a/n;; Honestly, I don't know why I'm starting another story -head desk-. I have yet to finish like 3 -~! Regardless, even though I'm barely partial to RusAme, I do like their, uh, personality mix? Here's the full summary of Clouded by the Sky:

The Emperor of the Eastern Front, Ivan Braginsky, wishes to extend his vast Northern land even further, going so much

as across the Pacific Ocean. With his spies everywhere, he's quick to find out that the Kingdom of Kanata includes many natural resources

and oil reserves un-tapped. However, he is not to keen on simply overthrowing the peaceful and neutral Kingdom, afraid

that it will alert other Empires (as it did ONCE the previous time), and decides

to woo the heir apparent, Matthew of Kanata, into a union. He's rather good at keeping it a secret, but wait! Why are

his spies telling him his enemies are sailing south?!

A slight breeze wafted into the Emperor's foyer as he unlatched the front door of his spacious estate. He inhaled the icy fragrance in the air and smirked. The two soldiers that stood at both sides of the doorway stiffened as their Supreme ruler glanced at them. Under the thick coats and boots, they both looked fine, but Ivan knew they were tightening their grasps on their staffs and their knees were growing weak. It was just the normal aura that the Supreme ruler had to his loyal workers. Ivan gripped one of the men's shoulders and smiled smugly. The soldier let out a soft whimper, but pursed his lips and nodded at his superior.

"Don't be scared. Have we not gone through this many times?" Ivan sighed, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

The soldier just nodded weakly. Ivan took back his hand and grinned with approval. His two assistants behind him gave the two soldiers a look of pity. It seemed that intimidation was a drug that Ivan needed several doses of each day, and it didn't look like he would be giving up his intake in a while. Ivan seemed ignorant to his workers and took a proud step out of his grandeur castle. A sleek black automobile received just the final polish from its chauffeur, and it was ready just on time for the ruler to enter. With a curt nod, the chauffeur bowed at his superior and then without a word, scurried to the front seat. Toris, Ivan's right-hand man (and personal slave, you might as well call it) gripped the door handle to allow the ruler in.

"Where are we headed today, my Supreme?" the driver, murmured, starting up the engine. He hissed under his breath when buttons flashed of the trouble he might encounter with the snow traffic.

Ivan snorted, and nudged Toris as he leaned over to pop open a new bottle of vodka.

"L-L-Lord Eduard's, driver." The brunet stuttered, covering his face when his superior glanced at him with a look of disgust.

"Right. Sit back, sirs. I will alert when we are near."

The thick map made of pressed papyrus was tacked across the otherwise blank wall, red markings and flags of the Eastern Empire attached around a large area. Lord Eduard of Estone was fluttering around his office in jitters, having just received a call that his superior was going to arrive in mere minutes. He had his super-computer powered on, and charged to assist in whatever plans Ivan planned to put into motion this year. He hadn't seen the Emperor in months, having been off the big man's case for a while. Eduard knew the peace would end eventually, however, and this time, after being hinted from his other colleagues, he knew it was time Ivan went ahead and try to expand his vast territory. Eduard opened his cabinet to fetch the expensive vodka he always offered his emperor, and glanced over at the map.

There was just that large vast of Western land that was still ruled by peaceful rulers, at least in the north. The southernmost plots of land was said to inhabited by audacious nativespeople who had tight reins with the Spanish. Eduard knew Ivan wished to spite the mediocre Spanish (at least, at one point he did), but Ivan preferred climates of cold and ice. There was very likely chance he would venture to the Western Kingdom in the North, a once bloody landscape that over the years morphed to be self-sufficient neutral kingdom.

It made much sense, though, Eduard knew. However, there was that plot of 'no-man's-land' that all the European and Asian empires/ kingdoms knew to be reliant on no one but themselves. There had never been much of a want for that 'barbaric' land, however. Rumours went that the Spanish had visited some parts, but left for a still-unknown reason. Nevertheless, Eduard shook his head to stop running through which lands the ruthless Emperor wished to overtake. Right now, what he needed to do was calm his nerves.

The door bell rang once, and sent the frazzled man to wreckage.

"My Lord, you are looking as pale as ever, da?" Ivan chuckled satirically. He untied his furry cloak and tossed it harshly at Toris.

Eduard got on his knees and bowed weakly at the large man.

"My Emperor," he stuttered.

"Get up. I have a job I want you to do."

Eduard nodded hastily, dusting himself off. "Yes, of c-c-course. Anything."

"I need you to alert the Kingdom of Kanata that I wish to court their heir apparent."

O-O-O

He cocked his head to the side and flicked the long curly strand that seemed to never disappear. It bounced when his cheeks lifted, and it swayed as he walked. Despite the bother it gave the Crown Prince, he could never find it in his heart to actually axe it off. It was a weird thing, but it was a unique characteristic of the Prince. Ever since his mother had been placed into a suite where ten nurses whisked around her precariously, Matthew noticed it started to look droopier than usual. It was as if the simple piece of hair was a monitor for his true feelings. Matthew of Kanata sighed and buttoned the rest of his long tunic and tightened the belt of his breeches. It was going to be another day of stabilizing his Kingdom- the slowly falling Kanata.

Every time someone brought up the once optimistic outlook of his father's Kingdom, a large bump in his throat seemed to swell and throb. His father hadn't been alive in almost half a decade, and it seemed once the king was disposed, it was only a matter of time before he took all that power along with him to Heaven. Matthew perched his glasses to the top of the bridge of his nose and inhaled. No matter what anybody says, things will be alright. He flinched as those words trickled through his brain. His mother had been insistent upon that phrase ever since the Kingdom-wide mourning of the King. With a quick tousle of his hair, Matthew nodded to himself and walked out of his room. He descended down the stairs with the silence and grace he seemed to have mastered quickly. The palace servants gave him curt nods when the noticed him- apparently, he wasn't the loudest or most noticed noble in the castle. He brushed off looks of ignorance and bound to the kitchen, needing a fresh serving of pancakes before he was sent off to a daily chore, probably something boring like checking up the health and economy of the Kingdom.

Matthew whistled softly for his pet bear, and his face lit when the unusual choice for a pet leaped into its owner's arms.

Well, no matter what happened, he always had Kumi.

O-O-O-O-O

Sitting cross legged in front of the fire, the silvery-white haired man scrolled with great precision down his documents of secret information. Even though the Kingdom that his heart had been promised to was in a failing state, he still couldn't find it in his heart to return to his homeland in the small and mediocre Kingdom of Germania. Gilbert hummed to himself with a bottle of beer between his lips as his eyes skimmed the notes (that were sent in code) to him. He thought he must have misread them, but after quadruple-checking, Gilbert's lips parted, sending the bottle of bear crashing to the plush carpets of his suite. Great, now the carpet would reek of beef. How awesome.

Deciding that he would call a servant later to help him, Gilbert drew a red circle around the new message he was sent from unknown spies in other Kingdoms and zapped his screen closed. He was hyperventilating at this point. What was he going to tell his Prince? He found the 18-almost-19 year old Prince a bit of a weakling, but Gilbert would have never said that in public. Once the Prince did turn 20, he would ascend the throne as King. Nevertheless, Gilbert drew in a sharp intake of breath as he realized that the note he'd gotten might actually be true.

WHO DO I TELL? WHO DO I TELL? DO I TELL ANYONE?! AGH! DECISIONS ARE SO NOT AWESOME!

Gilbert doused the fire after coming to the conclusion the heathen was mocking him with its cackles. He scratched his nose and flinched.

Well, if you're going to tell your prince, tell him now.

Afterword;;

This is a 'beta' (is that the word?), and alike The Shuffle, MIGHT be put on hiatus. I try to keep updating based on reviews or interest in the story :X Thanks