Notes: I am so sorry it took so long to update this story. Please believe me when I say that I *am* working on all of my stories as much as humanly possible, but sometimes it's difficult to capture the voice I need to write a specific chapter. When I started writing this chapter (several years ago) it actually inspired me to write something related but more Gwendal-specific (which I hope to release in another chapter or two of this story). I hope the wait was worth it! Thank you all for reading!
Chapter 11: You'll Be Okay
It wasn't sunlight that woke Wolfram early in the morning, but rather the feel of cold metal closing over the bared skin of his left ankle.
He opened his eyes, saw the Small Shimeron king sitting on the edge of the bed. Saralegui was smiling, stroking Wolfram's ankle as he locked the metal in place.
"Do you like my gift?" Saralegui asked. Without waiting for response, the king trailed his hands along Wolfram's leg, up past his thigh and hips, pausing to flick casually over tawny nipples.
Wolfram grimaced and tried to edge away as far as he could. The silk ropes - still tied tightly about his wrists - prevented him from getting far, made certain that Saralegui could torment him as long as the king wanted to. Unable to call on his maryoku, Wolfram did the only thing he could: he gathered the saliva in his mouth and spit as hard as he could in Saralegui's face.
If Wolfram had thought to distract Saralegui from his ministrations, he succeeded. The hateful look in Saralegui's eyes promised that he would pay for his actions.
Saralegui removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face with it, never once taking his eyes from Wolfram's face. It made the mazoku's blood run cold, to see the loathing in the king's face, to know that it would only be a matter of time before Wolfram was made to pay for his mistakes. All of them.
He closed his eyes briefly, to shut away the tears that threatened to spill, and Saralegui pounced. In a heartbeat, the human king was on top of him, fingers shoving cloth - the handkerchief, Wolfram realized with some shock - into his mouth. Panic set in instantly: he's going to kill me!
There was little he could do to fend off the enraged ruler: his hands were tied and useless above his head, his left leg bound by chain that offered little room for movement. When the fingers left his mouth, Wolfram was ashamed to feel relief. He spit out the handkerchief as quickly as possible and gasped for air.
Saralegui lowered his head so that his mouth was beside Wolfram's ear.
"I won't be so forgiving next time, Wolfram." Saralegui threatened casually. "Tick tock."
It was a relief when Saralegui pushed himself off Wolfram's body and made his way to the full-length mirror. The blond king brushed out the wrinkles in his clothes, straightened his collar and smoothed out his hair until the only trace of his anger was the lingering, smoldering glint in his calculating eyes.
The king left without another word to Wolfram, a look of self-satisfaction on his face as he opened the door to the hallway and was greeted by Berias. When the door slammed shut behind him, Wolfram let out a breath of relief that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
There was no time to waste: immediately, he set his numbed fingers to trying to untie the knotted silk binding his wrists. It was difficult work, made more difficult by the trembling in his body, but after what felt like an age, his right wrist was freed. He dragged it down the pillow and mattress, whimpering slightly at the pain of blood and sensation returning to his fingers. He didn't wait long before swiftly untying the knots binding his left wrist.
Once his arms were free, Wolfram sat up and examined the chain around his ankle. The metal was heavy, solid, and the lock that held the shackle in place looked like it would be difficult to pick open without someone experienced like Gurier. Biting his lip, Wolfram followed the length of chain from his ankle to the point where the other end was fastened: a heavy iron ring on the wall opposite the bed.
Although the length of chain just barely allowed Wolfram to lay stretched out on the bed, he was hopeful that he might find something in the room to help him escape. An iron hair pin, or a letter opener, something sturdy to pick the lock with, or something strong enough to leverage open one of the links in the chain. Wolfram slid from the bed quickly, ignoring the cold stone floor and trying hard not to stare in shock and horror at Alayna's corpse where it lay undisturbed.
He reached Saralegui's vanity with ease, but rummaging through the drawers turned up little of use: most of the drawers contained delicate carved ivory combs, bottles of perfume, and lotions whose purpose Wolfram didn't want to think about. From the armoire, Wolfram took a hanger, hoping to use the metal hook to open the lock on the shackle. When he tried to jam the metal into the opening, however, the wire was too large to fit. He threw the hanger across the room and winced when it struck Alayna's corpse. He wanted to be freed from Saralegui's grasp, but he wasn't ready to accept death as his only way out.
/I'm trying to stay strong, but I don't know how much longer I can make it./ Wolfram admitted within the safety of his own thoughts. He could feel the hormone levels shifting in his body like the ocean felt the moon's gravitational pull: it wouldn't be long before his heat had him in its thrall, and when that moment came, he'd beg for Saralegui's attention like the trained whore Alayna had wanted to make of him. It wouldn't matter to his hormone-crazed mind just how much he'd hate himself after it was all said and done…
/Is this how everyone feels before their heat?/ Wolfram wondered, crawling towards the window. The chain stretched taught, halting him just a few feet shy of being able to touch the sill, but Wolfram could see out over the gardens and the gravel-lined path that carriages travelled to-and-from the palace.
As he stared out the window at the cheerful blue sky, Wolfram tried to remember Conrart's childhood. Had his half-human brother experienced the heat? Wolfram couldn't remember ever hearing such a thing, but then Conrart was an expert at maintaining his secrets. Gwendal, he was certain, must have experienced it, but it was long before Wolfram was born, and not something that he'd ever felt comfortable asking his oniisan the details about.
No matter how he looked at the situation, Wolfram couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't worse off than his brothers. Even if Conrart had experienced the heat, he'd likely been surrounded by his half-human friends when it happened. At least Conrart would have had someone he at least tolerated, if not liked out-right. Gwendal, ever-dutiful Gwendal, would have gone into his heat with whatever mazoku Mother or - more likely, Uncle Stoffel - had decided proper, if only because it was the honorable thing to do.
/But Saralegui isn't someone I can tolerate, and even Uncle Stoffel would object to him, I think./
He stood there for hours, staring into the space between the window and sky, until his legs felt numb with cold. Eventually, Wolfram sat on the floor, not caring that he was cold, not caring that Alayna's dead eyes seem to stare through him where he sat. He pulled his knees up towards his chest and rested his cheek against them, listening to the sound of his heart tick away the seconds towards his fate.
He felt the hoof-beats before the sound of servants rushing about in the hall caught his ears. Someone was coming, he realized distantly, though he tried not to hope that it was someone come to his rescue. He stood slowly, the cold having sapped his energy, but saw clearly against the darkening horizon a carriage drawn by four black horses.
Wolfram didn't need to overhear the servants in the hallway to know who it was that was riding up the gravel path, he was certain he'd recognize that emblem anywhere.
Yuuri Shibuya, twenty-seventh maou of the Demon Kingdom, was coming to his rescue.
Relief flooded Wolfram's body, his heart hammering an unsteady rhythm as adrenaline took over. He felt flushed, and suddenly unbearably hot.
/Yuuri… hurry!/ Wolfram begged the Maou silently, certain in the knowledge that his heat had taken over.
~ To be continued...