince, but as close as she could possibly get.

"Do you think Ken will like it?" she asked.

"How could he not?" Wolfram said.

He adjusted his hold on Merry again, wrapping both arms around him securely.

Elizabeth eyed him and crossed her arms over her chest. "Stop that," she said.

"Stop what?" Wolfram asked.

"No one's leaving you," she said.

"What?"

"His Majesty and I can tell when you're thinking such things," Elizabeth revealed. "You get so clingy with Merry—"

"I most certainly do not cling!"

"—like he's the only one in the world who'll never leave you. I know how you think, Wolfram. We're too much alike for me not to. Your parents were frequently absent when we were younger, so you clung to Conrart. Then you discovered he was half-human. You felt betrayed. You were scared that he would die long before you. So you clung to Gwendal instead. But of course your relationship with him changed as you grew older. You thought it made you weak to keep clinging to your brother."

"I've no idea what you mean," Wolfram insisted. He couldn't look at her, so he stared off to the side instead.

"Yes, you do. You can't even look me in the eye. You know I'm right. You simply don't wish to admit it."

Wolfram's face grew pink in response.

Elizabeth continued as if she hadn't been interrupted, "Then His Majesty came. Naturally you clung to him. You still do. And Greta, too. But once again you've found yourself clinging to those of human blood. They'll die long before you. Now that Greta's grown she's going to marry a foreign Prince. You have to take a step back before you're ready to let her go. So what does that leave you with?"

Wolfram mumbled a response under his breath.

"What was that?" Elizabeth said. "I wasn't quite able to hear."

"I said it leaves me with Merry."

"Precisely," Elizabeth agreed. "I often suspect you need Merry more than Merry needs you."

"I hardly think it's so horrible to need someone," Wolfram said. He glanced at her accusingly.

"Of course it isn't. Until you forget that there are other people who love you."

"I don't forget."

"Maybe not. But you don't believe it'll last. You think they'll all leave you, one way or another."

Wolfram shifted his gaze back to the side. If he happened to hold Merry a bit tighter, it was only because he was uncomfortable having his thoughts and feelings described so accurately.

"I'm not going anywhere, Wolfram," Elizabeth said. Her voice grew a touch more sympathetic, a little softer with reassurance and concern. She approached him and lightly placed a hand on one of his arms. "I'll be living here permanently. We'll see one another all the time."

"How splendid," Wolfram bit out sarcastically.

Elizabeth laughed. Wolfram suspected she would have given him a playful shove if he hadn't been holding the baby.

"It's not as if Ken is going to drag me off to the Great One's Temple and hide me away among the shrine maidens," Elizabeth said.

"You'd hardly fit in," Wolfram countered. "You're no maiden."

"You're hardly so virginal yourself," Elizabeth pointed out.

"That's not up for discussion."

"You brought it up. Everyone knows it, Wolfram. You're not always quiet about it."

The color in Wolfram's cheeks instantly became more pronounced.

"And you're all over one another enough as it is in public," Elizabeth added.

"We only kiss," Wolfram insisted.

"It's how you kiss. And the way you look at one another. If the both of you didn't have such expressive faces maybe no one would notice, but His Majesty looks at you like a randy stable boy, and you look at His Majesty like you'd have dinner in his lap if it wouldn't be so inappropriate."

Wolfram's eyes widened. Suddenly the color drained from his face. He looked mortified.

"Elizabeth!" Wolfram hissed.

"I meant sitting in it, of course," she said. She didn't look as if that was the case. She leered at him in amusement. "Though I'm sure there's absolutely nothing wrong with His Majesty's privy parts. I've heard from some very reliable sources that he's actually quite—"

"Elizabeth!"Wolfram screeched so loudly Merry jolted in his arms and began to fuss around his pacifier.

"You're so prudish, Wolfram, even after all this time."

"You spend far too much time with my mother."

"And you spend far too much time pretending to be offended by sex when everyone knows you enjoy it."

Wolfram said nothing. He focused on soothing Merry, rubbing his back and kissing his face in apology.

Elizabeth knew him too well. He couldn't deny the truth in her comments. Wolfram had never been able to hide much from her. He couldn't hide much from anyone, not her, not Yuuri, and not his family—Gwendal whose gaze was so penetrating, his mother whose love was too comforting, and Conrart... Conrart who knew what no one else did.

It wasn't that Wolfram didn't enjoy sex. There were parts of it that were uncomfortable, of course, but he and Yuuri had experimented enough to know what they liked. Wolfram liked sex with Yuuri. He enjoyed seeing Yuuri naked, and he was no longer so shy about taking his clothes off in kind. He liked Yuuri's hands on him, around him, in him; he liked Yuuri's mouth, Yuuri's eyes, Yuuri's voice, the weight of Yuuri's body.

Yet there were times when Wolfram remembered a different man.

He could pass someone in the hallway and swear he could smell the musky scent of him, or hear someone laugh over dinner and think he heard the man's soft, dangerous chuckling. Wolfram could look into someone's eyes and remember the way another gaze had burned into him. He could be in the middle of a perfectly normal conversation and all it took was one word, a single insinuation, and all the shame and guilt came back to him in a landslide. It would never go away.

Wolfram wasn't able to look anyone in the eye when it happened. He could hardly even speak.

"Wolfram," Elizabeth said. Her laughing stopped; her hand returned to his arm. "I'll still be here. Nothing will change."

"I know," he said.

"Stop looking so sad."

"I will," he assured her. He shifted to stand a bit straighter. "Just give me time."

Three years was not nearly enough.

Elizabeth smiled gently. After a moment she released him and stepped back to the mirror. "Help me out of this dress and we'll have tea with Greta and your mother."

Wolfram nodded in agreement.

He never stopped clinging to Merry.

Yuuri was able to leave his office by mid-afternoon.

"How are you fairing?" Conrad asked him once the Aristocrats were gone.

Gwendal had already gone to see to his own set of paperwork, Gunter to see to Alexei's lessons. The others went to pursue activities of their own choosing, either work or leisure.

Yuuri stood behind his desk and stretched his arms above his head. His back arched and popped.

"Good," he said. "Cramped, but that's probably to be expected. The meeting didn't go so bad."

"The Aristocrats are more tolerable when they stick to business," Conrad agreed. His smile was small but amused.

"Was I okay?" Yuuri asked. He looked between his godfather and Murata; the former approached from his station in the corner of the room, while the latter stood from the chair at the side of Yuuri's desk, organizing a stack of paperwork.

"I mean, there wasn't anything... wrong... with me... right?"

Meetings with the Aristocrats, even when they strictly stuck to business, were always stressful. One-on-one Yuuri could handle them fine. Their attitudes never changed under any circumstance, but at least individually Yuuri didn't have to fight multiple voices shouting at him at once. Most conversations with the entire council assembled were always in danger of spiraling out of control. Countless times the original topic of discussion had been forgotten. Instead, he would listen as it shifted to the topics of his private life and Wolfram's many inadequacies.

Yuuri dealt with it the best he could. He'd learned how to best steer the conversations in order to avoid unwanted subjects, and the tension had lessened following the signing of the treaty with Cimaron. Now that they were no longer at war, the council seemed somewhat more peaceful whether or not they were any more tolerant.

But there were times when their stubbornness and their insistent slander of Wolfram set Yuuri on edge. Often he lost his temper just as quickly as the rest of them. The only difference was that the consequences of his were more severe.

"There was no cause for concern," Murata said. He placed his papers atop Yuuri's desk in a small pile. Then he clapped Yuuri's shoulder and smiled the cheeky, boyish smile he'd had since high school. "You're fine as long as you keep your temper in check."

"That's easier said than done," Yuuri told him.

"True enough," Murata agreed. He let his hand slip away soon after. "Now, if you'll excuse me. There's a lovely lady pining for my company somewhere in this castle. It would be cruel of me to keep her waiting any longer."

Yuuri snorted and rolled his eyes. Tiredly, he watched Murata head for the door and slip out of the office.

"You should follow His Eminence's example," Conrad said. "You've earned it. It was a good day."

Yuuri could do nothing but agree.

Conrad followed him from the office and accompanied him down the main hallways. He assisted Yuuri in avoiding a majority of the nobles vying for his attention, patiently reminding them that there were proper channel one was required to go through to put a petition to the King. As soon as they came to the private halls, Conrad's presence was not quite so imperative. His godfather left Yuuri at the door to the King's bedchamber.

Yuuri heaved a sigh upon entering his room. Though there would be just as much work to greet him come morning, he could feel the tension melt away as soon as he closed the door to the rest of the world.

The sound of laugher met his ears, high pitched baby squeals originating from the other side of the room. A large blanket was spread out on the floor. Colorful toys littered the ground in all directions. Neither Alexei nor the nanny's daughter were anywhere to be seen. Yuuri had expected as much. He recognized the laughter as Merry's.

Wolfram kneeled on the floor with the baby. He was half undressed, his boots and jacket discarded. Wolfram hovered over Merry on his hands and knees. He lifted the baby's shirt to blow raspberries onto his stomach. Merry shrieked loudly.

The room was a mess, Merry was loud and demanding attention, but that was okay because it meant Wolfram was home.

Yuuri came up behind Wolfram. He sank to the floor and wrapped his arms around Wolfram's waist, leaning over him, chest to back.

"I tripped on one of Merry's toys coming in here," he teased.

Wolfram stiffened mid-raspberry. His back went impossibly straight against Yuuri's chest; however, as soon as he heard the sound of Yuuri's voice, Wolfram relaxed and settled more comfortably against him.

"I apologize," Wolfram said. He glanced over his shoulder, green eyes sparkling as a smile danced across his lips. "I'll call one of the maids to clean up soon. I only wanted to spend time with him before his nap."

"It's fine," Yuuri said.

He pressed a kiss to the back of Wolfram's head and squeezed him tightly. Then Yuuri released him and settled down on the blanket.

"Naturally Merry's hogging all of the attention as soon as you get back," he joked.

"Is it my fault his other father couldn't spare the time to see him while I was gone?" Wolfram said. He eyed Yuuri critically.

Yuuri could hear the lecture already beginning to take form in Wolfram's voice. He winced and said, "See, I was sort of hoping Kat wouldn't make it sound that bad. It wasn't like I never saw him."

"You saw him when he was asleep."

"I was busy!"

"I'm sure," Wolfram said. He didn't sound convinced and showed Yuuri a disappointed frown.

Wolfram lightly ticked Merry's sides. The baby laughed again and twisted around in delight.

"I don't understand, Yuuri. You care about him. I know you do."

"Of course I do," Yuuri said. "I'm just... not good with him. Not like you."

"You've never taken the time to learn," Wolfram countered. "I did."

"It'll be better once he's older. Babies haven't ever really liked me."

It was a weak argument. He could tell by the expression on his face that Wolfram didn't believe him. Yuuri would be lying if he claimed to believe it himself.

He told himself he was hesitant only because Merry was so young because it was easier than admitting the truth.

Certainly Yuuri didn't know what to do with him. When Merry cried he couldn't tell if he was scared, or hungry, or hurt, or wet. When Merry was happy, Yuuri didn't know what to do to keep him that way. It wasn't easy like it'd been with Greta. When she'd been younger Yuuri would just grab a couple of gloves and throw a ball around with her outside. With Merry it was plushies and blocks and toys he barely knew what to do with, making noises and faces until one of them earned a positive reaction, and then repeating it ad nauseam.

When that excuse didn't work, Yuuri told himself it was because Merry liked Wolfram so much more. Yuuri didn't know how Wolfram did it. He suspected Wolfram was just as shocked by it as he was. Merry had latched onto Wolfram the moment Yuuri had handed the baby off to him, and neither Merry nor Wolfram had let go since. It was bizarre. Yuuri was traditionally the fun-loving one. He liked to laugh and run around outside and pretend he was still fifteen. Wolfram was prim and proper and obsessed with etiquette and tradition, temperamental and stubborn and angry. Yet Merry adored Wolfram, and Wolfram adored Merry in turn. Wolfram melted for Merry and became this sweet, gentle, loving creature that left Yuuri completely and utterly speechless.

Such things would have been easy to fix. In time, Yuuri would learn and gain more confidence. Perhaps he would acquire some of the paternal magic Wolfram seemed to have in spades.

The truth was that everything about Merry made Yuuri feel guilty. From Merry's eyes to his hair to the sweet baby voice that said "Mama" to a person that wasn't his mother, Yuuri looked at Merry and he saw his own failure. Wolfram would never understand that; he could look at Merry and see nothing more or less than his son. To Wolfram, Merry's parents were faceless people whose names he hardly bothered to remember. He scooped Merry up and held him, shushed him and kissed him as if Merry had always been meant for them.

One part of Yuuri thought that was true—the part that believed in fate, that told him everything happened for a reason; the part that'd seen a baby in his dreams.

The rest of him remembered the husband and wife he'd known before. He saw flashes of a proud father, injured and pale and wasting away from infection. He saw visions of a loving mother who asked only that her child be spared.

When Yuuri looked at Merry, he didn't see a happy baby. He didn't see his son. He saw Karl and Nastia Brandt, and he thought of how Merry would never know them.

"I know there's a lot on your mind," Wolfram said. He spoke to Yuuri with understanding in his voice, scooped Merry up and held him in his lap. "I know there's a lot for you to deal with. Being King has never been easy. My mother struggled with it. No one expects you to be perfect."

Yuuri snorted, if only because he was sure certain people did expect that of him.

"Alright, I don't expect you to be perfect," Wolfram amended. "But I think you should try spending more time with Merry. Not just for him. It would be good for you too. I don't want him to grow up knowing you as the King and not as his father."

Yuuri didn't want Merry growing up barely knowing anything about his real parents. He didn't say that, of course. He figured it was his job to make sure Merry knew. Wolfram was right in that respect. Yuuri needed to spend more time with Merry to ensure that Karl and Nastia weren't forgotten.

"Right," he agreed. He chanced a glance at Merry and felt the twist of guilt in his gut, but he didn't allow himself to look away.

"That's all I'm asking of you, Yuuri," Wolfram said. "I only want you to try."

Yuuri nodded to show that he was listening, but he didn't particularly want to discuss it more. To move the subject along, Yuuri stood to his feet and held out his arms for Merry, earning a look of confusion from Wolfram.

"Come on, give him to me for a sec," Yuuri said. "I want to show you something."

Wolfram looked at him warily but began to rise in order to make the exchange.

"Don't get up," Yuuri instructed. He leaned over to take the baby from him. "Sit there. You don't have to move."

Yuuri backed several feet away and chose another spot on the floor. Merry turned his big blue eyes on him and looked disgruntled, releasing an impatient whine and wiggling around in a bid for freedom. Yuuri tightened his hold on the baby for a moment and looked across to Wolfram.

"Just so you now I didn't miss everything he was doing while you were gone..."

Lifting Merry up, Yuuri propped the baby onto his feet.

"Alright, Mer," he said. Yuuri tried to use the sweet baby-talk voice Wolfram had become so shockingly good at, but he gave up when he thought he just sounded stupid. "You see Wolfram over there? Go get Wolfram."

Merry whined again, but when Yuuri slowly released his old on him, the baby took a tentative step forward. Then another... and another...

Wolfram gasped. His face split into a huge smile. "He's walking?"

"He did it for the first time a week or so after you left," Yuuri explained. He shuffled behind Merry on his knees in case Merry should need his help. "Kat came and showed me. I told her not to tell you so I could show you myself."

Wolfram spared him a quick look, his expression warm and tender. Then he turned his attention back to their son. "You're doing so well, Merry," Wolfram said. He held his arms out to beckon the baby closer. "You can do it. That's it. Come to me."

Merry toddled along clumsily, his steps slow and awkward. He looked as if he would topple over at any moment. Halfway to Wolfram he fell right onto his diapered backside. Merry paused a moment, looked startled, and then began to cry.

"Come on, tough guy," Yuuri said. He grabbed Merry under his arms and pulled him back onto his feet. "You know that didn't hurt. Keep going."

"It scared him, Yuuri," Wolfram said.

"He's fine. He's fallen before and gotten right back up. He's just putting on a show for you."

Wolfram didn't look convinced. To reassure him, Yuuri let Merry hold onto his hands as he guided the baby the rest of the way.

"See? Nothing to worry about."

Wolfram took the baby and began to rain kisses all over his face—which, Yuuri noted, was conspicuously free of tears.

"That was wonderful, Merry! I'm so proud of you!"

Merry instantly quieted and sat himself back into Wolfram's lap for a snuggle.

For a while, Yuuri and Wolfram sat together in joyful celebration. Wolfram coddled Merry and Merry soaked in the attention, while Yuuri sat beside them and clung to the moment of happiness like a shield against his guilt.

Soon after, the baby began to grow drowsy. Merry's tired eyes opened and closed slowly before finally sliding shut. Then he was asleep on the floor, sprawled over the blanket with messy blonde curls and rosy cheeks. Wolfram leaned over him, slipped a pacifier into Merry's mouth and brushed fine strands of hair off of Merry's forehead. Yuuri sat and watched. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything more perfect than Wolfram when he was quiet, peaceful, and so obviously in love.

"I missed you," Yuuri said—quietly, so as not to disturb the baby.

Wolfram glanced up and showed him a teasing smile. "You're the one who sent me away," he said.

"I thought you might like the chance to have some influence over Greta's wedding."

"I do. Thank you."

"Does it help a little?" Yuuri asked. "Planning and arranging it. Is it any easier to get used to?"

"A little, yes," Wolfram said. "Seeing her with Arthur helps the most, I think. He's very good to her, always has little gifts and tokens of his affection."

"Do you want more tokens of my affection?" Yuuri teased. He leaned over to nuzzle the side of Wolfram's face.

Wolfram's voice rang with quiet laughter. Gently, he shoved at Yuuri's shoulder. "I have enough as it is," Wolfram assured him.

Then Wolfram's eyes lowered, and Yuuri felt one of Wolfram's hands on his chin.

"Are you ever going to explain this?" Wolfram asked. His fingers stroked against the patch of hair there.

Yuuri flushed lightly and lifted one of his hands to rub the back of his neck. "I missed a spot?" he tried.

Wolfram laughed again, his eyes alight.

"You didn't miss. It's obvious you left it there."

"Maybe I wanted to try it out," Yuuri said. He shifted and looked off to the side, suddenly self-conscious.

"I can get rid of it if it looks stupid," he added. He didn't want to seem embarrassed or crestfallen but figured he was doing a poor job of disguising it.

Yuuri wondered if it was silly to want to impress his husband. Wolfram was usually so impeccably dressed, hair perfect, boots polished to a shine, clothes neatly pressed, hardly a wrinkle in sight. One the other hand, there was Yuuri, just an average looking guy who didn't spend much time worrying about his clothes or the state of his hair. He groomed himself enough to look presentable and wore what Wolfram told him to wear even if it was uncomfortable.

Many people praised his looks. They commented on his hair, his eyes, on the impressive rate at which he'd grown. But none of it sounded quite as nice as the times Wolfram would say, "You look handsome."

Yuuri didn't care much for what everyone else thought, but he wanted to be handsome for Wolfram.

Wolfram considered him carefully before moving in for a kiss. "Keep it," he said. "At least for a while. I need time to get used to it. Then I'll let you know what I think."

"Fair enough," Yuuri said.

He did his best to push aside any lingering self-consciousness. To distract himself, Yuuri grabbed Wolfram lips in another kiss, pulling Wolfram close as he breathed, "I want you."

He felt Wolfram's face warm.

"Merry's here," Wolfram said. All the same, when Yuuri pulled back enough to look at his face, Wolfram didn't look entirely opposed to the idea.

"He's sleeping," Yuuri gently countered. He surged forward to attach his lips to the side of Wolfram's neck. "He usually naps for at least an hour, doesn't he?"

"Sometimes longer," Wolfram agreed.

"We have plenty of time then."

"Unless we wake him up."

"You'll just have to keep quiet," Yuuri told him. He grinned against the soft skin of Wolfram's neck. He could feel the warmth of a deep flush spread down to Wolfram's chest.

"Don't think you can?" Yuuri teased.

"Shut up, you wimp," Wolfram said.

They stumbled to their feet together, making a wide path around Merry as they made their way to the bed.

Yuuri pulled Wolfram close, raising his hands to cradle Wolfram's head. Wolfram sighed lightly and placed kisses along Yuuri's jaw, pausing at Yuuri's chin to feel the scratch of short hairs against his lips.

"It was hard to focus on the rest of the meeting after you came in," Yuuri said. He guided Wolfram onto the bed, dragging the bed-curtains halfway shut. They could still see Merry well enough, but if Merry happened to wake up he wouldn't see much of them.

"You could have ended the meeting early," Wolfram said.

"I thought about it. But then the Aristocrats would never let me hear the end of it."

"Who cares about the Aristocrats?"

Wisely, Yuuri decided not to respond to the question. Instead he batted Wolfram's hands away and worked on undoing the buttons of Wolfram's shirt. He pushed Wolfram down onto the bed once he slid the fine white fabric from Wolfram's shoulders, once again attaching his lips to the side of Wolfram's neck.

Often Yuuri marveled at how little Wolfram had changed since the day they'd met. Wolfram's behavior had evened out with maturity, and he was more open with himself than he used to be, but there were few differences in his appearance. Wolfram being a full-blood demon, it was only natural; seven years to Yuuri were like two to Wolfram.

Wolfram had barely grown any taller. Shallow notches along the doorframe of his old nursery (now Merry's) showed that he'd only grown an inch in seven years. Wolfram retained the body of a teenager, all arms and legs that would have looked gangly if he were any thinner. His torso was still narrow-shoulders, his knees a bit knobby, his hips slim.

The only thing to have noticeably grown was Wolfram's hair. It hung around his face in golden waves and loose curls. When loose it hung to his shoulders, but it was often bound back tightly. Usually only Wolfram's bangs remained loose, brushed to the side instead of parting the way they used to.

Wolfram trained no less now that he was Prince Consort. Though no longer a soldier, Wolfram nonetheless insisted upon keeping up a routine. Yuuri could find no fault in it considering he still kept up his own. Yet Wolfram was not as muscled as one might expect. He'd gained a little weight and grown softer around the edges. Some of Wolfram's clothes fit him a little more snugly. His was was a little rounder, his cheeks a little fuller, his stomach a little less firm.

As Yuuri's hands went to unfasten Wolfram's pants, Yuuri's lips marked a path down Wolfram's neck, peppering Wolfram's skin with little red bites and slowly developing bruises. Wolfram moaned and clawed at Yuuri's shirt, shoving it down Yuuri's arms and running his hands down Yuuri's bare back.

The remainder of their clothing came off quickly—Wolfram's pants and undergarments were tossed to the foot of the bed, while Yuuri's piled on the floor. They kissed and touched with a sense of urgency, making up for more than a month of loneliness and unsatisfied desires. Their mingling breaths grew heavy, their hands alternately clutching and petting at one another. Wolfram tossed his head back, wrapped arms around Yuuri's back, his legs around Yuuri's waist.

Yuuri prepared Wolfram quickly and entered with hardly a word exchanged. They thrust together in unison, Yuuri's hips pitching forward as Wolfram's met him, fucking with abandon. Yuuri held Wolfram's arms to the mattress; Wolfram mouthed at Yuuri's shoulder and stifled his moans into the side of Yuuri's neck.

They collapsed onto the bed when it was done, slick with sweat and saliva and semen. Yuuri pulled Wolfram to him, held Wolfram in his arms, and pressed short, sweet kisses to his face.

Wolfram's hand came up to touch Yuuri's chin, stroking the hair there with fondness.

"You should keep it a while," he said. His eyes were still dark, his cheeks stained a lovely pink.

"You think so?" Yuuri said.

"Yeah..."

Yuuri pressed a kiss to Wolfram's forehead, smiling in success.

"Wait here a minute," he said.

Yuuri rose from the bed, circled around and found Merry still asleep on the blanket on the floor. As gently as he could, Yuuri lifted the baby into his arms. Merry stirred and whined, but Yuuri shushed him quietly, and when he placed the baby between them on the bed, Merry settled back to sleep.

From the adoring look in Wolfram's eyes and the upward curve of Wolfram's lips, Yuuri could tell that he was pleased.

"I love you, you wimp," Wolfram said. He slipped his arms around Merry, holding the baby safe and comfortable between them.

Yuuri cupped Wolfram's face and leaned over Merry to press a kiss to Wolfram's lips.

"I love you, too," he said.

To be continued...