Nearly nine years to the day after His Majesty Yuuri Shibuya accidently proposed to Sir Wolfram von Bielefeld, they were married in a (nearly) quiet ceremony inside the Temple Courtyard. Standing before the fountain that had transported the young Maou back and forth between the two worlds so many times, the young couple had performed the ceremony that officially enlarged the royal family and politically allowed Shin Makoku an immediate successor if Yuuri died suddenly.
"Young Sir Bielefeld must be pleased with himself," Yozak commented to Murata on the night Yuuri had announced the wedding date to the residents of Covenant Castle. Murata leaned against the headboard on the edge of the narrow bed, book open on his lap as Yozak, seated at the foot of the bed, sharpened the small daggers he kept hidden.
Murata glanced up from his pages, eyes closing as he smiled. "The castle maids are probably the only people more excited," he agreed, stretching out his legs before returning to his original, curled up position.
Yozak sniggered. "Which one won the pot?"
"Sangria and Lasagna." The Sage's eyes returned to his book, continuing only when Yozak poked him in the foot. "Technically, there were two pots. Sangria won the first one by predicting when they first had sex, but then Lasagna managed to guess their wedding date in the second round."
Yozak stood, placing the daggers on the table next to the bed before sprawling on his stomach next to the Sage. "I should have gotten in on that one," he commented, dragging his fingers slowly along the curve of Murata's hip. Murata didn't move, eyes still focused on the book. If he hadn't been paying attention, he would have missed the sudden quickness in the double-black's breath.
"I think it was an exclusive game," Murata replied dryly. Rolling over on his side, he stretched across the red-head's chest to place his book on the table next to the daggers. One of Yozak's strong arms trapped him there before he could return to his side of the bed.
"You'd have to be a maid and," Murata continued, the light glinting off his glasses as his lips curved upward, "That maid's outfit is not your best look."
The wedding had gone off with few problems, especially considering the bridal party. Kiddo had unsurprising pushed for a combination of traditions from both Earth and Shin Makoku, as he had already brought baseball and wedding cakes with him from his faraway homeland. What was surprising was Sir Wolfram's lack of protestation. Yosak had been sure that the fiery tempered Lord would insist on a 'noble and proper' wedding ceremony, following traditions that had been set forth by Shinou himself.
Both had insisted on a smaller ceremony than Lord von Kleist had originally wanted to provide. The over-enthusiastic advisor had wanted a wedding with pomp, circumstance, and one that welcomed not only every member of the ten noble Mazoku families, but also every other upper class Mazoku, as well as the families of all of their allies. Wolfram had finally wheedled Sir Gwendal into interfering, (breaking the stern man's oath to remain uninvolved with 'useless, romantic ideas') by pointing out how dangerous such a large party would undoubtedly be for the Maou. Gwendal had refused to allow more people into Shinou's temple than was strictly necessary. The heads of the ten noble families would be allowed to witness the union, as was family members and a few close friends, but no others.
Unfortunately, he was unable to stop Gunter from planning a reception afterward to celebrate the wedding. A reception that allowed the rest of the families of the ten noble to join in the celebration. So Yozak had been sent in as Lady Jovana von Spietenze, Wolfram's third cousin from the edge of the Mazoku border.
It had provided an opportunity to wear the blue and purple dress he'd tossed in the back of his closet since Kiddo's first sea voyage. And quite frankly, the gold, low heeled shoes he had just bought matched the belt and arm bangles the completed his outfit.
"Low heels?"
Yozak glanced back at Murata over his shoulder from where he was currently fighting with one of Anissina's older inventions, Get-Wrinkles-Out-Now-Kun, a huge device that boiled water and herbs together. The inventor claimed that not only would the resulting steam work wrinkles out of any fabric, it would also leave them smelling fresh and clean. So far, all he'd managed to do was burn himself, and spill water over the floor. "What? They're sexy shoes."
The Sage leaned against Yozak's closed bedroom door, holding the shoe out on one fingertip, toe pointing toward the ground. "Maa, of course," he said, lips curving up in that old, placating smile. "I simply thought you preferred stilettos."
Yozak shrugged, giving a few last adjustments to Get-Wrinkles-Out-Now-Kun before turning and striding across the room toward Murata. "Well, it's true that my legs look exceptionally good in tall heels," he said, slipping the shoe off of the Sage's finger and setting it next to it's mate on the low table he kept next to the door. "And it's also true that they look good in every other type of shoe imaginable." Twining his fingers through Murata's, he pushed the shorter man's hands up against the door, bringing his own body flush against the Sage's.
Murata willingly parted his legs as Yozak slid his own between them. In the nine years since the defeat of Soushu, both the Sage and Kiddo had grown taller. Though neither would reach anywhere near Yozak's height, the Sage's final growth spurt had left Murata only half a head shorter than Yozak.
That cheery smile still blanketed the Sage's face as he tilted his head back to gaze up at Yozak. "What about barefoot?" he asked grinding against Yozak's leg.
Adjusting his grip to hold both Murata's hands with only one of his own, Yozak slid his hand down the black clad arm to grasp gently behind the Sage's neck. "I always look best bare," he murmured, lips grazing against Murata's.
"Egotist," Murata replied without a trace of malice, stretching his neck to press his lips against the spy's. Yozak felt him deepen the kiss, and let him, his hand caressing the dark strands of hair that curled against the double black's neck.
"Nympho," Yozak replied when Murata let him lean back for air.
The young man shrugged, and nipped at his neck.. "Teenage hormones" he offered as an explanation.
"You're twenty-two."
"Blame Christine," Murata offered blithely, tilting his head to the side and smiling almost innocently before pushing them away from the door toward the bed.
Despite Shinou's absence in a spiritual sense (as the former deity had actually shown up to the wedding, insisted on sitting in the front and generally caused most of the nobility in the room to engage in minor anxiety attacks), Ulrike and Sir Wolfram had both insisted on the traditional blessing. Both grooms would hold their hands under the fountain water, where it was assumed that Shinou would bless the union. Ken Murata, as a symbolic link to the honored Original Maou (a pointless link in Yosak's opinion, as said Maou could verbally bless the union if anyone had actually bothered to ask him), had been asked to perform this part of the ceremony.
The blessing had gone much smoother in the actual ceremony than it had in what Kiddo referred to as the 'dress rehearsal', where, in a brief fit of nerves and misplaced Maryoku, the young Maou had managed to send both himself and the Great Sage back to Earth the second their hands hit underneath the water.
It had taken the frantic Maou and his highly amused navigator a full twenty minutes to get back. It took Wolfram only twenty seconds to vent his frustrations at being left behind by the hapless ruler; he set said rulers shoes on fire.
The real ceremony had gone much smoother. The rings had been exchanged, the blessing received (Shinou had given it loudly from his seat in the audience), no one left abruptly, clothes remained unlit, and most importantly, there were no untimely interruptions that threatened the Maou's life.
The reception had gone about as smooth despite the Kiddo's nervous, babbling speech thanking his guests for coming, tipsy ambassadors beginning heated arguments amongst themselves, the flocks of men who followed Lady Cecile devotedly, Lord von Voltaire's pointed refusal to even look at the dance floor despite his mother's mournful comments on his eternal bachelorhood, Lady Annisina's latest experiment nearly catching on fire (personally, Yozak could see the usefulness in a table that ate drunk dignitaries though, from Lord von Voltaire's overly pinched expression, he was probably one of the few who believed that), and Lord von Kliest remaining on the verge of panic the whole evening from trying to keep the three hundred guests from destroying the castle (or each other).
Yozak's dress, trashy enough to avoid any serious attention by most of the night's guests, allowed him to maneuver around the reception hall. Most of the guests dismissed him as soon as they saw him. Some had asked him to dance; a few had been more than a little touchy-feely (five drunk me, three sober ones and two women had lead Yozak to suspect that more people liked tall and strong women than he had originally believed).
The only crisis of the night had been solved easily enough when one particularly drunk and belligerent man had loudly commented on Yuuri's anti-war campaign. The man, one of the more traditional Mazoku, had started with the disparaging anti-human slogan and ended up blatantly insinuating that the Maou's alliance ideas stemmed from his own dirty blood. Yozak hadn't been able to get to the drunk man before one of the ambassadors hit him from behind with his glass, knocking the man out.
From the resulting applause, it was easy to see that the Kiddo had not only charmed his way into the hearts of his people, but that he had also managed to bring world peace to a country that had been hungering for war less than ten years prior. Glancing up toward the main table, he caught Conrart's proud smile.
Yuuri Shibuya was indeed the twenty-seventh Maou, regardless of what form he took. And his people loved him for it.
Yozak pushed open the door to his room. No matter how many times he had seen the dawn, it always left him feeling more drained than if night had continued. He didn't bother lighting the candle he kept next to the door; he had slept in this room since the war with the humans, and the moonlight streaming in through the open window allowed him sight when memory failed. He had left a washbasin filled with cool water on the small dresser that housed most of his clothing. After slipping out of his shoes and changing quickly into a loose pair of pants, he plunged his whole head into the bowl, rubbing the make up off his face. Drying his face, he stumbled toward the bed, barely stopping himself from tumbling into it when he realized it wasn't empty.
Twin onyx eyes blinked sleepily up at him. "You're late," Murata curled more tightly around the only pillow on the narrow bed.
"His Excellency had me there until all the guests retired for the night," Yozak replied, nudging him gently away from the edge of the bed until there was enough room for him to climb in. "Bastards had me dancing all night."
Murata chuckled, one hand rubbing at his eyes. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself."
"Jealous, Holiness?" Yozak teased, stretching up to grasp the headboard before relaxing into a boneless heap on the bed. "You should have danced with me, too." It wouldn't have looked any more ridiculous than it did when Yozak danced with anyone else, really.
"I didn't want to dance with Lady Jovana von Spietenze," Murata's eyes closed and he turned over, back flush against Yozak's side. The pillow went with him.
Yozak smiled, and turned over onto his side, one arm wrapping across Murata's slender waist. Head pillowed on his other arm, he pressed his face into the double-blacks hair and let his eyes close, content.
Sometimes, it was more important to listen to what wasn't said than it was to hear what was actually spoken.