Chapter 4

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Yuuri stood in the corner. He didn't know why he was there, exactly. But, he stood where he was supposed to.

Candelabras made of finely cut crystal glittered and the scent of flowers dominated the room. A vase filled with tall, yellow sunflowers was on the edge of a table next to Yuuri and he couldn't resist leaning over to smell them.

Sunny and warm…summertime. They seemed to remind him of…of someone; he just couldn't recall who.

Suddenly, he noticed: Laughing. Bodies pressed together, standing. Others passing. Crowded words…all at once with no meaning. Air warming and becoming thick.

The Grand Ballroom was now overflowing with people—nobles dressed in their finery, silks and lace, polished brown leather and tailored suits. The drinks table had a little crowd circled around it headed by Günter who was telling some sort of amusing tale while handing out glasses of sparkling wine to those around him. Greta skipped past with a brief, uncomfortable wave. Yuuri made a pathetic wave in return as he saw her take Conrad's hand, instead of his, and point to a lemon dessert far out of her reach. With a bright smile, his godfather helped out: passing her the treat, a fork, and a cleverly folded cloth "flower" to wipe her mouth on. It was so cute the way she eyed it, obviously wanting to keep it instead of using it for its intended purpose.

Yuuri had to chuckle at them. But, for some reason, it made the nobles around him glance at him in confusion. Three middle aged Mazoku women whispered viciously behind their antique lace fans as they moved away, not wanting to be seen too close to him—as though they approved, which they did not.

"Why would he be here?"

"A scandal!"

"Doesn't he know what the other side of a door looks like?"

"They say he's just like his mother."

Yuuri scratched his head at that. "I don't get it. Why -?"

The double black looked down at himself and was startled. He was dressed in a crisp, blue dress uniform with a white silk jabot at his throat, an antique neckchain, and a saber belt strapped to him. His sword wasn't his Demon Sword, Morgif, but a more slender and decorative type for ceremonial purposes.

On the other side of the room, Lady Cheri appeared on a low dais before the assembled nobles with the musicians warming up in the background. She smiled at everyone winningly—her hair tied up in black ribbons and her gown for the evening being a stunning, sparkling ebony dress with red accents on the short sleeves and a thigh high slit up the side.

"Everyone!" she said with her glass raised slightly. She took a shrimp fork and tinked the side of her champagne glass to get the room's attention. And, soon enough, everyone settled down. "I would like to say that tonight is a very special night…as we all know. It's a date which will go down in history. And, I've done it at least three times…" She winked at the crowd. "And maybe another time soon…" She eyed a group of men still hovering near the drinks table. "So, with a happy heart, I want to wish our maou all the best!"

Lady Cheri raised her glass and all of the nobles did, too. Even the servants near Yuuri had glasses to lift. And with so many arms in the air, it was difficult for Yuuri to see. Usually, when they mentioned him, everyone would turn and smile. Sometimes, Yuuri wondered if their smiles were real. Sometimes, he knew that they were forced—like with Wolfram's Uncle Waltorana.

However, standing in the corner wearing this blue uniform and not knowing exactly why made him extremely anxious. What if people noticed? What if they saw him dressed as…as Wolfram? And, in this place, how could they not? He tugged at the material nervously.

It would imply something about them, wouldn't it? Something that wasn't true, right?

Embarrassed, Yuuri could feel his heart beating harder.

"To our maou! To the 27th Maoh of the Mazoku, Yuuri Heika!"

Yuuri's eyes widened impossibly when a blond haired, emerald green eyed Mazoku took the dais. "Wolf-ram?" Yuuri whispered to himself, not understanding what was happening.

With the exception of the gold crown's touches of red velvet and the cape of a matching color, Wolfram was wearing a formal, all- black version of the finery that The Original King, Shinou, was famous for. The clothes suited him and his coloring. However, there was something lacking in his smile and his posture showed the burden that Morgif seemed to bring, strapped to his hip.

As everyone toasted with cheers and wellwishes, Wolfram's eyes scanned the assembled and, finally, met with his. And the sense of an oppressive weight filled Yuuri's chest.

Wolfram's face asked "Why?" And then, just as quickly, he masked his features and smiled to everyone in a far too friendly—almost goofy—kind of way.

This could not possibly be. Yuuri put a hand to his head.

"Thank you, everyone," Wolfram said in the spirit of good-fellowship. "And, now, as tradition dictates…I'd like to introduce to you…" He made a gallant, sweeping gesture to his left, reaching his hand out. "My new bride, Amanda Shibuya. The new Demon Queen of Shin Makoku."

Yuuri felt as though he couldn't catch his breath.

Married? He got…married?

Wolfram reached out for a beautiful blond Mazoku who had the slim build of a ballerina dancer. She was fair of face and had hair done up in an elaborate bun and braid with diamond clips pulling back long bangs with a slender crown with a veil attached at the back. Her dress was white and the cathedral length, pearl studded train was being carried by no less than three pageboys in elaborate costumes.

Amanda approached her husband, "King Yuuri," and took both of his hands in hers. She leaned forward for a kiss and Wolfram, in front of all the people, reluctantly did so.

"Awww…he's blushing," a servant said as she brushed past Yuuri, handing out small bags tied up in black silk thread.

"Again! Again!" some of the nobles cheered, glasses raised.

Everyone in the room toasted them.

Yuuri, still in the corner, looked again and noticed that Gwendal was now standing next to his mother, wearing his more ornate dress uniform. He had a drink in hand and seemed very pleased with the outcome of the day. His eyes met with Yuuri's and, almost instantly, he gave a warning glare. Then, he motioned with his eyes for him to leave out the side door.

Confused, Yuuri fiddled with the buttons to his blue coat until a servant, grinning over her shoulder at the man who had just flirted with her, turned back with her hand outstretched. She gave an awkward "Uh…here" before she could stop herself and Yuuri took it—a small bag of paper streamers tied together with thread.

"Now, it's time for the bride and groom to have the first dance!" Lady Cheri announced with her hands clapping. She gave a quick, decisive motion to the orchestra to begin and they did so. "Isn't Yuuri Heika lucky?"

Kindly, Wolfram offered his hand and the bride took it, gracefully descending the dais with her new husband.

For a brief second, Yuuri caught a glimpse of his parents. Both were dressed in clothes of the Shin Makoku style and his mother practically glowed as she wished the bride and groom well.

Upon reaching the dance floor, the maid of honor looped up the train into an elegant, multi-layered bustle. She gave her best friend a small kiss for good luck and then stepped quietly away.

Trailing behind the crowd, Yuuri tried to approach the dance floor, too. He knew that this was not what Wolfram wanted—even if Wolfram was himself and not himself. And there was something that Yuuri was feeling from only watching Wolfram and his bride together. Something raw inside. Something taken away or stolen before his eyes. Something unjust. Wasted time. Wasted effort. Dark burning within beyond consolation.

Yuuri shook his head to clear it.

He should speak up. That was the way to settle things—bring them out into the open. Be honest even if it hurts. All he would have to do is pull Wolfram aside and tell him that.

"Wolfram!" the voice growled in Yuuri's ear. He jerked abruptly, wanting to jump out of his skin.

"G-Gwendal?"

"Of course, it's me," he said lowly, trying not to draw attention to them. "Didn't I tell you…repeatedly…to only come for the toast and then leave?"

Yuuri stammered, "B-But…I…"

Gwendal spoke quickly, positioning the glass as though taking another sip of his drink. "I'll tell you again… He never loved you. He didn't care that he left your reputation in shambles. And he was never man enough to call off the engagement. Instead, he left it to me to break the news of his new engagement…to her." Angrily, Gwendal's eyes flicked to the new bride and then he downed the last of his drink after muttering the word "coward" under his breath.

The tone was cruel and bitter.

Yuuri opened his mouth but found no way to retort. Did Wolfram and Gwendal always speak this way in private? So bluntly?

Gwendal stared into his empty glass before glancing at his brother and back again. "Not to mention, Yuuri Heika told me this morning that he's…gotten her pregnant." He hissed the last three words.

Yuuri pressed the small bag with black strings between his palms. "P-Pregnant?" he squeaked.

"Yes," Gwendal went on in almost a "shushing" tone. He held the empty glass carelessly in one hand as the bride and groom danced gracefully a few meters away. "It's no wonder that her dress isn't very form fitting. The child will be born in six and a half months." He frowned in his little brother's direction and said under his breath, "Leave now…and with dignity. In return, I will reassign you to a place where no one will ever bother you again."

The music began to swell and the couple continued to dance.

"Forever?" Yuuri asked as he watched the groom's handsome face. Could he really go on not seeing him? What a sad life that would be.

Wolfram has felt this way, too, hasn't he?

"Yes. It's for the best since you can't seem to let him go."

Yuuri turned to Gwendal in a flash. "Exiled… That's what this means."

A servant passed behind them and the general swiped a glass as the platter went by. Gwendal took a large gulp of his fresh drink, pruning his lips together as though not to his tastes. "I'd rather have that than to watch you pine over someone who cannot possibly return your feelings…someone who has an heir on the way…" He turned, straightening his shoulders as he did so, and gave a hard look. "There are times to advance and there are times to retreat." He placed a brotherly hand on a blue clad shoulder. "Please, Wolfram…let go while there is still a part of your soul left intact."

Yuuri shook his head. "Listen, Gwendal! Please! I know…I know that he doesn't want this. He couldn't possibly…"

Roughly, Gwendal took his baby brother by the arm and pulled him closer, to be more discrete. "Wolfram, please! The person who doesn't listen is you. The person who has relentlessly pursued Yuuri Heika is you. And the person who is standing here…like a fool…is you."

The nobles began to cheer at the end of the song.

"Okay, everyone!" Lady Cheri called out from somewhere. "It's time for streamers!"

Günter made his way through the multitude, encouraging everyone to join in. He opened his bag and began to toss the paper.

Somewhere, at some point, Gwendal had left him on his own. Yuuri looked to the left and right for him, but to no avail. Next, something light and soft fell on his head. He reached up a hand and pulled gently. Paper?

Carelessly, the nobles and the servants tossed streamers in the air. The shreds of paper began to fall and Yuuri felt as though he recognized them.

They were familiar.

The paper, the ink.

He opened his bag by tugging at the black ribbon only to discover long shreds of paper inside. He took a few and placed them side by side in his palm.

"The letter!" Yuuri breathed when he was able to make out what it was. "Wolfram's letter…in pieces."

It was raining curls of paper—falling, drifting—softly, softly.

The bride continued to dance but Wolfram simply stood there and allowed it. He ran his fingers very slowly through his bangs but made no other movement. He seemed exhausted.

"Eventide falls fast," the voice said casually, hovering to Yuuri's right. Surprised, he looked to see who it was.

The Maou spirit stood by Yuuri's side, dressed in Yuuri's black high school uniform. With broad shoulders and a more mature, squared chin, he seemed far too old to be dressed in such a fashion. But, to some degree, it seemed to suit him. His black hair was wind-swept and his dark eyes bore snakelike slits.

"You are…!" Yuuri recognized, totally blown away.

The Maou spirit nodded and looked as though he was enjoying the evening, resting his hands in his pockets and his posture nonchalant. "Thy other self am I." He smirked slightly. "Greetings, young sire."

"Then, maybe, you can help!" he realized, knowing that he was no longer alone. Looking directly up at the spirit, Yuuri clutched the blue uniform he was wearing and begged, "Please, I don't get it. I don't understand what's happening here. It doesn't make any kind of sense at all." Yuuri's nails dug in. "If you could only explain…"

"Thou…commands?"

Yuuri gave a pleading look. "Please?"

There was a brief pause, as though debating whether or not to get involved. But, Yuuri seemed troubled and determined. Giving in to his other, much younger self, the Maou spirit waved his hand across the scene as though pulling back a curtain.

The tinkling, glittering world inside the Grand Ballroom began to wind down. The new bride's dance now appeared as though performed under water—gentle movements, soft billowing of the dress. Even the streamers fell lethargically.

A servant with an empty silver serving tray passed them ploddingly and the Maou spirit took it from her. She never even noticed it happening.

Turning the shining surface to Yuuri, he said, "Verily, thou canst understand. See with thine own eyes."

Yuuri saw himself in the reflection of the silver platter. He had blond hair and green eyes. He was, in essence, Wolfram von Bielefeld.

He shook his head. Still, none of this made sense. "I don't get it! Wolfram, the last time I saw him, was…" He pointed to the groom on the dance floor and noticed that, somehow, Wolfram's face, hands, and torso had been slashed repeatedly. The dark lines began to shine a ruby red before running—blood coming down in tears.

Heedless, the bride danced and the nobles made merry. Greta was offering a bite of dessert to Conrad. Lady Cheri was speaking with Gwendal and Günter. Only Yuuri knew. Only Yuuri could see that Wolfram was bleeding, suffering.

"W-Wolf!" Yuuri shouted and tried to force his way through the throng but his arm yanked him back. He looked up into the angry face of The Maou spirit.

"Foolish child… Thou hast created this world. Hast thou the will to defy the very nature of this design?"

Yuuri, concerned for Wolfram, could barely put his thoughts together. He struggled feebly, making pathetic attempts at pulling his arm free. And, then, he realized it. "Wait…You're saying that…that I've done this? I've made this happen?"

Letting go, he chastised, "Thy mate aches o' grievous wounds…surely as Morgif had done the slaying." He patted Yuuri on the cheek with a cynical smile. "An' not all torments are o' the flesh, young sire."

Wolfram, bleeding profusely now from his back, collapsed in slow motion to the floor—a warm puddle of red leisurely spreading out from beneath his body. His life ebbed away as Yuuri watched.

"Wolf?" he called out in a panic. "Wolfram!"

Hurriedly, he returned to The Maou spirit, his only shred of hope. "Help... And if you can't help me, please help him!"

The spirit's only answer was another irritating smile.

Yuuri, frustrated, looked around frantically to see what had happened to the blond but found to his utter astonishment that this world had stopped like a clock—events and actions frozen in time. But Yuuri couldn't process it. Certainly not with Wolfram's eyes closed in eternal sleep.

"This…whatever THIS happens to be…" he pleaded with the spirit. "…And however I did it in the first place…please help!"

"Thy wish is granted." He smirked with satisfaction as he faded into a mist. "But not without price."

And, with that, Yuuri startled himself awake. But, once he did so, he noticed something rough and scratchy in his palm—a single streamer which faded from his eyes as he watched.

When Wolfram opened his eyes, only a thin sliver of green could be seen. Conrad, who had been leaning against the wall with arms folded against his chest, saw Wolfram first—forcing himself to wake from his doldrums.

"Wolfram!"

Gwendal heard his younger brother's excited voice and turned, immediately, to the young blond Mazoku in the bed.

Yuuri, still sitting in the chair next to Wolfram, suddenly sprang to life—tilting his head to the side to see the ashen face more clearly. "Wolf?" he asked cautiously. "Wolf, we're here..."

The blond fire Mazoku turned his head slowly, painfully. The eyes remained lidded and he seemed not to hear anyone. It was only when Yuuri called his name again that Wolfram lifted his head up to him, opened his eyes wider, and blinked at his king stupidly.

Wolfram's eyes were mostly dark pupils, which frightened Yuuri when he saw dark eyes instead of shining emerald green. The more he stared, the harder it was for Yuuri to keep eye contact with him without grimacing. Yes, the bandages reeking of odd-smelling herbal mixtures were disturbing, but Wolfram watching him but not being himself took "discomfort" to a whole new level. He was frail and vulnerable—lying in a strange bed all alone. There was the sudden, inexplicable urge to protect Wolfram, too. A primal thing Yuuri wasn't comfortable with. Never having experienced it before, he wasn't sure how to react to it.

"Gissela said that she had to use medications…for the pain," Conrad explained as gently as he could, trying to reassure both his godson and, possibly, his baby brother—if he was capable of comprehending at all.

"Would that medicine that Gissela wanted…" and I approved of, the double black thought to himself "…help if we had some now?"

Conrad shrugged. "I wasn't aware that she put in a request form."

Gwendal took on a somewhat defensive posture. "I was aware…once Yuuri Heika signed the document…without discussing it first…" He shot his young king a sour expression. "…And gave his approval. But, even if we wrote to Caloria now, I'm not sure that it would do a lot of good."

"We'll ask Gissela anyway," Yuuri said decisively. "And I think it's for the best we start importing that herb…better yet, see if we can bring some of the plants here and grow them ourselves…in the greenhouse, if necessary."

Yes, firm decisions and good ones, Yuuri thought. …The kind of thing Wolfram would respect from a king.

And he wanted Wolfram to respect him now. He was done with playing the role of "king" and letting advisers make all the decisions—whether directly or indirectly. He needed to take the reins. That point was crystal clear.

The double black turned his attention back to Wolfram. The young man in the bed was simply watching him with a serene expression on his face.

"We're doing our best," Yuuri assured, trying to sound encouraging and far more confident than what he really felt. The dream from before and, now this…

The pressure on him was mounting. But he could handle it. He had to.

"We definitely are," Conrad agreed, "Yuuri is absolutely right."

A frown appeared between Wolfram's eyes as he whispered the name "Yuuri" –as though trying it out for the first time on his lips. "Y-u-u-r-i?"

Shrinking from the glare that Gwendal was giving him, the double black turned to Wolfram with a smile that was a bit too wide, a bit too uncomfortable. Maybe, he hadn't changed so much after all. He could still feel the impact of Gwendal's moods.

"Y-u-u-r-i?" Wolfram whispered again but like a child this time.

A very lonely child.

But, from the expression, he could tell… He knew him. Finally!

Dark eyes rimmed in green filled with tears as he struggled to move his hand, open his fingers. "Please" he said as a sigh, asking him to hold his hand.

A final wish...

A haze of memory.

The one person he could ever have, but his heart called out for anyway…

"Y-u-u-r-i."

Before Gwendal could object, Yuuri grasped Wolfram's hand and held onto it. It was cold to the touch and weak. Wolfram was always so strong, so responsive.

So unfair…

Yuuri tightened his hand around Wolfram's, determined to make things better from this point on. He would be strong for both of them. He would give everything he could to help him get better. Do whatever it took. Anything, with the exception of leaving Wolfram alone right now.

No matter how much Gwendal wanted it, it wouldn't be granted.

The blond sighed in relief, not saying a word but simply tugging the hand closer to his heart—hugging it by placing it against his bandaged chest. And, within a few soft breaths, he had fallen into a deep, restful sleep.

"When you're done here, I want to have a talk with you…Your Majesty," Gwendal gruffed, more put out than ever before.

It was happening all over again. Yuuri was going to give his baby brother a heavy dose of "pity." But, instead of taking it at face value, Wolfram would interpret it as hope—hope that would keep this fallacy of a relationship going for, most likely, another year or two at best until Yuuri started running away again. But Gwendal had grown weary of the cat and mouse game. He would make them both see reason, if he could. Someone had to! And, once Wolfram was stronger, Gwendal intended to send him away—possibly to Voltaire Castle with the best healers and medicine money could buy, but, best of all, no Yuuri Heika to get in the way.

"I think I know what you're going to tell me," Yuuri said from his kneeling position by Wolfram's bed—the dream, once again, haunting his memory. "But, I know what it's like to be in Wolfram's shoes and..."

"What?" Gwendal's eyes flashed, fists clinched. He got so angry so quickly that his head hurt. "Impossible!" he barked. "Impossible, I say!"

How dare he? There was absolutely no way that oblivious, inexperienced Yuuri Heika could understand anything that Wolfram had been through. Unlike Yuuri, Wolfram was a soldier, a commanding officer. And he had been brutally attacked—from behind, no less—while in the service of his country. But, it was more than that. Yuuri's comment was deeply insulting because of the things this double black king had forced him to witness. How long had he watched his little brother try his best in front of the whole country…and fail? Grooming a king was no easy task. And Yuuri had a way of throwing tradition to the wind, oblivious as to whether or not others got caught up in it or how his actions harmed their reputations. Not to mention, Wolfram's shameless pursuit of Yuuri was, at times, absolutely painful to observe. And this was a hopeless case—as desperate and as fruitless as many first loves often are.

Wolfram mixed love and loyalty, devotion and desire—melding them until there was no separating the feelings.

When Wolfram von Bielefeld loved, he did it with his whole heart.

A pity for him, though.

Yuuri shook his head, remembering the dream and how impossibly alone he felt inside Wolfram's skin. Wolfram must have felt that, too, more than once. He just never complained in full detail or fell into destructive self-pity. Wolfram's letter showed how much the blond had struggled with himself to let go of a relationship that never was. And, when he couldn't do it, Wolfram simply tried to reinvent himself by finding his "place" in Shin Makoku—his purpose. But did he ever find it?

Probably, not.

"We will talk…mark my words," Gwendal promised, his voice low and deep even though Conrad had moved to his side, magic smile long since gone.

"He needs me," Yuuri defended.

Gwendal, as head of his household, stood his ground. "What my brother needs is…"

Conrad shook Gwendal's forearm. "Please…not here. Not like this." This was neither the time nor the place to fight over Wolfram. Even now, he wasn't out of the woods. Even now, his body was working hard just to stay alive. When Wolfram had been brought in, his medical care had exhausted three healers just in the first half hour. Now, all they could do was wait.

"This young one is in need of a boon, heated words at the bedside shall not heal," The Maou said with his eyes boring dangerously into Gwendal. He was now seated in the chair by Wolfram's bedside with the confidence and power of one who would rule over thousands of men.

Both Conrad and Gwendal stared incredulously. And, when Gissela suddenly stepped into the room, she quickly found herself backing into the nearest corner.

The Maou flashed a smile to her and continued with what he was doing. Without bothering to ask permission, he pulled down the covers and opened Wolfram's hospital gown which resembled a plain, white kimono design.

Wolfram's head fell to the side as The Maou opened the gown wide to reveal the heavily bandaged chest wound. His left hand hovered over the bandages and he concentrated for only a second. A green glow came forth, penetrating the bandages. The Maou spirit placed his right elbow on his knee and his cheek in his hand, watching the three other people in the room with him.

"Young is this little one," he said, slitted eyes looking into Gwendal's. "Sad and sweet…but heed the words I shall say unto you…" And there was more than a bit of arrogance hiding behind that smile now. "He may be of your house, Lord von Voltaire, but here lies my other self's beloved."

While he was grateful that The Maou had stepped in as a healer, Gwendal also felt a nagging resentment towards this very maou who had once dueled his brother and tried to slay him. And, unfortunately, there was nothing more he could do but say, "Those may be your feelings, but Yuuri Heika doesn't share them. It would be best to…"

"Do not advise," The Maou warned, blue bands of power suddenly sliding over his body as the green glow slowly penetrated Wolfram's skin.

"Yuuri," Wolfram sighed. His body arched in the bed, mouth open slightly, eyes closed.

Gwendal turned from Wolfram to The Maou. He gathered his courage and tried again, for his brother's sake. "Please search Yuuri Heika's heart. You know this to be true." And, in the next second, a small water dragon surged forth from the water jug on the side table and splashed him across the face.

Pleased with himself, The Maou spirit cocked his head to the side, eyeing a dripping Gwendal owlishly to see if he would obey with only a small reprimand. "Speak against this once more and thou shalt understand regret."

Conrad took a half step forward as mediator. "Please, we're just trying to explain the situation." Even he knew that Yuuri and Wolfram were a hopeless case.

The Maou spirit disregarded Conrad's words entirely and, instead, returned his focus to the art of healing.

Gissela, on the other hand, could care less about family squabbles and royal dramas. She had a far more intriguing sight before her. With only one hand, The Maou was healing a critical patient—so much work, and finely detailed at that, with barely any concentration. What a totally remarkable sight! She both envied The Maou and cheered him on. This was, indeed, a privilege.

The Maou spirit tapped his fingers against his cheek, watching the faces of those around him. He was channeling the healing force between his fingers at a greater rate now. But, he kept the blue bands, though much thinner now, brushing across his skin as a reminder of his power. A slight breeze in the room picked up and pushed two sheets of paper off the solitary desk by the large windows. The quill was soon to follow as the small inkpot turned over. Regretfully, Gissela went to retrieve them before a mess was made.

The double black moved to take a seat on the edge of Wolfram's bed. He hovered both hands across Wolfram's wound, producing a glow that shifted from green to a shower of gold. And, when the blond opened his eyes, he placed a hand on Wolfram's brow. The dull eyes brightened—emeralds coming to life.

Exhausted and sleepy, Wolfram looked up and into the face of his king.

"Y-Yuuri?" he said, recognizing the maou form of his fiancé. Something important must have happened, he decided, in order for this powerful side of Yuuri to come out. Usually, The Maou stayed dormant, watching.

There was a true smile and a sexy, deep throated chuckle. "A noble heart…such as thine own…surely deserves…?" He touched the bandages with a soft, even motion—clearly indicating the work that he'd done.

Wolfram returned the smile. "Thank you."

His body still ached terribly, but the wound he'd received before blacking out no longer pained him so. The shock and horror of being torn into, of being split apart, had melted away from his consciousness. Now, he could barely remember what it was like.

"…It comes at a price," The Maou spirit said and Gwendal took another step forward, still dabbing his face with a handkerchief.

"What do you mean…?" Gwendal asked, trying to make it sound more like a question than a demand for information. He didn't want to bait The Maou, but his brother mattered to him very much.

The Maou looked over his shoulder, a defiant glare and one which spoke of punishment if he got in the way again. Gwendal, out of options, stepped back.

Even Wolfram, exhausted as he was, looked on curiously but with eyes drooping.

"And that price is…?" Conrad asked, concern overtaking him. This "aspect" of his godson had his own ideas of being "just and fair" which, sometimes, opposed Yuuri's wishes. But, at the moment, Conrad decided, the more prudent course of action would be to wait and see.

The Maou spirit turned back to Wolfram and cupped his cheek softly. He turned the face up as he leaned forward. Only in the last second did Wolfram fully grasp the situation as the maou brushed his thumb against his lower lip.

"Thy price…" he began.

Dearest…"other" self within… The Maou said in his mind, making sure that Yuuri was there—that he was alert behind snake-like pupils.

"Is…remembering."

With blond hair spilling through his fingers, The Maou kissed Wolfram softly on the lips in full view of everyone in the room—not caring who saw because, in every way, Wolfram belonged with him; no, with them.

It took Wolfram's breath away and he could hear the gasps of his brothers in the room. By his own moral code, he knew that his reaction should have been embarrassment or, at least, astonishment. But, neither one happened. And, for the moments that remained, Wolfram gave in and allowed himself to play make believe—to return the kiss—to live the dream that some part of him was cherished above all others.

But, all too soon, dreams die and hopes fade…

For, he knew, this was Yuuri.

And this…would never last.