Title: Of Sparrows and Princes

Author: sllebswap

Beta'd by: MelissaRose85

Characters/Pairing: Miura Haru and Belphegor

Type: OneShot Collection (InComplete)

Genre: Romance/General/Humor

Word Count: 7647

Rating: T (Contains content not suitable for children)

Disclaimer: Kateikyoushi Hitman Reborn belongs to Akira-san.

Summary: TYL ficlet. Various one-shots depicting the complicated relationship between Belphegor and Haru.

Chapter Last Revised on: 18/01/13


Chapter Fifty One


Haru stood back and surveyed the results of her handiwork with grim satisfaction.

Even though she was still a bit shaky on her feet, she had done her best to fortify the room, determinedly shoving various pieces of furniture that had not been nailed down to the floor against the door that she had quickly locked and secured from the inside the moment she was physically able to do so. The huge and extremely bulky study desk had been the first, and within the next fifteen minutes, she had proceeded to add onto the collection by piling the bedside tables, the couch, and even the armchairs against the closed door. With the exception of the bed which was too heavy for her to handle, every piece of movable furniture in the room was promptly added to the pileup at the room's entrance, so much so that she could not even see the door anymore, let alone hear any sound coming from the adjacent hallway. It made her feel more secure, and the impromptu workout session also helped to ascertain the degree of paralysis that the drugs force fed to her had taken effect.

Thankfully enough, she had managed to stumble into the adjoining bathroom to force-vomit the bulk of the drugs before they could enter her bloodstream, and other than for some slight numbness and the odd stiffness here and there, she was still mostly mobile and functional, and more than ready to attempt her Great Escape.

Haru had no intention to stay in the room and simply await rescue. It was too conspicuous, she wasn't sure how long her impromptu 'defense' would hold up against the efforts of the enemy, and she had no wish to test it out when she was all alone and vulnerable on the other side.

"So, decoy it is," the brunette whispered decisively to herself, eyeing the furniture-covered door briefly before turning to the windows on the other side of the room. Stepping towards the alternative – albeit entirely unconventional – exit, she unlatched the windows and pushed them open, carefully leaning out to take a look at her surroundings. Haru swallowed hard when she saw that she was at least four stories up – that was a long drop down – but her attention was immediately caught by the protruding veranda on the third floor that was roughly a room's length away. It was already evening and the land was draped in a velvety layer of darkness; it was the perfect cover for her movements, and if she could just make her way to that balcony and slip out through the adjoining room, then her escape would become all the more simpler.

The brunette nervously looked at the narrow ledge on the outer wall of the building and then once more at the ground level of the manor grounds. It really was a long way down if she slipped and fell, and Haru hesitated. Perhaps she should rethink this course of action –

The abrupt rattling of the door knob as well as the harsh sound of voices filtering in from the hallway almost made Haru tip out of the same window in alarmed reflex, and only a frantic grab at the frame prevented her from toppling headfirst out of the building in startled surprise.

"Hey, what is going on?! The door is locked!"

"Is the prisoner awake? Open the door!"

"Get the keys!"

Those men were going to be in for a big surprise if they thought that they could open the door just by unlocking it. Short of a direct explosive charge, there was no way that anyone would be walking through it anytime soon, not with all the furniture piled in front of it, at any rate.

Haru tensed slightly as she continued to listen to all the commotion outside the room. Her hold on the window frame tightened slightly as her earlier uncertain features grew firm with decisiveness. She had made up her mind; there was nowhere else to go but forward now, and taking a deep breath to still her nerves, Haru quickly threw her leg over the windowsill and carefully found purchase on the narrow concrete bracket outside. Stabilizing herself by keeping a death grip on the window ledge, she ducked out of the window and slowly started to stand, shakily testing out her balance. There was a surprisingly strong night breeze outside and Haru's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch when she chanced a glance downwards once more and saw how far she was from the ground. The brunette quivered inwardly with nervousness but bravely dragged her gaze back up, biting her lip and focusing her entire attention on traversing the short distance to reach the overhead of the veranda on the third floor, but currently seemed so far away. Although she did not have a phobia of heights, she still possessed a healthy sense of fear for it and her current precarious position was all but banging on that very sensitive instinct for self-preservation.

Gulping and forcefully steeling her jittery nerves, she plastered herself flat against the wall of the building and slowly started to crabwalk towards her target, spreading and splaying her arms horizontally for extra balance and steadily inching along. She was really bad at this; her legs felt like they were shaking the entire way and it took great effort not to think about anything but reaching the destination she had set for herself. Throughout the dangerous crossing, Haru's heart was pounding hard in her chest. In addition to the fear of falling, she was also extremely worried that someone would catch on to her escape attempt and come out to stop her. The worst case scenario would be to become stuck on the ledge and faced with the prospect of either being captured once more or falling, and the pale-faced brunette tried really hard not to let her thoughts wander down that path.

"Please don't let anyone find out that I'm outside," Haru prayed under her breath as she continued to shuffle forward. "Oh please let them think that I'm still inside the room. Please don't let me fall here-eek!" The brunette backed up frantically when she wandered too close to the edge and knocked loose crumbling gravel, squeezing her eyes shut as she fought her rising panic and unease. It was at the tip of her tongue to call for her husband to rescue her from this thoroughly unpleasant situation but she was immediately reminded that he was not here at the moment, that she was on her own and would need to depend on her own devices to get out of this mess. Strangely enough, instead of feeling small and more vulnerable than she already was, the thought quickly drew up a mental picture of an extremely pissed off Belphegor and the image was enough to calm her frazzled senses.

Yes, right now her mate should be undoubtedly furious with her as it was; she didn't need to imagine just how bad his temper was going to get if she did something stupidly careless like fall to her death in this place. Buoyed with determination, Haru continued to gingerly cross the ledge as stealthily as she could, slowly but surely making her way to the top of the balcony on the third level. With bated breath, she cautiously approached the other side of the bracket, and after what seemed like an eternity, the end was in sight and within reach. She was just less than a meter away from her target when her leg suddenly decided that it was a good time to cramp up mid shuffle, throwing off her balance completely and forcing her to lurch forward. Haru's eyes grew wide with horror as that feeling of free fall gripped her, and then she was toppling over the edge, her arms flailing as she plunged down—

-only to fall belly first onto the edge of the stone railings of the balcony, with barely enough momentum to tip her headfirst onto the bare floor of the third level instead of straight down to the manor grounds below, where she would have either died or been grievously injured. Haru crash landed awkwardly onto the veranda surface – the abrupt and clumsy drop had knocked the air right out of her lungs with the equivalent force of a powerful straight punch to her stomach, and the pain that exploded as a result was enough make her curl up in a tiny ball of agony, whimpering soundlessly even as she fought to breathe through the pain. Tears of discomfort swam in her eyes as she struggled to regain control of herself, her hand pressed over her stomach as she wheezed horribly and tried to ride out the pain. It was a while before she felt safe enough to attempt to move, and thankfully enough, the racket from her fall had failed to summon anyone to her location. Her stomach ached dully and would no doubt become one big bruise later, but nothing seemed to be broken and she quickly declared herself fit to continue. She had twisted an ankle from the fall, but other than a slight decrease in mobility, the brunette decided that she was still mostly functional.

The room that adjoined the balcony she happened to fall onto appeared to be unlit and unoccupied. A careful test of the doorknob showed that it was unlocked and Haru wasted no time slipping quietly into the room. Silently closing the balcony doors behind her, she was immediately covered in complete darkness. Her apprehension spiked as she blindly fumbled her way around the room, afraid of being found out. She was also unwilling to turn on the lights so as not to alert anyone to her presence, and after several false starts and painful crashing into furniture, she managed to locate the exit. Haru waited by the door and strained hard to listen for any sounds outside, and when it appeared that the coast was clear, the brunette stealthily left the room and hurriedly ran/limped down the hallway as quickly as she could. The manor that she had been brought to was huge, but thankfully it seemed mostly deserted and she managed not to run into anybody as she took turns down the complicated maze of passageways. It wasn't long before she chanced upon what seemed like a discreetly tucked away servants' stairwell, and her eyes lit up with hope.

Haru wasted no time going down the flight of stairs, feeling more and more optimistic about her situation as time passed. Yes; perhaps she might just be able to pull this off, after all! She still found the entire situation quite daunting and worrying, but she could do this – she really could do this! As the Princess Consort hurried down the steps, she thought to herself that she was never going to underestimate her husband's occupation ever again. She really did not know how Bel and the other Varia commanders could sneak around in covert operations all the time like they usually did in enemy territories; it was so nerve-wracking and the brunette was beginning to form a new appreciation for her husband and his work –

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

The voice was cold and heavily accented, and hearing it was like being splashed with a bucket of icy water. She had been discovered! Haru felt her heart sink with trepidation even as her eyes landed on the man who had spoken, and even though she could not tell who he was, the air of menace around him was unmistakable and she tensed, her hand tightening on the railing, a deer-in-headlights expression on her face as she quickly pondered on her chances of escape if she beat a swift retreat right now. The way she was slowly backing up must have telegraphed her intention to the dangerous stranger, for he gave her a truly nasty smile that made chills run down her spine.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you, Your Highness," he leered at her in a rather slimy manner that made her feel very dirty. The brunette recoiled inwardly, instinctively aware that she could not get caught by this person no matter what. "If you behave; perhaps I won't be so rough with you-"

Haru did not wait for the disgusting man to finish. Whirling around quickly, she darted back up the winding stairs like an agile antelope, throwing her entire weight forward as she concentrated on running away. Her injured ankle immediately protested against the strain, shooting sharp, throbbing pain up her leg but Haru forced herself to ignore the discomfort. She raced up the steps at a frantic pace and was just about to reach level ground when one of her legs were suddenly pulled out from under her, and abruptly losing balance, she gasped in shock when she quickly toppled forwards, her hands coming up in front of her break the fall. She crashed painfully onto the stairs on her side, and even though she managed to avoid hitting her head, the speed and power of the fall was concentrated on her shoulder as she landed at an awkward angle, and with a sickening pop, the pain came, an extremely sharp, powerful feeling of discomfort that actually succeeded in making her seen nothing but white for a few precious seconds.

The brunette could not prevent the cry of agony from escaping her lips, the hand from her uninjured arm quickly coming up to gingerly cradle her dislocated shoulder, and momentarily dazed from the impact, she could only lie there in shock as the man who had so callously incapacitated her chuckled cruelly and tightened his grip on her ankle.

"Tsk, tsk. Such an ill-mannered, uncouth Princess, running wild like that and taking advantage of your host's hospitality. It seems that you will need to be punished very badly after all."

He started to drag her down the stairs by her hurt ankle, making sure that she acutely experienced every bump and jolt of the move, and Haru whimpered, her face paling as every rough jostle reverberated in extreme agony on her dislocated shoulder, and the back of her head suffered with each painful collision against the edge of the steps. She started to resist weakly, and then as she grew accustomed to the painful experience, her struggles increased, and gritting her teeth against the nauseating discomfort, Haru grabbed wildly at the stairs for a handhold to keep herself from being dragged further, and then she aimed her strongest mule kick right at the face of her assailant.

"Son of a bitch-!"

The man let go of her immediately as his hands went to his injured face. Haru grunted with satisfaction; she was very sure that she had felt something give way when her feet had smashed into his disgusting face, and rolling over, she hissed at the pain and then scrabbled to get back onto her feet, desperate to take advantage of her attacker's momentary distraction to flee for her life. The Princess Consort clawed her way unsteadily back up the steps, and this time around, she made it. Limping forward with frantic urgency, she broke out into a wobbly jog, intent on finding a place to hide before her tormentor came after her once more. She had no doubt that she was going to be in a lot of pain if he caught up with her, and that horrifying thought quickly fueled her determination to escape. She picked up her pace, clenching her jaw against the pain as she blindly ran down the carpeted hallway, her heart pounding madly in her chest as she made abrupt, random turns down the twisted passageways and prayed hard not to be found. The panicked, wounded brunette careened down yet another hallway, panting heavily as she reached for the polished knob of a closed door –

She let out a startled cry when she was abruptly grabbed from behind by her hair; rough fingers digging mercilessly into her bruised scalp and violently flinging her away from the door. Haru hit the wall hard, her forehead bouncing off the vertical surface with a loud crack as stars exploded behind her eyelids, and stunned, before she could drop onto the ground from the impact, she was forcefully flipped around and then slammed backwards against the wall once more, and as she struggled to breathe through the pain, the murderous expression on her assailant's face was terrifying to behold. Haru gagged and choked as he grabbed her by the neck in a harsh stranglehold and pinned her against the wall, her legs dangling helplessly under her as she glared daggers at the man who was hurting her so, not backing down whatsoever. The sight of his profusely bleeding nose, now swollen up and conspicuously crooked, quickly alleviated her feelings of terror and fear. She had extracted her pound of flesh from him for hurting her, and the sight of his grossly injured features made her feel vindictively smug instead.

"You little whore," he hissed gutturally even as his hard fingers tightened around her slender neck. "I'm going enjoy breaking you."

Her air supply was completely cut off, and her throat hurt so badly that she was certain her larynx was in the process of being crushed. Still, her eyes glowed with boldness and defiance.

"My…husband…will kill you," she wheezed out almost inaudibly, but the anger in her intonation was unmistakable.

The furious man sneered, and when she dug her nails into his wrists in an effort to force him to release her, drawing blood in the process, he wasted no time smashing her head against the wall once more, hard enough to stun her momentarily. "He will never find you in time, you little bitch." Holding her upright with only a single hand, he drew closer to her and smiled cruelly. "Meanwhile…you and I are going to be intimately acquainted with each other. You must be very good in bed, to be able to ensnare the Astonian Crown Prince with your wiles. I wonder what your beloved husband will think of you after he has learned that you have sullied yourself and disgraced him?"

Haru's eyes burst open then, and instead of horror, her stormy brown gaze reflected fury and determination. That man had stupidly leaned right over to speak directly into her ear, no doubt intending to terrorize her, but in doing so, he had unknowingly put himself within striking range as well, and that was all the opportunity Haru needed. It took everything she had to move; her face was starting to turn a light tinge of blue from the lack of oxygen and she was beginning to see spots in her vision, but desperation lent her strength and she snapped her head to her side and suddenly lunged, ferociously sinking her teeth into his ear like a rabid dog. She bit down with all the jaw power she could muster, and her attacker was not expecting that.

The man roared in pain as he released her immediately, frantic to get away from her, and this time around, Haru showed absolutely no mercy. She had no wish to be anywhere near this slimy lowlife any longer than she needed to and released her bite hold on his bleeding cartilage the moment he let her go. Hacking madly and trying hard to breathe through her badly bruised throat at the same time, the brunette staggered a few steps away from the bellowing man and nearly knocked over a heavy porcelain vase on a nearby end table. Still burning with anger at his earlier words and fueled by panic and desperation, her hands closed around the vase quickly and she took advantage of her attacker's obliviousness towards her intention and crashed it over his head. She threw her entire weight into the action, barely even flinching when her dislocated shoulder screamed in protest at the wild movement. The expensive vase shattered upon impact, and she must have been very exuberant in her eagerness to put out this horrible person, for he dropped like a fly and quickly shut up, leaving the shaky and pale Princess Consort standing alone in the hallway.

The relief that Haru felt was incredible, accompanied closely by shock and the slowly fading embers of anger and fear at the man's earlier evil intention towards her. The adrenaline was also dying down as the various pains of her body refused to be masked any longer, and Haru looked briefly horrified by what she had done. The thought that she might have accidentally murdered someone was almost enough to make her sick with worry, but then she saw the up and down motions of his chest as he breathed, and the sharp fear turned to stark relief once more. Her legs went weak but she did not have the time to indulge in her emotions right now. The notion of escape was still prevalent in her mind, like a fierce recurring mantra, and as her eyes lingered on the still form of her assailant, the thought occurred to her that perhaps he might have something on him that would be useful to her goal of leaving this godforsaken place.

Her hand was shaking so hard that it took effort to regain control of it, and then she was frantically going through pockets. The worry that the man would wake up suddenly and capture her again was overwhelming, but Haru did her best to ignore her irrational fear – he was out cold and there was no way he would regain consciousness so quickly. She hit pay dirt almost immediately in the form of an expensive looking cell phone. It was fully charged and completely functional as well, with a strong signal that meant she now had a means to call for help. Almost dizzy with relief at her stroke of good luck, the dazed woman struggled to get back to her feet and started to limp badly towards the door that she had been reaching for earlier, hugging the precious phone to her chest with her uninjured arm the entire while. There was a bedroom with an adjoining bathroom behind it, with an exact layout like the one she had first found herself in when she awoke in this unfamiliar mansion. She shut and locked the room door behind her and then wobbled into the bathroom, locking that door as well for extra security. In her affected state of mind, it seemed like a good idea to huddle in the bathtub for security, and after she did that, Haru activated the phone with trembling fingers and dialed Bel's number.

It took her three tries to get it right; her vision was getting fuzzy and she kept misdialing, but eventually, the call went through. Haru nearly wept with relief when she heard the beloved voice of her husband on the other end.

"B-Bel-!"


Maximilien Timothée de Fronsac was a man accustomed to a life of power and prestige. As the 10th Duke of Richelieu, he possessed both status and wealth, the name of his illustrious clan alone commanding respect and attention even from amongst the members of his aristocratic peers. The House of de Fronsac was one of the few noble families left that could boldly lay claim to the fact that their bloodline was still wholly pure, their prestigious blueblood lineage still untainted and undiluted by plebian genes, the latter a most unfortunate affliction that seemed to plague the noblesse to no end nowadays. Like his parents and ancestors before him, he was a product of centuries of careful breeding between various influential members of the noble realm, and from the very moment he was old enough to understand, it was made exceedingly clear to him that he had a duty to the de Fronsac name, to make sure that the ancient and noble house would continue to flourish for years to come.

He had fulfilled his part unerringly when it was his turn to produce a pureblooded heir for the next generation, and just like he had, his daughter was similarly expected to make a similar marital match worthy of their family's high standing reputation. But unfortunately, as galling as it was to admit, aristocracy was a dying race, and with every generation that passed, fewer of them remained true to the ideals of nobility and the purity of blood, succumbing to and mingling with the vast concentration of commoners that seemed to overwhelm the elite group in sheer numbers. Procuring a suitable husband for Galatea had not been easy, especially amongst the ever shrinking pool of pureblooded, likeminded noble families, many of whom were already closely related to the de Fronsac clan.

The Royal House of Tsiveone was one of the few left that was not completely inbred to the de Fronsac family, and to top it off, the Astonian Monarchy also possessed one of purest bloodlines in the aristocratic world due to the strict requirements that the Royal House used to traditionally enforce on every Tsiveone bride who married into the family for past centuries—choosing only highborn princesses and titled noblewomen of renowned beauty and impeccable breeding to become the Queens and Royal Consorts of their Kings and Princes. It was a pity that such a powerful and pedigreed, ancient lineage was now reduced to only a single member, but that only served to emphasize the importance of preserving that rare bloodline, to ensure that it would not die out with the last living Tsiveone descendant, the current Crown Prince of Astonia.

The de Fronsac clan was very willing to help in that endeavor and most importantly, with its long noble ancestry, was actually more than qualified to receive the honor of being closely related to the Royal House. It was all too fortunate that Galatea happened to be within the age group of the Tsiveone Prince, and although his daughter had failed to properly reel in and capture the attention of the young man with her charms ten years ago, Maximilien was determined that they would not fail this time around. The Prince had only been a teen then, a boy who was more interested in fooling around and sowing wild oats, but now that he was older, now that he had indicated he was willing to settle down, the Duke would make sure to show the future King the error of his ways, that he had a duty to his Royal House—one that did not include marriage to insignificant commoners of little distinction and prestige.

Clearly, the Royal Council had allowed His Royal Highness to run wild for far too long, if he truly believed that such a disgraceful match was the best he could do for his highborn family. No doubt his ancestors must be rolling in their graves right now; their descendant had dared to marry a foreign bride with not even a drop of noble blood whatsoever coursing through her veins. Such a situation would never have been allowed to happen if the Royal Family was still very much alive and thriving, but alas, the majority of them were deceased and thus no longer around to put a stop or even object to the outrageous absurdity that the last of their blood was committing to without regard to the countless generations of painstaking selective breeding to finally produce the superiority of his imperial lineage, and it was all about to be carelessly destroyed just because the Prince had allowed himself to be blinded by lust and had somehow been tricked into marriage by an overly opportunistic commoner whore.

The House of Nobles had been outraged by the news of the unsanctioned marriage; the Prince was up to his usual defiant ways again, but this time, he had clearly gone too far. And Maximilien was more than willing to help remove the shameful blot that the frivolous Tsiveone had recklessly allowed into the vaunted pages of his family history, and by force if necessary.

After all, anything short of the pure bloodline of his own family was clearly unworthy of sitting on the throne of the Astonian Monarchy, and his heir had been groomed from the tender age of two to become Queen, a title that no de Fronsac had ever claimed before, as powerful as their clan was. But that would change with Galatea—through his only child, the family status would be carried to new heights, and he had planned this for so long—decades—that he would absolutely not allow any upstart commoner trash to ruin his plan now.

Unfortunately for the Duke and his delusional flights of fancy, the Crown Prince had no intention whatsoever of just standing around and allowing such unwarranted attacks on his chosen mate. The loud, extremely powerful explosion that shook the entire villa when the middle-aged aristocrat was in the midst of enjoying a relaxing nightcap in the privacy of his drawing room was the first sign that things were about to go spectacularly wrong.

Then, the bad news just kept coming.

His frazzled servant came bursting into the room in a tizzy, blabbering stupidly about an attack on the villa, as if he had not already discerned that obvious fact for himself. Before he could angrily enquire as to what his bodyguards were doing at a time like this, another of his servants came rushing in, bearing more bad news.

"Your Grace, the Princess Consort of Astonia has barricaded herself in the room and refused to unlock the door! The men are unable get to her!"

"What?!" Maximilien thundered furiously, rising swiftly from his seat. He turned his attention to the second manservant immediately, who was cowering in reaction to the incensed expression on the Duke's normally cold, arrogant face. "How on earth is that possible? She shouldn't even be able to move!"

The servant flinched at his master's show of anger. He remained silent and kept his gaze down on the floor, hoping to avoid the latter's wrath. The Duke of Richelieu had been an extremely handsome man in his youth, blessed with the golden-hair of a fairy tale prince as well as the proud, patrician features that made him very attractive to the members of the opposite sex. The years had been kind to him; his youthful, Adonis-like beauty of the past had simply matured into a stately, elegant grace befitting his station as a wealthy, leisurely nobleman, but unfortunately, his vicious character and nasty temperament ensured that his aristocratic face was hard and cold with arrogance, his thin mouth unsmiling and cruel.

And right now, the Duke was reddening with rage, his expression twisting into a mask of fury as he glared at his useless servant. It was imperative for the commoner's virtue to be thoroughly compromised if his plan was to work. No matter what happened, the woman must be ruined before this night was through!

"Incompetent fool!" Maximilien hissed. "If the chit has locked herself in the room, then get the key to unlock the damned door! Must I do everything myself, you utter waste of air?!"

The servant gulped and quickly nodded, simply thankful that he was not looking at a thrashing from his master. "N- no, Your Grace! I will make sure everything runs smoothly!"

And when the servant took too long, the middle-aged aristocrat sneered contemptuously at the idiot. "What are you still waiting for?! Get to it!"

Without another word, the frightened man quickly ran for the doors, leaving the first servant alone with the angry Duke.

"Your Grace, what are your orders?" the inwardly quailing serving staff asked his employer. He dearly hoped that he would not be the one to bear the brunt of the older man's increasingly bad temper.

In his arrogance, the Duke did not appear very concerned about the attack that had just occurred on his land. He had under his employment the best bodyguards that money could buy, and he did not believe that whoever was foolish enough to attack his property could actually hope to win against the power of his specialized guards. Maximilien waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Have the guards report to me after they deal with the disturbance," he ordered coldly. "And have another snifter of brandy brought up. Make it snappy."

"Yes, Your Grace." The servant was only too glad to leave the immediate vicinity of the Duke, and quickly left. Unfortunately, he didn't manage to make it very far, for mere moments after he had exited the room, the nameless manservant was sent flying back violently through the drawing room doors and accompanying his graceless flight were a couple of what Maximilien recognized as his elite guards. All were knocked unconscious from the impact, and the surprised de Fronsac patriarch stared at his fallen men before turning his attention to the door.

The Crown Prince of Astonia strode in, fully uniformed, his aura dark with barely leashed promise of violence and bloodshed, his box animal hovering on his shoulder in full Flame.

To say that Maximilien was surprised by the Tsiveone's presence would be an understatement. He had expected to have more time before the young man came rushing over to witness his wife's disgrace, but he had severely underestimated the Prince's ability as well as his affection for the woman whom he had married. There was nothing else to do but to stall for time now.

"Your Highness!" The Duke of Richelieu feigned complete surprise as well as outrage even as the assassin Prince moved unerringly towards him. "What is the meaning of this?! There will be consequences urrkk-!"

There was a gurgle as Belphegor reached out swiftly and grabbed the de Fronsac by his throat, his grip hard and unyielding as he slowly started to squeeze. Maximilien's eyes bugged out with pain and shock.

By now, looking at the utter coldness and ruthlessness on the Crown Prince's face, it was becoming exceeding clear that he was no longer just merely angry, but that his rage had escalated to something downright murderous instead.

It was difficult to breathe even without the additional pressure of the Prince's fingers around his neck; the killing intent that the Tsiveone Royalty was generating was enough to force Maximilien to break out into a cold sweat as his heart started to gallop in his chest. Good God. Was this the true power of the Tsiveone clan? Such…vicious intensity…!

It was the first time that the Duke of Richelieu was subjected to such a powerful, lethal aura, and the proud, arrogant man was gasping and shuddering from the force of it all.

"Where. Is. My. Wife?"

Belphegor did not roar the question; he didn't even shout. No, the Varia executive had almost whispered his query, but the sheer fury behind his deceptively composed tone hit Maximilien like a wallop to the face. Through it all, the Storm Flame wielder just kept calmly choking his fellow aristocrat. Belphegor's unspoken threat was delivered loud and clear to the de Fronsac patriarch, who had correctly read the furious, aggressive body language of the younger man and had quickly reached the conclusion that the latter would kill him if he even thought to play games with him.

Maximilien was already beginning to see spots in his vision due to the merciless stranglehold that the Crown Prince was effortlessly maintaining on him, and the Duke feared for his life. It was more than enough incentive to convince the de Fronsac patriarch to quickly and promptly answer the question posed to him.

"Fourth…floor… Fifth…room…on right…" It was all he could do to wheeze out the answer, and the very moment he did, the younger blonde dropped him like a piece of trash, leaving the usually dignified man gagging on the floor. It was lucky the blonde was in a hurry to get to his wife, if not the Duke would have been nothing more than a bloody smear on the floor. As quickly as he had entered, Belphegor left the room wordlessly, leaving the older man alone once more, sprawled disgracefully on the ground and burning with humiliation and fear.

Belphegor was trembling finely with barely controlled rage as he moved up the villa to where they had supposedly kept Haru. The blonde was more furious than he had ever recalled being and he was extremely quick to trigger at the moment, his natural propensity for violence even harder to restrain than normal. Worst of all, Belphegor did not feel like even trying to douse the cold fires of his fury. It would not be a good idea to see his wife in the current volatile state that he was in, but the day's events had simply done a number on his already unstable temperament, and the wrathful Prince was inwardly baying for his pound of flesh, for this injustice that those fucking idiots had done to him, for the sheer amount of emotional distress they had caused him.

They dared to take his wife from him, did they? He would bloody well make sure that no one would dare try it ever again.

Fortunately for those fools, Haru had not succumbed to their low tactics and had tried to fight back in her own way, somehow even managing to establish a means of communication with him. The tightness in his gut had unclenched slightly at the sound of her voice when he had tersely answered his phone earlier, but something was not quite right. She was reluctant to say much over the phone, but the tremor in her voice spoke volumes, and he instinctively responded to his mate's distress. The fury burning in him was hardly quenched, but somehow she had become the top priority, so much so that even the normally all-consuming urge to satisfy his own bloodlust and rage paled in comparison to her, and after ordering her to stay put, his main goal was to find her first and ensure her safety.

Much to his increasing annoyance and anger, none of the shitheads on the property seemed to have gotten the memo, and the group of men gathered outside the door where his wife was supposedly secured was the first to bear the full brunt of Belphegor's bloodlust.

"What is going on here?" the Prince asked harshly the moment he was within hearing range, even as his sharp, hawk-like eyes swiftly took the situation in. The door was clearly locked from the inside, and it was obvious that the men were trying to enter the room. The small group bore the general appearance of small time thugs and gangsters, hardly the type of guests that the Duke of Richelieu would care to entertain in his home.

"Oi, are you the servant?!" Apparently tired of living, one of the hoodlums demanded roughly of the rigid, very agitated form of the Storm Varia. "Open the damn door quickly; how are we supposed to teach that two-bit whore inside a lesson like this?!"

There was no reaction from Belphegor at first, and then, in the very next second, the expression on his face went taut with fury.

The man who spoke did not have a chance to speak further, for within the blink of an eye, there was a blade sunk hilt deep in his throat, and with wide eyes and a sickening death rattle, he dropped like a stone onto the floor and did not move after that. His contemporaries shouted in panic.

"What is going on here?!"

"W- what happened to him? How did that blade get there?!"

"Who killed him?!"

"Silence."

The sharp, venomous hiss was enough to break through the men's collective panic, and they all turned to stare at its source. The silver gleam of multiple blades just like the one that had so quickly ended their comrade's life mere moments ago caught their attention immediately. The golden-haired man who wielded the knives with such expert, deadly ease made the hairs at the back of their necks stand straight up on ends with morbid premonition.

They froze like the foolish prey they were.

"That woman inside, whom you planned to brutalize," the man snarled out the last word, cold, unforgiving rage percolating his tone. "Is my wife. Now, die."

The last was more of a statement of fact than a promise, and before those men could comprehend the sin that they had committed against the Royal House of Tsiveone, Belphegor moved to extract his vengeance. It was all over before it truly even began, and it had been more like a massacre than an execution. Those hapless men didn't even had the time to run—they didn't even had the time to scream—before he cut them down mercilessly, decorating the elegant hallway in an appeasing shade of crimson that agreed most violently with the ferocious, dark, fury roiling inside him.

How dare they. How dare they?!

His bloodlust was hardly sated by the quick, savage kills that he had just made, however, and he was tempted to sweep the villa, slaughtering indiscriminately until his wild rage had finally cooled, but his self-control reasserted itself before he could go completely berserk, cold logic pointing out that he could not kill a member of his Court no matter how much he wanted to, even if the bastard in question had as much as given orders for others to assault his defenseless wife.

Just the mere thought of it was enough to send a powerful, renewed surge of rage flowing through his veins, and his jaw ticked furiously in response. Haru had better be perfectly safe and unharmed inside that room, or he would gladly bring this whole bloody villa down on their heads, royal politics be damned. The silent snarl that decorated his face was a fearsome sight to behold, and the servant who had just appeared at the mouth of the doorway clearly agreed, judging by the way the poor man all but blanched when he saw the vicious-looking aristocrat standing so very stilly in the midst of all the unmoving, bloodied bodies strewn around the floor.

The spooked manservant froze in place when the golden-haired man slowly lift his head and lock his veiled gaze on his person, dangerously focused, observing him in the intent manner a hunting lion would look at a defenseless antelope, and he quickly thought that he would surely be killed just like the others around him. Fortunately, his shameful trembling brought the Prince's attention to the quiet clinking of the ring of keys he held tightly in his hand, and Belphegor reined in his killing intent subtly, enough so that the servant could function without being controlled by sheer terror.

The Storm Varia tilted his head slightly towards the locked door.

"Open it." It wasn't a request, and when the wide-eyed servant hesitated for too long, the resulting surge of anger that saturated the air quickly pushed the frightened man into action, sending him tripping over himself as he hurriedly ran for the closed door that housed the abducted Princess Consort, fumbling clumsily over the hundred over keys with nervous, bloodless fingers as he frantically searched for the correct one, all the while perspiring from the sheer pressure that the Astonian Prince was exerting on him from behind.

The servant nearly cried with relief when the twentieth try yielded the correct combination to unlock the door, and the sound of the bolt sliding back into its place was like a sweet hymn of salvation to his ears. Then he tried to open the door and really did sob with despair when it would not budge. This was it; his life was forfeit now—the Prince was going to kill him for his ineptitude—

Belphegor had been swiftly losing his patience as he watched the manservant shove key after key into the keyhole. Through it all, his fingers twitched reflexively, the razor sharp scalpels that seemed to dance at his slightest commands gleaming with increasing edginess, and when the panicking help could not seem to open the door, the blonde growled lowly and stepped forward, shoving the squeaking man out of the way.

"S-sir! There's something blocking the door from opening on the other side!" The servant reported in a rush, and Belphegor paused at that. He recalled a time not long ago when his sparrow had attempted to lock him out of her bedroom by barricading objects against the door. It hadn't worked of course, but the fact that she had tried all the same had quickly earned his attention and acknowledgement in the beginning stages of their unusual courtship. His Princess had been a fighter even then just as she was now, and it was apparent that she had attempted something similar here, and that made him crack a small, grim smile.

Good girl. She had done her best to buy time for him to arrive, and it was obvious that it had worked well enough. She had prevented those men from getting to her and had been smart enough to do the only thing she could in this situation—stay put and wait for him to extract her from this latest mess that she had somehow gotten herself into. It was a testament of her trust and faith in him—she had already done everything she possibly could, her actions indicating clearly to him that his plucky little wife had tried her best to oppose the plans of her abductors in all the ways she knew how. Despite his fierce, dark anger and simmering wrath over the entire fiasco, Belphegor felt inordinately pleased with her actions, and proud as hell.

He really shouldn't keep her waiting any longer; now it was his turn to show her that he hadn't been idly sitting by this whole time either.


::owari::


Questions That I Would Like To Answer Before You Ask:

Hey there, everyone! As promised, here is the fifty-first chapter; I hope you all enjoyed it. I'm very thrilled with all the responses that I have gotten from the wonderful reviewers; you guys cannot imagine how happy it makes me to read your thoughts and comments. By the way, 'Of Sparrows and Princes'' review count has recently passed the eight hundredth mark; thank you, all of you, for making it happen!

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Poor Haru took quite a beating in this chapter, but I tried to portray her strength, which is unfortunately not in her physical ability, but in her intelligence, quick thinking and unwavering spirit. She had done everything she could think of to buy time for Belphegor's arrival and to keep herself away from the people trying to harm her, and even though she succeeded in the end, she had also sustained some injuries as a result.

And then, on the other hand, we have Belphegor, who is churning himself into a fine frenzy and mad as a hornet. Well, you will see how that goes, next chapter!

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What else…oh, yes! I'd also like to take this opportunity to shamelessly advertise my other BelHaru fics (or at least alert the unaware to their teeny weeny existence). They are mostly one-shots or short fics that I wrote (and am writing) whenever my muse is in the mood for some BelHaru lovin.' Not all of them are up yet, but I will be getting around to posting the rest soon.

That's all for now, and thanks for reading!

Until next time!

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Your reviews make me update faster; so please leave a comment if you like this fic!

-sllebswap