This was supposed to be longer, but one of my wrists is in a brace now and I'm going to give it a well-deserved break. Which means I'll probably be writing again tomorrow because I don't know how to take breaks (*laughs hysterically*). Anyways, here's a thing. I hope you all appreciate the research I did for this chapter. Finding a map of Shin Makoku is harder than calculus, and I dropped out of calculus. B^)
Temple of Shinou, Shin Makoku
Ken Murata, newly Great Sage of the kingdom of Shin Makoku, ran his hands deftly over the surface of the Forbidden Box that had lain hidden in the bowels of the Temple for the last four thousand years.
This Box, so named Inferno on the Tundra, was supposedly leaking evil magical energy into the very air around it – a poison that had slowly permeated throughout the country in the last thousand years since the seal which bound it had inevitably worn off, causing conflict as far as it could reach. It was his job now to refresh the seal and contain the evil, an essential duty to his role as the Great Sage.
And, Ken had an audience. Prince regent Gwendal von Voltaire and his royal aide Gunter von Christ watched on with interest as Ken worked, the beautiful man with lavender hair looking about ready to burst with excitement as he waited for Murata to demonstrate his magical prowess.
Truth be told, Ken had no idea what he was looking for. Sure, he had a number of memories from the original Great Sage, but he had lived a lot of lives between then and now – farmers, peasants, wily young noblemen, even a doctor... He probably knew more about harvesting potatoes than he did refreshing magic seals (and he did not know a lot about potatoes, to be sure).
But Murata closed his eyes and reached out with his maryoku – something he only recently discovered that he had – and felt for leaking magic. His let his mind wander far back, as far as it could go, really, and let instinct take over. Sure enough, Ken's maryoku reached out on its own and filled in the cracks in the seal as soon as he found them. He watched it passively.
It was interesting that the color of his maryoku took on a light purple color – often one's color reflected the user's personality, though this was old knowledge whose use had probably faded with the passage of time. Purple suggested a mysterious nature, often hinting at a duplicitous personality. Ken couldn't argue with that, he thought. Shibuya, whose excessive amounts of maryoku seemed to cause the air around him to vibrate and glow with its hue, was a deep blue – blue, for empathy and purity.
"That should do it." Ken hummed and hopped to his feet, legs protesting from his prolonged crouch.
Gunter smiled angelically at Ken, hands clasped earnestly in front of his chest. The angel metaphor was not helped by the fact that the man was literally dressed entirely in white.
"How fascinating, Your Eminence!" Von Christ cried, "to see you work in person is an honor - no, a privilege!"
Next to him, Lord von Voltaire rolled his eyes dramatically. Ken was inclined to agree.
"If that is all—"
"It is." Ken cut in with a smile to match Von Christ's.
"Then we will be returning to the castle." Gwendal finished irritatedly. Oh, how Ken enjoyed ruffling up people who took themselves too seriously.
With hidden enthusiasm Gwendal departed from the Box's chamber, eager to be rid of Ken's company. Reluctantly Gunter followed, throwing an apologetic shoulder Ken's way before following his gloomy lord.
As soon as Ken finally found himself alone, he dropped the smile and exhausting exterior. Turning to the Box, he ran his fingers absentmindedly over the grainy texture of the scorched wood. The magic within it reacted to his presence, and the surface of the box seemed to sizzle under his fingertips. Ken frowned and withdrew his hand, becoming thoughtful. Even though it was sealed afresh, he thought, the evil inside of the box was very much alive.
Yes, something very troubling was at work in Shin Makoku. Ken had work to do.
Blood Pledge Castle, Shin Makoku
The court of Shin Makoku was known for its uniqueness, even amongst other countries. Its special nature was the result excessive conflict (what else could result from meddling aristocrats who lived for hundreds of years?) and complicated history amongst the ten noble families – a history Wolfram von Bielfelt knew well.
Before a series of border disputes that escalated the tensions between demons and humans over two and a half decades prior, Shin Makoku had been entrenched in a battle of civil rights. Half-blooded mazoku, who had faced oppression long before their role as the vanguard in these border conflicts, demanded equal rights as they were indiscriminately sent to the front lines. Stoffel, who stood in as Regent due to his sister the Queen's inexperience in extra-national conflict, scoffed at the notion. The von Spitzwig family had always been a long supporter of tradition and was content to regard half-bloods as second-class citizens.
The von Bielfelt family was very much the same.
But the Queen's second son, Lord Conrart Weller - who had just graduated from the Military Academy and was entering the Court at this time - was famous for his skill with a sword, and even more so for being the son of a human man.
Those leading the civil rights movement for half-bloods were quick to latch onto Lord Weller as a political figurehead – the Prince, who had been allowed the privileges of full-blooded mazoku his entire life. Wolfram had thought it ridiculous, but Lord Weller gladly accepted the role of pariah and had battled heatedly for equal rights to be rewarded to 'his people' throughout the Court. It was around this time that the border disputes with neighboring human countries had erupted into a full-blown war.
This was a difficult time for the half-blood equality movement. Noble families who supported the Equal Rights Movement were accused of 'siding with the humans', and faced even more antagonism than usual. More often than not, the half-bloods themselves were accused of treachery due to their hereditary ties to Shin Makoku's enemies.
Half-bloods became desperate to prove themselves.
Stoffel, always the opportunist, jumped at the chance to utilize their vulnerability. Once again Conrad's 'people' found themselves on the front lines. However, it became more and more clear that these Demons who could not use maryoku were suffering. They were poorly equipped and barely supplied - with every battle more of their numbers were lost. This was a fact not lost on the Queen, Cecille von Spitzwig.
Wolfram remembered very clearly the confrontation between Conrad and his mother before the iconic Battle of Luttenburg. Celi had been desperate to preserve her son's life, and begged Conrad to forgo fighting, to stay in the Capitol with her and train soldiers. Conrad felt he was obligated to fight at the side of 'his people', to earn the equality they were all out there dying for.
Conrad had been presented with a choice between family and martyrdom. He had chosen to fight.
That was the very day Wolfram had started to hate his brother.
After the disaster that was the Battle of Luttenburg, where all Conrad had earned was the fancy nickname "Lion of Luttenburg", Stoffel stepped down as Regent. During the bloody battle, Stoffel had failed to send reinforcements, resulting in the death of the entire vanguard - save for the Prince and Yozak Gurrier – and the kingdom's greatest healer, Julia von Wincott, who had perished from maryoku overexertion after trying to save the fallen.
The death of her dear friend and the near-death of her son were too much for Celi. After Stoffel stepped down, she refused to reclaim her title as Maoh. It was then that Gwendal had stepped forward and taken up the yoke of leadership, quickly ending the war with clever political movements, and forming a fragile peace with the humans.
Gwendal had remained Prince Regent since then, amassing power for the Von Voltaire family. The family and its allies – Von Karbelnikoff, Von Christ, Von Bielfelt, and Von Grantz – grasped power at Court, while the allies of Stoffel – Von Gyllenhaal, Von Radford, and Von Rochefort – were weakened by Spitzwig's shame. The Von Wincott family, crippled by the loss of its heir, withdrew into itself and had been absent from Court ever since.
What had happened since then was Old News – Stoffel had been banished from all political decisions and events, Conrad became unbearable and was sent to Earth on a mission, if only to get him out of everybody's hair; and upon his return he had immediately elected to take what few of the half-blood soldiers remained and isolate himself on the far borders of Shin Makoku.
Yes, these were the events that shaped what the Court now was – still divided as it was over matters of Equal Rights for half-bloods, full of nobles vying for more influence and all the while spying upon each other so that they would have a foothold when the scales of power inevitably teetered. Luckily there was little bloodshed (something known to be common in the Court of Big Cimarron), but one wrong move and the ire of the nobility would be against you, and any hopes you had a political career were over. More than once in the history of Shin Makoku, the tongue of a Von Bielfelt had slipped, and the offending aristocrat had been sent to a summer home in the countryside, never to return to the castle.
As Prince, this information was drilled into Wolfram's head throughout his childhood. He had been trained by his Uncle and current head of the Von Bielfelt family, Waltorona, to be graceful, well-mannered, outspoken and authoritative-
-All qualities that the double-black, Yuuri Shibuya, lacked.
"This is dumb!" the double-black in question whined, slumping in his seat as he absentmindedly stabbed the table with his bread knife.
Seething, Wolfram gestured for a servant to clear the table. The woman, standing by in wait for such a time, scurried forward with a cart to collect the dishes. The woman didn't have the courage to pry the knife away from Yuuri, and left the young man to his abhorrent behavior.
Wolfram moved the platter of food that rested between them to the side, then reached across the table and smacked the knife out of Yuuri's hand - sending the piece of silverware spinning down the table where it was snatched up by a second servant.
"This is not dumb, you invalid!" Wolfram hissed, "In Court, you will be asked to attend dinner parties by possible enemies, or even worse, potential allies. If you have any wish to grasp some political influence and not completely embarrass yourself, you are going to need table manners that will not send the nobility screaming for the hills!"
Yuuri shrank down into his seat, looking very much like a kicked puppy.
"Is the violence really necessary, Wolfram?" Conrad sighed from a seat further down the table.
Since Yuuri had been recovered from the refugee village three weeks ago, Conrad had been assigned officially as Yuuri's bodyguard. Unofficially, however, he was really just a babysitter for the double-black, who couldn't seem to go a day without getting into some kind of trouble.
This meant that throughout Yuuri's lessons, given both by Lord von Christ (who had volunteered to teach the teenager dancing) and Wolfram, the ex-soldier was always present.
Which meant Wolfram was always pissed off.
"Silence!" Wolfram snapped at the man, "You will not coddle him! If only he sat still and stopped worming around, maybe he would actually learn something."
Conrad raised an eyebrow. "Wolfram, I don't think—"
"You are not to speak." Wolfram gritted out between clenched teeth, "We wouldn't want him getting any wrong ideas. Not all of us were raised in noble houses, Lord Weller."
A hurt look passed over Conrad's face, but Wolfram's biting words had the desired effect: the man fell silent.
Yuuri stared blankly into the air, frowning lightly with a thoughtful look on his face.
"Why doesn't Conrad have a 'von' in his name like everybody else does?" The double-black wondered aloud.
Sighing, Wolfram took a seat once again, cradling his forehead in an open palm.
"Von Christ already told you about the Ten Noble Families." Wolfram's other hand was a fist under the table. "Weller's father was a human – he is not a full-blooded noble, or even a full-blooded mazoku, for that matter. Only nobles have 'von' in their names."
"I wonder if I'm human…" Yuuri replied airily. "I was born on Earth, after all."
"A full-blooded human wouldn't be able to use maryoku."
"Then I could be half-human!"
"You are not to speak of such things at Court." Wolfram said darkly, fixing Yuuri with a stern glare that demanded he be obeyed.
"Why?"
Very, very pointedly not looking at Conrad, Wolfram merely replied, "It's a touchy subject."
For the rest of the lunch hour, manners and Shin Makoku politics were crammed (not so gently) into Yuuri. Wolfram had promised himself that he would get Yuuri ready for court, and he always kept his promises.
He wishes he had known, in hindsight, just how wild Yuuri was.
Yuuri was a menace to anything small and moving. Dropped items rolling across the floor, the dragging skirt of a maid, birds flying past the windows – regardless of what it was, the moment Yuuri spotted something that could be mistaken for something he had once 'hunted' (Wolfram's nose wrinkled at the word), the double-black would bolt away and pounce on the offending object. More than once a maid had screamed upon looking down and finding Yuuri tangled in her skirts, or the double-black had flung himself from a window to catch a bird with his bare hands. The latter instances often tested Conrad's reflexes, and it became a contest of speed – would Yuuri catch the bird before Conrad caught Yuuri?
The effects of Yuuri's presence in the castle were beginning to become more and more apparent. Servants were beginning to tie up their skirts and coattails. More often than not, the curtains would already be closed upon entering a room. Belongings that shone were often kept hidden under clothing, shiny bits decorations like buttons being removed altogether. People were careful to make their presence known, lest they accidentally startle the young double-black. Small pieces of clothing were all counted and hidden, though that didn't prevent a glove or sock from going missing from time to time. Wolfram had no idea where Yuuri hid them all, since he shared a room with Conrad.
Then there were behaviors of Yuuri that nobody could fix – the double black could climb furniture and find high perches in the blink of an eye. Just as quickly, Yuuri could melt away into shadows without a sound. When he wasn't trying to hide, he barreled down the hallways with reckless abandon, knocking over and ruining more than one flower vase in the process.
The castle had become his new jungle.
Wolfram had pulled Conrad to the side one afternoon and demanded that the man find Yuuri a hobby, something to burn off the double-black's excessive energy. Conrad's solution was a game from Yuuri's home world: a sport called "baseball" that Conrad had enjoyed during his stay on Earth.
Yuuri took to the game immediately, though the specifics of the rules were lost on him.
Mostly it involved Yuuri hitting a ball with a stick, then running wildly in as many circles as possible before Conrad could catch the ball and return with it to the playing field. Wolfram thought it was ridiculous, but the results couldn't be argued with: after being sent to bathe, Yuuri would return to his lessons worn out and quiet. The only downside was that Yuuri's frequent daytime naps increased in quantity, and Wolfram was often forced to scold and smack him in order to keep him awake.
His table manners were a different atrocity entirely.
As a boy, Wolfram had disliked learning about the various forks and plates and glasses involved in a meal. There were cake forks, salad forks, dinner forks…and they each had their own time and place at the dinner table; the same could be said for the other utensils. Speaking while drinking from his glass had been a terrible habit of his as a child, and it had taken his tutor great effort to train it out of him.
Wolfram had thought the man and everything he tried to teach tedious. Wolfram had been a terror as a child, unruly and inattentive. But now, more than ever, he felt sympathy for his teacher as he tried to instill the lessons he had been taught into Yuuri, and continued to fail miserably.
The salad fork is not a brush for your hair. Was one of the things Wolfram had had to explain within the past several weeks. That is a wash basin to clean your hands between courses, not a water dish. No, it will never have soup in it. You will chew all food in your mouth, quietly, before you speak. Stop using the red and white wine glasses to cover your eyes and pretend you have glasses. Get your smelly feet off the table or so help me.
"That's enough lessons for now." Wolfram sighed wearily at the end of the lunch hour, standing from his place across the table from the double black. "You will not be required to dine at the ball, so we have time yet to polish up your table manners."
Yuuri looked relieved, visibly deflating where he sat. But the mention of the upcoming ball soured his expression.
After Yuuri's actions of heroism at the human refugee village, word of his existence spread like wildfire throughout Shin Makoku and its neighboring countries. Word of Ken Murata's appearance as the next Great Sage was equally affecting. For a few days after the incident and the Great Sage's arrival, the country had been quiet, like the calm before a storm.
Then, like a paper hurricane, literally hundreds of runners with correspondence letters had begun to arrive at the castle each day, inquiring about the identity of the new double-blacks. Most of them had been from the Ten Noble families, but among them were letters from ambassadors, military authorities, and governments outside of Shin Makoku. The general consensus was that Yuuri was being concealed from the public eye to serve as a secret weapon against invaders. Others believed him to be a fourth son of the Queen's, hidden to prevent scandal and political unrest. A few correctly guessed that he was undertaking training to become the next Maoh.
The network of Yozak's spies was equally abuzz, the Spymaster reported in a missive. Enemies of Shin Makoku had sent out a wave of operatives, scrambling to discover whatever they could about Yuuri and the new Sage.
'I'll be careful to control what they do and don't hear.' Yozak had slyly promised in his last letter.
It was clear that now that the cat was out of the bag, Yuuri would need to make a debut before the country imploded, or another war started. The Queen, always excited to throw a party, had announced the ball a few days later.
Celi had carefully planned the event to be far enough into the future as to give Yuuri time to prepare, but soon enough so that rumors wouldn't have enough time to fester. It would be the first Court event in over a decade, and what played out there would affect the country greatly in the coming years. On the surface the ball was a celebration of Conrad's return and reintroduction to court, as well as a farewell for Celi, who was taking up the role of ambassador to Shin Makoku and would spend the next year travelling to the nations of human allies.
Truly, however, members of the noble families would be coming to take a gander at the two double-blacks shrouded in secrecy and scandal.
"Onto your fitting, then." Wolfram ordered, rounding the table and shooing Yuuri out of his chair with the agitated wave of his hands. "His Eminence should already be there - maybe you'll behave when he's the one having to put up with you."
Yuuri brightened at the mention of Murata, turning to Conrad with a wide grin. Conrad gave a small smile in return, the underwhelming likes of which seeming to unsettle Yuuri, whose cheery expression dimmed.
Whatever was going on between the two, Wolfram wanted no part of it.
"Away with you – both of you!" Wolfram growled, glaring at Conrad and Yuuri in turn. "I've already had enough of your goofing off for one morning. Go on and get your measurements taken, then I will see you in the evening with Lord von Christ to review the names and houses of the Ten Aristocrats."
Yuuri could not get away fast enough. Jumping out of his chair, the teen scrambled across the dining hall and towards the nearest door. There he stood in wait for Conrad, albeit impatiently as he seemed to wiggle in place. If the teen had a tail, it would be wagging. Wolfram regretted his scathing comments about comparing Yuuri to a dog that he had made the first day he met the double-black, but in that moment he couldn't deny that Yuuri greatly resembled one of the dogs his father had kept at the Bielfelt estate, waiting to be taken out to play.
Conrad was slower to rise from his seat, taking a moment once standing to straighten his jacket and check the sword at his hip.
The man glanced briefly at Wolfram, an unreadable but melancholy expression in his eyes that Wolfram met with indifference, before turning away.
As his estranged brother escorted the man who would (hopefully) one day become the next Maoh out of the room, Wolfram looked out the tall and ornate stained glass windows of the dining hall. This part of the castle overlooked the royal gardens that his mother so dearly loved, full of flowers that she herself had bred and named.
Wolfram sought out the blooms named for him, finding them towards the front of the garden – "Beautiful Wolframs" they were called, delicate lavender-pink blossoms turned upwards towards the sun. Towards the back, the oldest part of the garden, were the "Secret Gwendals", heavy, purple, bell-shaped flowers pointing downwards towards the earth. "Cecille's Red Sighs" seemed to line the perimeter of the garden, reminding Wolfram of how his mother would wrap her arms around her sons in a loving embrace.
And in the very heart of them all, in a section that until very recently had been empty, stood the vibrant, teal flowers that for so long had been absent from the garden.
Wolfram watched the freshly-bloomed "Conrad Stands Upon the Earth" blossoms sway gently in the summer breeze, and wondered if everything he had worked towards over the past several weeks would come to naught.
Yuuri stared at his greatest enemy, a sense of dread overtaking him. This day would come, he had known. It was unavoidable, really, that this confrontation would take place. And there was no chance of winning for Yuuri. He had fought bravely, but it was time to face—
"Put on the damn boots and get out here, wimp!" Wolfram hissed through the dressing room door, voice laced with impatience.
Yuuri's face screwed up in distaste as he grabbed the first boot and slipped it over a heavily-stockinged foot. It was as uncomfortable and confining as he had imaged it would be, and he hated it.
But today was the today. The ball that he had trained so hard for for over a month was in full swing, and it was time for him to make an appearance. Weeks of dancing lessons, torturous quizzes over nobility, and etiquette training had all led up to today.
He wasn't ready for it at all, he thought, as he slipped the second boot on.
He stood, testing the feeling of having his feet encased in leather, and looked at himself in the mirror provided for him. Frankly, he didn't recognize himself - not that he had gotten many chances to look at his own reflection while living in the Dragon Wood. But he certainly knew that no-one would be able to guess that only a few weeks prior to this, he had been riding dragons in the uncivilized wilderness.
Yuuri was a vision in black.
He wore a simple jacket with a high collar that buttoned under his chin, with long sleeves that dipped low across his palms (hiding the many scars adorning his upper torso). Two rows of golden buttons began at his shoulders, running horizontally until his collar bones, when they began to converge together across his chest until they met at a point and continued downwards, forming a round 'Y' shape. A thick leather belt was cinched around his waist, accenting and sharpening his figure. The jacket was paired with equally black pants and boots (sigh), and over it all, a short black cape covered one of his shoulders, draping across one side of his chest as low as his fingertips. His hair was tied up but styled around his face, and around his neck and wrists sparkled various golden necklaces and trinkets, which Yuuri found annoying and distracting.
He hated all of it.
He looked like a different person, he thought, but a person he didn't much care for. The outfit was ridiculous - it was excessive and overly fine, impractical and hindering. He smelled of sweet perfumes, his face caked with layers of makeup that accentuated his eyes. He wanted to take all of it off and hide.
But he had promised himself that he wouldn't run away anymore. He didn't want to become Maoh, but these people had answers to his many questions. Murata knew his past – where he had come from, what he was supposed to be. Since running into Adalbert von Grantz, though, something had been nagging in the back of his mind. There was more to his story, and he was going to figure out exactly what that was.
"Are you done yet?" Wolfram's voice called, doorknob beginning to turn as the blonde mazoku let himself in.
The doors to the dressing room swung open, Wolfram entering with an impatient frown, followed closely by a worried-looking Conrad.
Laying eyes upon the double-black, both men froze. Wolfram looked mesmerized, irritated expression melting away into one of intrigue. Conrad, on the other hand, looked startled. The ex-soldier was struggling to recognize him, Yuuri knew. More than anyone, Conrad had gotten to see what Yuuri looked like in his natural form. The disconnect between Yuuri's feral self and this creature dressed like a nobleman standing before him must have been mind-boggling.
"If only you could just walk around court without having to speak or interact with anyone else," Wolfram sighed wistfully, staring at Yuuri in his finery, "Then this would be too easy. Such a dashing dark horse you'd make. All your enemies would be licking your boot heels all the while singing your praises. You'd be elected Maoh in no time."
"If only." Yuuri replied dully, crossing his arms self-consciously in displeasure.
Conrad and Wolfram were dressed in exquisite uniforms. Wolfram's was of a light blue fabric, stitched with thin gold thread that matched his hair, and sapphires. The plain cravat he usually wore had been replaced with a finer thing made of lace. He, too, wore make-up on his face, his large green eyes framed by the impossibly long eyelashes that he and his mother shared.
Conrad wore a simpler jacket, white and dark grey with bright silver buttons that brought out the brilliant flecks in his eyes. An ornate and useless-looking sword hung lazily at his side, though Yuuri didn't doubt that anything could be deadly in the ex-soldier's hands.
"Well, we're already fashionably late." Wolfram sniffed as he tore his eyes away from Yuuri. "Let us be off."
Suddenly nervous, Yuuri's hand shot out as if it had a mind of its own. He gripped Conrad's wrist and clung to it like a lifeline, knowing in his heart that he was not ready for this.
"I'm not ready." His mouth echoed traitorously, heartbeat beating in his ears.
Wolfram glanced at Conrad, raising an eyebrow.
"Give me a moment with him," Conrad said softly to his brother, "Please, Wolfram?"
The blonde mazoku narrowed his eyes, but didn't outright scold the man. Green eyes drifted between Yuuri and Conrad, looking thoughtful, then turned away.
"You have five minutes." Wolfram closed the doors behind him as he stepped out of the dressing room, leaving Yuuri clinging helplessly to his charge.
"Yuuri...what's wrong?" Conrad murmured, crouching so that his eyes were almost level with the teen.
"I feel so lost." Yuuri choked out in his native language, holding back tears with enormous effort. "I don't feel like me anymore." Yuuri pointed at his reflection in the mirror. "I don't know who that person is, but I hate him."
"Yuuri-"
"And you hate him too." Yuuri sobbed dryly, in a voice more mournful than accusatory.
"Yuuri, I don't hate you!" Conrad said, eyes wide with surprise. Large and calloused hands flew to Yuuri's shoulders, gripping reassuringly. "How could you think that..?"
"Ever since we got back from the forest," Yuuri hiccupped, "You don't talk to me anymore. You look at me like I'm a stranger. But that's what we are, aren't we? Strangers.
"Your people live for hundreds of years, and you grew up with them. How old are you? A hundred? More? I'm eighteen, Conrad. You've only known me for a few months. I'm just a short breeze blowing through your life at the moment, brief and insignificant. We barely know each other."
Yuuri laughed helplessly, but the words wouldn't stop.
"And what you do know about me is that I'm dangerous. I attacked your family, nearly got your friends killed – did get some of your friends killed. I'm selfish, impulsive, and I'm stupid. I don't even know what I'm still doing here, or why any of you put up with me-"
"Yuuri, stop!" Conrad ordered firmly, giving Yuuri a grounding shake of the shoulders. His eyes were shining with emotion. "Listen to me. What happened back in the Dragon Woods, that wasn't your fault. Those soldiers knew what they were signing up for – rescue missions are always voluntary. Always. If I hadn't—I could've reported in, and those men wouldn't have died. If it was anyone's fault, it was mine. And it was a dragon that killed my soldiers, not you. You saved me. Me, a good-for-nothing who always runs away from his problems and hurts those he cares about."
Conrad shook his head, and then stood and pulled Yuuri close to his chest. The warmth of Conrad's embrace comforted him somewhat, and his grief lessened.
"And you…you are important to me, Yuuri. We both have our short-comings. You're so new to all of this, but you're trying so hard, even though you have no obligation to. I am so proud of you, Yuuri.
"But I am a coward." Conrad snarled, tightening his grip around Yuuri's shoulders. "And I have taken out my uncertainty on you, and you have never deserved it. Not once. I am so sorry, Yuuri."
Eyes glossy, Yuuri sniffed and looked up to Conrad's face. The man was openly crying, sending Yuuri over the edge as well. This moment of intimacy between them was like a breath of fresh air after nothing but smoke – it stung a bit, they both knew it was what must be.
"I'm still not ready." Yuuri's voice quivered as he dried his eyes, undoubtedly smearing his makeup.
"Neither am I." Conrad replied thickly, a small but genuine smile slipping into his features. "But we've both faced worse. What's a few nobles when you've fought dragons, eh?"
Yuuri couldn't help the chuckle that slipped past his lips then. That's right, he remembered. With Conrad at his side, he could face anything. He had been alone for so long, and Conrad had been his first ever friend. If staying with this man meant he might never return to his home…then, just maybe, it wouldn't be so terrible.
Yuuri stole one final hug from Conrad, then smacked his cheeks to focus himself.
"Alright." Yuuri whispered, "I can do this."
Conrad, taking motivation from Yuuri and his words, smiled and opened the door. Wolfram was waiting outside. Seeing the two, the blonde mazoku groaned dramatically.
"Shinou help us all." He said irritatedly, "You've ruined your makeup."
Another thing I hope you appreciate: flower language. Because that was also a thing I researched for this. Your welcome.
(Yuuri, staring at himself in the mirror: WHOOOOO IS THAT GIIIRL I SEEEE-)
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I've gotta do some more research before I can type all the nobles that'll be showing up next time. T-T Please leave some more of your lovely reviews to encourage me. So you all next chapter!