Chapter 3
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Greta was skipping around in her new yellow sandals, running off some energy while Doria finished packing the last of their snacks in a picnic basket in the kitchen. It felt like it had been ages since she'd had any fun at all and Greta was so excited. The little girl prattled on and on, not really caring if Doria was paying attention or not.
Outside, Yuuri and Murata were waiting patiently. But, more than once, it seemed as though the double black was working up the courage to say something to him. Murata decided he'd let Yuuri bring up whatever the subject was when he was ready.
A groaning of wood got their attention. Conrad opened the door and approached them with the red and white checked blanket they'd use to sit on tonight draped over his right arm. It belonged to Yozak, who couldn't make it because of work, but he was still kind enough to loan it out.
"You'll be joining us, right?" Yuuri asked Conrad hopefully.
"Thank you for inviting me earlier…Yozak sends his regrets again."
"He can come next time."
The sun was dipping slowly and the trees were a lovely black silhouette against a blushing sky. Only now were the stars beginning to peep out. It would be a beautiful night.
The door opened again and Wolfram appeared, looking tired but firm in his decision to go on this outing. He straightened his blue jacket a little as he walked, trying to be presentable in front of his king as well as his husband. The blond joined the little group and then turned back toward the castle, looking for Greta. He lifted his face up toward the window and his hand made a quick motion at his side—fingers gripping nothing.
"Is there a problem?" Murata asked cautiously at the strange behavior.
"Just…for a second…" Wolfram watched an upper story window a bit longer and then met his husband's gaze. "I definitely saw a shadow move. But, now that I think about it, it seems as though Shinou was watching from the window. Out of habit, I reached for my sword before I realized who it was."
"I believe you. It's the kind of thing he'd do," Murata affirmed lightheartedly, making nothing out of it.
Wolfram chewed his lower lip a little. Slipping back to formality, "Still, reaching for my sword…not that I'm armed or anything… It is a discourteous gesture at best and…"
"Don't worry," Yuuri said, trying to stay positive. "He probably knows you're not one hundred percent. He'll be okay with it."
"I agree," Murata confirmed, smiling his best. "And, if not, I'll talk to him." Maybe, that would get the blond to drop the subject.
A tug at the lips downward and a low but jealous-toned, "Shinou favors you. I'm sure you can plead my case…if need be…"
Murata put his hands casually in his pockets and looked down at his shoes. "It's not a big deal. Trust me."
The door opened again and Doria brought the picnic basket and the happy little princess with her into the yard. "Heika, Geika…everyone…" she said as her greeting as she presented the basket over to Murata. The sage took the curved wicker handle, gave a quiet "thank you" without making eye contact with Doria, and stepped closer to Wolfram, making brief small talk with him about the contents—something along the lines of "I expect you to eat at least one small sandwich…"
Then, Murata handed the basket to Greta. "I'm sure you can find the perfect place for us to watch the stars."
With a very serious nod, the child took Wolfram by the hand and got Conrad to follow her. She had a plan, obviously, about where they should be. It was entertaining. Murata walked nonchalantly along with Yuuri at his side—enjoying the spectacle in front of him. Greta had learned quite a bit about giving men marching orders from Anissina.
"Speaking of 'rude,' Murata, I think you were not very nice to Doria just now," Yuuri commented in a low voice, not wanting to be overheard. "This isn't like you. Did she do something wrong? Are you mad at her?" He cocked his head to the side, curious about the answer.
The sage almost laughed at his best friend. "She wasn't offended at all, if you noticed." He went on, glancing at the night sky. "Actually, I was behaving in a perfectly normal way for a high profile husband in Shin Makoku."
Yuuri blinked at that.
Murata debated a little within. Should he tell all? Yes, he decided. He should this time. The topic had come up after all. "In this world, had I gone all sparkly 'doe-eyed' at Doria…to look that happy to see her…would be sending the signal 'Oi, baby, I'm hot and looking for love. Why not join me in bed with that basket and you can be the pudding at the end of the meal?'" Murata grinned evilly at Yuuri. It was amusing. "Instead, I'm playing the part of a good husband who respects his spouse. In other words, I'm not flirting."
"You're being awful," Yuuri complained with absolutely no heat behind it. "And as for 'sparkly'… I don't do that to Wolfram."
Murata took a few more steps and his heart felt a bit sore for his friend's sake at what he'd have to reveal next. Or, maybe, it was one of those rare occasions when his own conscience actually hurt. "To tell the truth…in this world…you do. Your behavior, your smiles…your rejections, are so comical…so amusing… that it is impossible not to laugh." He glanced at the horizon, taking in the twinkling jewels. "Even I am guilty of it. Some part of me knew better than to do that but…"
How would the double black take this?
"Then, he'd be happier with you," Yuuri said glumly as though he knew it all along. "He'd be better off. After all, he's said it already."
"Happier?" The sage shook his head. "No, we had an argument this morning…our first. Only, he doesn't realize that. His memories are a mish-mash of fact and fiction." The sage stepped over a clump of green brush and then another awkwardly. "And, he's not the only one with issues. I might as well come clean at this point. I'm having problems, too."
Yuuri stared at him, worried for his friend now. "What, exactly?"
Murata held back for a beat, it being in his nature to do so as The Great Sage. But his friend's noticeable concern convinced him. And there was no way he could say "never mind" and be done with it once Yuuri gave him that look. "It seems… Today, while taking a bath, I was trying to think of something that would help you in your new negotiations with the human country of Zhahel. I was going to suggest a few things like having the sex slave tied up and sent back to that country wearing the garb of a fishwife as an insult, a demand of 1000 gold bars of tribute, and insisting that new negotiations can take place eight years to the date of your attack."
"Ummm… She really was a sex slave?" Yuuri breathed uncomfortably, tugging at his collar and looking self-conscious.
Murata gave a level stare. "Obviously."
"Everybody knew?"
"Yes."
"But I didn't know."
"Yes…"
"Oh…" Even in the shadows of dusk, it was clear that the double black was embarrassed.
Briefly, Murata removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his right hand, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walked. His headache was starting to return and it was annoying. "Anyway… all of these demands would keep their ambassadors scrambling, probably in false denial, that they'd ever made an attempt on your life in the first place. I'm certain word of their 'failure' has reached their shores and those of neighboring human countries by now. So, their lies and claims of innocence will come flooding in and we will have the upper hand in the short-term." Murata's face grew hard and he put his glasses on again. "I have only a vague memory of ways to insult Zhahel without causing deaths…which is your preference…but I know I should have more suggestions to offer you…"
The sage focused his eyes on something very far away and his defeated expression returned. "Not only that, but I am losing memories…about history, poetry, places, people…" He frowned at Yuuri, seeking something. "When did we first meet?"
The double black put a hand on his shoulder, concerned for him. "You don't remember that?"
He looked away. "I've lost it. That day is gone."
"Murata!"
"Shhhh," he put a finger to his lips as casually as he could. "You're too loud."
Yuuri stopped him anyway, not allowing a step further. "We've got to go back and see Gissela now!" he said lowly but with emphasis. "We've got to do something."
Murata pointed to the cheerful group in front of him. "Let's just enjoy our night together. I'm sure there's nothing she can do right now. She's researching the ancient texts with Gunther, and Ulrike is burning the midnight oil at the temple as we speak." The double black was about to disagree when he added, "Besides, your fiancé and I have an afternoon appointment with Gissela tomorrow. So, we'll discuss everything then."
"Well, if you say so," Yuuri agreed slowly, but against what he saw as good judgment.
"I'm glad," Murata said and forced a smile. "So, let's have a good time and some food…watch Greta be happy for a change. Come on." And, with that, the two of them approached the red and white checked blanket with everyone assembled. They took off their shoes, knelt down, and let the little girl play hostess under the night sky.
Along one side, Wolfram sat in the middle with Murata on his right and Yuuri on his left. The blond passed a plate of sugar cookies to his king while Greta finished pouring a steaming cup with the aroma of mint wafting on the wind.
"Tea, Yuuri?"
"Yes… Look, a shooting star!"
"Ah!" Greta pointed out the tail's brief arc in the sky. "It was green, Yuuri!"
"Probably made of copper," Murata explained.
"You're so smart," Wolfram complemented with a hint of pride.
Conrad took a sip of his drink. "Nature is certainly amazing."
"Yuuri? Yuuri? What did you wish for?" the little princess asked, eager to know.
The double black's eyes glanced at a certain blond nibbling on the crust of a cucumber sandwich. "If I tell that secret, my wish will never come true."
The child was intrigued. "Really, Yuuri?"
"Really."
Thus was the fragile magic of a shooting star.
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It turned out that Greta was the first to drop off, her little head resting against Conrad's arm. The breeze was pleasant and the clear night perfect.
Murata had pointed out the constellations, starting with Orion's belt and moving on to the Pleiades or "seven sisters." Just to prove to himself that he could still do it, Murata told the story of Orion, The Mighty Hunter, chasing the seven sisters for seven years until their father begged Zeus to step in and save them, turning them into stars in the sky.
But in doing so, it meant that they died, the sage thought to himself. Or, maybe, death is all that I have left to think about.
"That was a good story, huh?" he said, more to himself than anyone else. Yes, he had memory enough to tell the tale and the little princess hummed a very sleepy agreement that it was an interesting story to her even though she only caught about half of it.
Wolfram was sleepy, too. His head nodded up and down until, finally, he found a pleasant place to rest it. Yuuri's eyes widened at first when the blond head found its way onto his shoulder. Then, the double black tilted his head so that Wolfram would be more comfortable. He smiled warmly as though this were the greatest complement of his life. And, perhaps, it was.
"Yuuri…miss you," Wolfram sighed.
Murata tried to be happy for them to the point of forcing himself. This was what Wolfram would have wanted before the incident and, now, Yuuri was accepting affection even with Conrad watching (and pretending not to). But there was something terribly lonely about this. Murata knew that he would come to this place eventually—where he would no longer be Wolfram's beloved "husband" and only be sage to a monarch and a castle.
Looking on but never becoming a part of things.
His duty. His only purpose. It was so hard to believe in free will when he'd never had a taste of it.
Wouldn't it have been great to?
No matter how many lovers he took in his past lives, they never filled that hole in his heart—the one Shinou created in the beginning. But, this time, he found himself slipping slowly into those same feelings again. The true ones. Not settling for someone because that person was there and convenient, but to feel a connection, a soul bond.
Murata knew the difference between Shinou and Wolfram. They didn't have the same personality or the same motives. But, in a way, both were heroes and Murata loved that mythical hero type—and he loved myths themselves because they always carried deeper meanings.
Orion couldn't have the seven sisters and he knew that he could never have Wolfram.
Some things were never meant to be.
A wounded, bandaged hand patted the ground lightly, searching. Murata's jaw dropped a little when the slim fingers closed around his and the blond smiled to himself. "Stay, Ken," Wolfram sighed.
Murata and Yuuri exchanged glances. Things had just gotten more complicated.
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"Goodnight, princess," Wolfram said kindly, hiding a yawn behind his hand. Conrad was carrying the sleeping child, her head resting against his chest and legs dangling. She looked like a sleeping china doll.
Standing near a sconce in the hallway, Wolfram faced Yuuri and gave a polite bow, trying not to appear as sleepy as he felt because it would be rude to his king. "Majesty, I sincerely hope you had a most enjoyable evening." A brief smirk in the sage's direction. "Come to think of it, I believe we all did as well." Another slight, formal bow in Yuuri's direction followed it.
"Yeah, it was great," Yuuri agreed but seemed a bit long-faced at Wolfram's oppressively formal wording and absently handed the empty basket to a kitchen servant who happened to be passing by. The young Mazoku girl gave an overly "inviting" smile that lingered and a curtsey, revealing her ample bosom in that low cut dress, which went entirely unnoticed by Wolfram. Or, at least, it seemed so to Murata until the blond pivoted casually on one heel in his direction and wiggled an eyebrow as if to say, "Our king might be getting lucky tonight. Servants are so willing."
Murata pursed his lips, giving Wolfram that "drop it" vibe.
Wolfram covered another yawn and used that as a chance to shake his head "yes." He'd gotten the message clearly enough. Even in jest, there would be no point in causing any kind of rift between the sage and the king. A good knight, even a husbandly one, should always do his best to keep the peace within the castle.
"I'd like to do this again sometime…only not in winter," Murata joked lamely. Lame jokes were Conrad's department and the tall man seemed to enjoy this one, giving a smile in return.
"Oh, yes…you would, even then," Wolfram countered lightheartedly. "With enough coffee or hot chocolate…you would."
A slight chuckle. "Add a little warmed spiced wine to the list and you have my full attention…"
"I believe you," Wolfram said with a wry smile, coming closer to him as a playful challenge. Their faces drew close.
"Only for medicinal purposes." A laugh followed. Murata glanced to Yuuri and then back to the blond once more. Oh, yes. That reminded him. "And, along those lines… Don't forget our appointment to meet with Gissela after lunch tomorrow. We did give our word after all."
"I promised," the blond soured. He hated the idea of going back so soon. "I know…I know…" Wolfram agreed but with an annoyed twitch on his face. He glowered at the floor and put a gentle hand on his bandaged face. "At least, they allowed us to take leave of that awful place. That's the only reason why I'm tolerating fussy healers and set appointments."
Yuuri tilted his head to the side. "Let you both go…?"
When he phrased it that way, the mood lightened again. Wolfram gave an impish smile and took Murata's hand in his, lacing fingers. "I am so absolutely delighted," the bishonen told him. "We do not have to spend yet another evening in infirmary beds. This is such a relief to my back."
"Then, tonight, you're sleeping…?" Yuuri almost hated bringing the topic up.
A much wider smile. "Yes, in our own room," Wolfram practically crowed, "and I am most grateful for that."
Murata could see the shifting emotions on Yuuri's face: "What? No sneaking into my room? The two of you alone together? Seriously? Not that it bothers me or anything, but… Okay, maybe it does… Of course, it does, but…" And all Murata could do in response to that was give a small shrug of agreement. All of those things were true.
Tonight, he would have Wolfram all to himself.
Alone.
In a bedroom…
Just for a second, Wolfram flashed him a hungry, savage look as they strolled away together.
Murata bit his lower lip.
If his guess was right, Heaven help him.
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"It feels like ages since we've been back," Wolfram told him, walking along just the two of them now. "There's nothing like sleeping in your own bed."
"I see…" He quirked a smile.
Only, you've never actually slept in my bed.
"Oh, and I was thinking about having some new blankets made for us with touches of silk on the border. I think dark blue would be good and…"
Murata only half-paid attention to what was being said. Instead, he watched Wolfram. His steps were slowing. He had to be tired. This satisfied Murata. Possibly, there was hope for him and his own precious body tonight after all—if he could delay things. Tomorrow would be another matter entirely.
They passed a pair of guards on duty outside of Gwendal's office and Wolfram, quite openly, brushed up against Murata as they walked, making Murata bite his lower lip. It was proving harder and harder to resist temptation.
More servants and more guards despite the late hour. It didn't matter to Wolfram, though, his open fondness and affection were unmistakable.
Murata could see where they were going. Why am I not surprised? he thought.
Arm in arm now, the blond was leading the sage to the quarters he always had when staying at Blood Pledge Castle. Of course, Wolfram would know about that. And the fire wielder waited expectantly as Murata searched his pockets for the iron key.
A tumble of the lock as the sage searched his mind, trying to piece together something intelligent to say. Non-romantic preferably.
It was dark with that hint of fresh, lemony soap. The maids had been here recently.
"Ummm, Wolf… Why don't we…?"
They had no sooner entered the room when the door suddenly slammed shut and locked again. Wolfram pounced—kissing him hungrily, pulling Murata's frame against his—demanding submission—and, then, before the sage had come to his senses, they were against the wall.
"W-Wolf!" Murata gasped desperately, praying to get some air into his lungs before Wolfram sucked everything out of him.
A hungry nipping at his neck.
"W-Wolf?"
"Hmmm….Yes…?" in a distracted tone which met his ears.
We can't do this! How do I stop it?! His mind was whirling. There had to be something. It had to be good and it had to be now before he got to the point where he couldn't trust himself anymore. I need a diversion…some sort of a disruption…
Hands roamed around his waist—a hand dipped down and squeezed his bottom.
And then… Got it! Almost out of time, the Fates had, mercifully, handed Murata a minor distraction. It just came to him. It was absolutely lame, not the "good" plan he was hoping for, but it would have to do in a pinch. He'd seen it in an old black and white movie once.
"Could you…Wolf…?" Oh, where was he putting his thigh? Murata's eyes widened at that. A shuddering, deep breath. A-Amazing…He's that good. No, wait! No more! Murata steeled himself and tried again. He had to, but he could feel himself on the verge of caving in. Who wouldn't? "Husband? Could you…uhh…" Murata's voice rose in pitch. That was a very talented thigh, indeed. "...Light the candles?"
A naughty laugh met his ears, rich like chocolate.
"And I thought you were sleepy," Murata pointed out weakly. He tried to wiggle free somehow. It wasn't working. In fact, Wolfram liked it greatly—the challenge—and let him know it. Sharp gasps filled the room from both of them.
Murata licked his lips, determined to focus. Determined to try again. "At least, you were sleepy when we came back from stargazing, right?" He closed his eyes after the question. Wolfram was incredibly well-skilled with an ear nibble, too, and Murata's whole body was reacting to it, singing sensuously, never mind the roaming hands searching ways to undo clothes.
Murata held his breath for a second. He had to stop himself before a moan escaped.
Another deep kiss from Wolfram. "I was tired…but now…" he confessed in a husky voice.
Murata jumped when his butt was pinched. "Lights, please?" He'd be insistent on that for a start. "Please?"
Nothing.
"I…did say 'please,' you know." Murata's teeth were clinched when he gritted it out as a body writhed against his. "Or, is begging something you take pleasure in from someone like me."
Yes, he had higher status in Shin Makoku. Wolfram would have to obey, like it or not.
"Fine," Wolfram said in the tone of "killjoy." The blond had one arm around the sage's waist, cradling him close. "If you want to watch me at my work so badly…" Left handed, he snapped his fingers and three of the five candles in the room lit.
Warm shifting light danced across the walls.
"Mood lighting?" Murata teased and gently broke away as charmingly as he could. He'd seen that done in old movies more than once. It was a skill he didn't know he had—copying that kind of coy movement.
The dark haired sage walked toward his dresser and took his time rooting around for his pajamas that were right before him. Maybe, he could cool himself down while he was at it. It made him wonder, though. How their double black king could resist this night after night was beyond him. Even if they were doing nothing more than sleeping side by side each night, the temptation of this blond bishonen was beyond compare.
Wolfram didn't answer. He looked at his hand briefly and then, with a vague expression, followed Murata to the dresser. "Where are my things?" the blond asked, now slightly annoyed. This was the "old Wolfram" creeping back again.
"Feeling left out?" Murata half-joked but wondered if he'd hit upon something that had nothing to do with clothing.
The blond made his way to the closet. "Maybe, in here…?" A brief pause and then, "Oi! Where are my uniforms? My shirts? My boots?" He was getting more and more livid by the second.
Oh, that's right! Everything is over in Shibuya's room. He wanted to kick himself for not thinking of this sooner. This would take a lot of explaining or, rather, "fibs" in order to keep Wolfram's temper at bay and not create a whole different type of fire in the room.
"It will be fine," Murata assured. "I was thinking of you and I told the maids to clean all of your clothes and personal items so that they'd be perfect."
Wolfram looked left and right, seeing nothing that belonged to him. "Well, they did a good job of making my things 'disappear.' And I'd better damn well get them back as soon as possible."
Murata scratched the back of his head nervously and tried to hide his uncomfortable grin until another thought struck him. Wait! That means he might try to sleep in just his underwear or, worse, nothing at all! Murata tried not to picture either scenario but found himself doing it anyway. He'd just managed to cool down his jets, too.
"And, with that being said," Murata reached in and pulled out his pair of maroon pajamas, "I want you to wear these tonight. I think the color goes well with your hair."
Wolfram accepted the folded set almost reverently. "They're beautiful. But…I don't remember you having them, though."
Of course, you wouldn't, Murata thought.
"Did you buy these?" Wolfram asked curiously.
"No, they were a gift."
A jealous frown appeared between Wolfram's eyes. "From…? A woman, maybe? Or, should I not ask…? You went on many adventures before I met you."
Murata placed a hand on his hip and smiled indulgently. "It was a woman. The king's mother sent it to me as a gift."
"Yuuri Heika's mother?" Green eyes widened. Now, it was a wonder to behold and the blond stared at the lining and every stitch much more closely. "I think this is silk. Is it silk?"
"I believe so. And she would be pleased to know that you borrowed them under these circumstances. I'll mention that to her the next time I see her." Murata's smile widened. Of course, she'd probably be even happier to stick him in a babydoll nightie with thigh-high stockings with little bows on them. Then, the image hit him and he had to wipe his thumb across his lips. He was drooling.
This was getting too much.
Hurry up and get better, von Bielefeld. This is getting so hard to take.
"Like this?" Wolfram asked and drew Murata's attention. The blond was wearing the pajamas and just now buttoning up the front. Even in this, he was toothsome—blond hair, pale as the moon skin, and green eyes. Even the bandage on the face and the right hand added that certain something to him—a fresh from the fight kind of vibe that was totally enticing.
"You look wonderful," he said while pulling the covers back "and it will be my honor to hold you in my arms all night long."
Wolfram came close enough to kiss, hovering over his lips. "Will you 'hold me' or hold me?" A wink followed.
A circling of the bed to get on his side, glasses put on the side table. "It is late and we see the healers tomorrow. So, I will just have to keep you with me all night long. You'll stay in my arms and I'll hold you close…keep you warm for a change instead of the other way around. Would that be so bad?"
Wolfram smiled at him. "If my sage commands it," he replied in a sexy voice, "then, I will obey. But, eventually, when we are both much better, you will be mine. That's what I wish for."
Murata pulled the covers over them both, drew Wolfram into his arms, and held him close. "Sleep well and get well soon. Other than that, there is nothing left for me to wish for."
A soft kiss on the cheek.
And, with that, Wolfram fell asleep in Murata's arms and not once did he kick or fidget.
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Breakfast was relatively uneventful as far as breakfasts went at Blood Pledge Castle. Greta had piled a plate full of pancakes and sausage while Wolfram sat there, back straight in the chair, nibbling on his second piece of dry toast. Gwendal was unhappy about rescheduling the quarterly budget meeting for the castle finances and Yuuri kept asking inane questions like "When we have it, are you sure I need to go?" to which Conrad and Gunther answered him in forms of "yes" in their usual, supportive and polite wording. Lady Cheri picked at a bowl of fruit with her spork, yawning politely behind her delicate hand. She had arrived early this morning from her latest search for free love and had found several wonderful candidates. No one at the table was interested.
Ready to begin the day, Gwendal stood from his chair and swiveled Yuuri a look which told him it was time to start signing papers in his office. To that, the double black sulked his way from the table and only cheered up a little when Greta waved him a fond farewell. Then she, too, left the dining hall for Anissina's lab. That was her usual first stop after breakfast.
Wolfram quirked a grin at Murata. "I want a child someday."
"Sure," Murata joked and took a sip of orange juice, "I'll just go right out and birth you one."
The blond went back to nibbling the top crust off his toast. "I wasn't being flippant," he said tartly only to have the others at the table look uncomfortably at them. Murata felt a small stab of pain for Wolfram. He had no idea what he'd just said.
The sage scratched his chin. Maybe, just maybe, today would be the day to tell Wolfram everything. He might be stronger now and they would be able to remove the bandages as well. Then again, that might be wishful thinking on his part. Gissela had warned him that it would take many days, if not weeks, to heal the skin suitably without causing deep, unsightly scars.
Haste would not work in this case.
Murata sighed inwardly. Physically? Spiritually? Either way, they would have to take this one step at a time.
He stood up and placed a hand on Wolfram's saying, "I have to go to the archives right now…look up a few old friends. I need to see if there's something in there that may help us." He noted that the blond allowed the touch, but was still unhappy with him. The sage leaned down and whispered, "Sorry for hurting you."
Green eyes looked to the side. "You didn't. It's fine."
You're lying but I know why, he thought as he pushed his chair in. You're trying to cover your hurt and disappointment. You let your guard down. You told the truth and I made light of it.
"I'll meet you in our room for a quick lunch, then," the sage told him and made his way for the archives. In the hallway, Murata took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes again. That blinding headache was coming back, building up power inside his head along with throbbing pain. He was worried now with very few people he could confess it to. Each time this happened, he lost something—a day, a moment, a song, a piece of who he was.
And he was afraid that it wasn't coming back.
Already, he was incomplete.
Imperfect.
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Where? Where?
Murata was searching the castle and, at the same time, he was trying not to obsess over the fact that he'd forgotten how to get to his old middle school back on Earth. It wasn't like that knowledge was particularly important at the moment, but it had something to do with Yuuri. Maybe. They had attended the same school together for two years and-maybe not. He wasn't sure anymore. He seemed to remember talking about that to someone long ago. Who was that?
The sage put a hand to his head. No, first thing's first.
He peeked as casually as he could into meeting rooms and rounded corners, heading for the next place, barely noticing maids with feather dusters and mops. The old "Murata Ken" would have loved to show great interest in the feather dusting maids. But his new "self" was far from engrossed.
Another room. Empty.
Not good.
He tried searching harder but, at the same time, he didn't want to appear so. That would only draw attention and cause more trouble.
"What, exactly, is going on?" Gwendal asked, standing behind Murata—making him jump.
"What?" he blinked, surprised. The sage put a hand to his rapidly beating heart. Shinou could never do that to him. He could always feel Shinou's fluctuating energy and the two of them were bound together by those pulsating, invisible threads. Gwendal, on the other hand, was a master of shields and Murata always entertained the idea of the Mazoku Army Commander keeping up some kind of special, low level shield around himself because he wanted a quiet life without too many emotional entanglements. Then again, that line of thinking could be pure fantasy, the sage decided.
"I'm waiting for an answer."
"Ah…I'm just looking," Murata tried to sidestep. He began to go on his way when…
"Looking for what?" Gwendal lifted his chin slightly. He always did that when curious and determined to get a straight answer. "I doubt it was for a cup of coffee…which is what I was doing." He motioned in the direction of the Royal Kitchen with the empty mug in his hand.
He grinned a little impishly into the stern face. "You see…"
"Well?"
He was tempted to go on with the farce, but decided it took too much energy to do so. Instead, it would be wiser to get some help. "I've lost Lord von Bielefeld somewhere in the castle. He was supposed to meet me for lunch, but never came. I have no idea where he is now and I wanted to discuss something with him…a possible healing ceremony at Shinou's Temple. Ulrike sent me a messenger pigeon at the archives where I was working."
Gwendal looked both relieved and optimistic at the news. Then, his expression changed. "Wait a minute. Did you say 'missing'? He's been late for how long?"
"I know it doesn't sound like much, but it has been roughly…twenty five minutes. Still, punctuality is very important to him. I can't imagine what's keeping him. I've already tried the restrooms, the baths, meeting rooms, the library…"
"Is he with Yuuri Heika?" There was actually a note of hopefulness in his tone. Some part of Murata felt irritated by that. Yes, he knew that, at some point, he would have to give Wolfram back to their king. But it didn't have to be now. It didn't have to be at this exact moment. He schooled his face into the appropriate bland expression. "I peeked in without Shibuya noticing. He's alone in there with a tower of papers."
Yes, a 'tower' and Lord von Voltaire, standing here, could have made it less. So, twist the knife a little. See what happens…
A curt nod. "We'll search together. I know some of Wolfram's favorite hiding places as a child and a few he goes to when Yuuri Heika makes him angry."
"Or hurt," Murata added before he caught himself.
What am I doing? The sage thought. Usually, I have such a good grip on what I say. I'm no better than 'Meddling Shinou"…getting too wrapped up in this. I need to do something…back away from these emotions…
These people…
Before I totally lose myself…
"This way," Gwendal told him.
"Coming," he said.
.
.
With each moment that passed, Gwendal's booted feet stomped harder and harder on the stone floor. He'd placed his coffee mug on a servant's tray, not waiting to give instructions—just moving on and expecting the sage to follow.
Not that this pleased or displeased Murata.
"If we don't find him in the next fifteen minutes," Gwendal said, "I'm going to ask Conrad and Yozak to join in the search."
Murata had to scramble his legs to keep up with the long strides Gwendal took up the stairs.
"Agreed."
"Though, just to be on the safe side, if you smell smoke, let me know. That's how we've found Wolfram in the past."
Murata's face cracked a smile. Though, in reality, he wanted to laugh out loud at that only for the fact that it was absolutely true. The fire wielder had a habit of growing angry and melting candles, blazing infernos in fireplaces, and creating the hottest fireballs ever witnessed within the castle. In fact, a portion of Gwendal's personal finances was set aside for replacement of curtains, wooden tables, and other furnishings. Historically speaking, throwing fire tantrums would be the blond's claim to fame.
They reached the landing where they met a castle guard hurrying his way down. "Sir!" and a salute.
Gwendal gave a distracted nod. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with more.
"We're having a problem, sir. I just noticed huge shards of glass falling past the window where I was standing watch over the grounds."
Murata found himself interested. "How big? If you don't mind my asking…"
A question from Shin Makoku's Great Sage and the soldier straightened his shoulders with that sudden feeling of importance. He was probably a fan—not that Gwendal appreciated it very much. "This big," he measured out with his hands, "and very dangerous for anyone below."
"Thank you," Murata responded quickly and then went around the man. "We'll go investigate. It's not a problem."
"We will?"
Murata could feel Gwendal frowning at his back, but the Mazoku followed him.
Something was up.
.
.
There was a strange whistling of the wind. Murata could hear a closed door rattling in the frame immediately to their right.
"It's probably that one."
"I'll go in first," Gwendal told him and refused debate. Then again, considering how rough and tumble Gwendal was as a military man, there really was no need for argument. Murata stood patiently behind him and waited for him to open the door.
It swung and remained ajar—allowing Murata to take stock of a dusty room full of old trunks, rolled up carpets, and thread-bare tapestries from long ago. The remnants of a wooden chair were scattered haphazardly across one corner along with shards of a heavy, porcelain jar once used for pickling. A three-legged milking stool was turned over, legs in the air. The large window dominating the far wall had been entirely broken out and the figure of Wolfram von Bielefeld stood before it, arms lifted and angled from his side as though a bird about to take flight.
The blond teetered on his feet, leaning forward and back again—forever staring outward. His bandaged fist was bloodied and dripping to the floor.
Shinou had had that look, too. Before battle, there was that expression. Murata could, even now, see it in his nightmares. What the Original Sage had once thought of as an intriguing, heroic profile only became a harbinger of death and suffering for both sides of conflict.
Necessary evils at that time.
But not needed now.
Murata touched Gwendal's arm. "Be gentle with him."
A strangely curious look down at him.
Murata's glasses flashed and light covered his eyes. "As the sage, I'm advising…" There was an emphasis in his voice that he rarely used and the older brother picked up on it.
Gwendal seemed to be recalculating the situation as he stepped further into the room. "Wolfram?" he said, keeping his voice as normal as possible. "Come over here."
Wolfram turned away from the window. Against the brightness of the exterior of the castle, his form was shady. But, as he did as he was told, taking a few steps in their direction, it was plain to see that things had changed. Wolfram's skin was as white as the bandage on his face and his eyes had deep, dark circles under them. The rims were red as though he'd been crying. But, it was impossible for Murata to decipher beyond a doubt. The body's movements were like a puppet—awkward and clumsy, the balance off. Totally wrong. It was sickening for Murata to see just how much Wolfram had deteriorated in only a few short hours.
Glassy green eyes looked from Murata to Gwendal and a coldness filled them.
Another step and then two. Wolfram approached his brother but stayed more than an arm's length away. The distrustful nature surprised Gwendal, surprised them both.
"You…" Wolfram rasped. Yes, he had been crying, Murata decided. Possibly, he'd cried himself out and there was nothing left. Did he hurt that much?
"Wolfram?" Gwendal's brotherly concern was evident now.
"How could you?" The blond's tone turned venomous. "I trusted you! I've always relied on you! Listened to you! How could you let this happen to me?" He shook a bloodied right fist at him.
Gwendal was taken aback by that and, on some level, he seemed hurt but was doing a masterful job of overcoming it. "Calm down before you lose your temper." That was his standard line and it rarely worked.
"Why?" The blond gritted the word.
Gwendal put his hands on his hips, being challenged let him vent—allowing an emotion he was much more comfortable using with his brother. "Because, when you're like this, you have a nasty habit of losing control of your element…or using it to express your ire. Lucky for you, there's not too much here that's flammable or important!"
Inwardly, Murata rolled his eyes at Gwendal. This was not the "be gentle" that he'd just advised. Both brothers had "issues," apparently. And when two strong element users got into disputes like this one, there was always the implied "I'm more in control than you are" and "I'm stronger than you are" followed by a childish "nonny-nonny-boo-boo." Murata decided to stay where he was and to be the only adult in the room.
"Still, Wolfram, I want you to back down! We don't need another fire!"
"Idiot!" Wolfram seethed. "If I had the power to set this room on fire, I would have done it long ago!"
Now, he had Murata's full attention.
"I just can't believe what you've done, Gwendal!"
To that, the older brother's face became stony to the continued emotional display. Murata had seen this enough times over the years. It meant that Gwendal was getting tired of the spectacle and wanted to draw it to a merciful close. And Gwendal was an excellent tactician in this.
"Wolfram, you're not making any sense. Please, rethink what you're saying and doing." Gwendal made a slow grab for his baby brother's shoulder, but the blond somehow managed to avoid it.
"Do you understand nothing?" There was an incredulous look on Wolfram's face now. "Didn't you just hear my words?" He backed away with a maniacal laugh suddenly bubbling up from him, as though this thought was the most amazing thing in the world. "Or, shall I show you exactly what I can do?"
"Wolfram, no!" Gwendal barked, having enough. "Rethink this!"
Wolfram met eyes with Murata. "Oh, I think he'd like to see. Am I right, my love?"
Murata could do little more than brace himself for it. And he did—knowing there was nothing else he could do in the time he had. But, if they died, at least, he would be together with Wolfram and the agony would be horrendous but split second. Murata had died before—in many ways—and despised the process more than the result.
"See…?"
Wolfram stretched out a pale left hand, palm up. The thumb and all fingers produced flames that were each no bigger than the flame on a child's birthday candle.
A low, deep chuckling from Wolfram. "That's it. That's all I can do with every ounce of my strength."
Gwendal paled. "You can't be telling the truth."
Wolfram fisted his left hand, making the flames disappear. "It's all I have left."
Murata tried stepping forward now. He reached out for the blond. "Then, let us see Gissela now. We have a treatment plan to discuss…"
Wolfram shook his head and backed away. "No…" And, turning on a dime, his eyes flared at Gwendal once more. "And I'm still furious with you! I'm not going anywhere!"
Murata steepled his hands and tried to draw on as much of his memories, his knowledge, that he had left. "Then, we are listening. Tell us…"
Wolfram began pacing the room, seeming more like a caged tiger than his usual self. The clumsy gait was hard to watch, but Murata made himself do it. He was involved in this somehow. His instincts told him so.
"Last night, when my husband and I went to our room to sleep, all of my things were gone."
Gwendal flashed Murata a harsh look. "The two of you slept together?"
Wolfram curled a lip at that, his expression bitter. 'Why not, Gwendal? Wouldn't it be natural since we are supposedly married?"
Supposedly? Oh, no… Murata covered his mouth absently with his palm. This was not good.
Green eyes flashed a hurt look at Murata. "I was told that all of my things were out for cleaning. So, later on today, when I was coming to our bedroom, I could hear voices. I noticed the maids were making up the bed. I thought it the perfect time to find out when they'd be returning my possessions. But, before I got to the door, guess what I found out?"
The sarcasm was dripping, vented at them both.
"Please forgive us," Murata said, trying to end this quickly only to have Wolfram wag a finger at him. "Oh, no…my love… I'm not finished."
The blond fire wielder gave a sidelong glance and resumed his pacing, reliving the moment. "I stood by the door and could hear everything. EVERYTHING!" He turned on his heel and faced Gwendal. "I am not married to him!"
Murata could only look down at his feet when the accusing finger pointed in his direction.
"No! I'm not married to The Great Sage of Shin Makoku. And, do you want to know what? I'm not even married!" There was a mixture of hurt and anger, eyes shining with tears again. "I'm engaged to…to Yuuri Heika of all people! To him!" Wolfram ran his left hand through his hair roughly for a second, a disbelieving look on his face. "And, guess what? He doesn't even like men! So, I'm alone either way!" He shook his head disbelievingly.
"Wolfram, I'm sorry," Gwendal told him and the tone said that he truly was. "We were waiting for you to get stronger before you found out the truth."
"You're the head of the house, Gwendal," Wolfram cried. "Why would you let me be engaged to Yuuri Heika…someone who doesn't even want me? They say he can't even stand me! Politically, in the long run, it makes no sense. He'll grow a backbone someday, see reason, and toss me aside. Worse yet, a one-sided love is embarrassing to our family and the House of Bielefeld."
Wolfram resumed pacing while gritting out, "This is all your fault… Oh, honorable brother of mine."
Now, Murata could see Gwendal struggling with his own temper again. "We tried and tried, Wolfram. Over the past four years, we have had meeting after meeting with you." His face tensed up at the memories, knuckles white when he clinched them. "I've tried, Conrad has…"
Murata raised an eyebrow at that. It had to have hurt that Conrad had become involved. Wolfram was so jealous of his "perfect" relationship with their king.
"Mother has tried…"
Ouch…they brought out the big guns the sage thought.
"Nothing has worked and you've clung to him stubbornly…chasing him down the hall every single day. That is not worthy of a man of your breeding. It's low."
Wolfram nodded angrily. "Oh, yes… It seems that rumor has it I've switched from Yuuri Heika to our Great Sage here because I have a taste for men with dark hair, dark eyes, and slim stature. Then again, the maids think that I'll let any man bed me…all I have to do is take off my clothes, lie back, and let…"
"Don't be crude!" Gwendal barked, cutting him off. "That is not the way a 'Lord von Bielefeld' behaves."
Another dark laugh. "And, for the record, Gwendal, I'm not a knight at all. Apparently, I'm just some…and I quote… 'low level lord' who lives off the graces of his high ranking brother and lusty mother. Even my Uncle Waltorana, whoever he is, is ashamed of me…"
"You don't remember him?" Murata asked, now suddenly standing behind Wolfram. The blond turned in a flash, bloodied fist clinched and bleeding again.
"I don't." The voice was still angry, but Murata could see that he was growing tired and some part of him wanted to stop this. He just didn't know how.
"I'm having memory problems, too. I've been suffering for a while."
Wolfram's eyes widened and the sage was pleased to see that love was still there—despite the anger, disappointment, and disillusionment.
"My memory is all I'm good for," Murata told him, sounding slightly pathetic. But the truth was the truth. "If I've lost that, I have nothing. My purpose for living is gone."
The blond shook his head, disagreeing. "No," he put a hand to his head, "you're more than that. Much more…"
Murata reached out his arms and gently took Wolfram in, folding his arms and cradling. Here and in this moment, this was the best medicine for Wolfram. This was what his soul needed above all else. "And you are more than a pretty face or a body to keep a bed warm. And I don't, personally, care for titles or privilege… You are you."
Wolfram buried his face in the side of Murata's neck. "Everything I know is a lie," he sighed miserably.
The sage patted his back. "Well, if they are lies, then they are beautiful lies."
.
.
