A/N: I do enjoy writing a nice, filthy man on man sex scene and I must say that I've gotten much better at writing that kind of thing. Unfortunately no one's getting any action since Wolfram's pregnant and all. I promise lots in the future, though.

To my anons:

Mr. me. –Thank you for reviewing. Terribly sorry for the cliffhanger but I gotta keep people interested somehow ;)

Shane- Oh I will explain it…eventually. Thanks so much for the review.

THiaLieN –haha I was wondering if that was gonna freak some people out. No, it's not a frequent thing. Yuuri was just feeling a little lonely and, if I may remind you, he did not actually go through with it.

EarRiel la fFion –I'm happy that I've left you wanting more. It is my job, I guess. Anyway thank you so much for reviewing.

Papapapuffy-Wow! I'm so happy you even considered liking him. This is good because I was hoping to develop him a little more in the future. I guess im going to have to decide if I want people to feel sorry for him or hate him altogether.

Tk04- uh…thanks? They will get together. I promise. Probably sometime within the next chapter.

!!!!- Thanks for the begging. It really turns me on. Lol.

Chapter 13

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

…the burning of frozen steel against bare flesh.

All sounds were hushed by the surrounding blanket of snow as the metal cuffs closed around Wolfram's wrists. The chains jingled cruelly, as if proclaiming their undiscriminating, binding power over the blonde prince. It was the only noise in the clearing except for the harsh tones of Shooter and another man as they haggled over price some distance away. An obnoxious cackle made Wolfram turn his eyes up from the ground.

"Cheer up. You're only being sold into slavery." giggled Skinner, looking positively gleeful. It was rare to see him excited about anything. He toyed with a knife between frost-bitten fingers. Still smiling, he brought the point of the weapon to Wolfram's bare neck, slowly tracing patterns on the smooth skin.

"A pity." He breathed, shivering as if he could barely contain himself. "I wish we would have drawn sticks to see who'd get to do away with you." He spoke in a slow, sultry voice as he ran his knife blade across skin. "You see, had we done things my way, your delightful face and body would now be carved up by one of my sharp blades. You'd be my…greatest work of art." He crooned as if he were speaking to a precious pet; as if Wolfram could not understand what was being said. "If we'd done things Striker's way," the man chuckled here, "Well, you'd be on your knees choking on his inflated cock. How vulgar."

Wolfram had the urge to spit in the little man's face. A few months ago, he might have done just that. But now, Wolfram doubted if he could summon the strength or the saliva needed. Instead, he remained standing silently in his tired, feverish haze.

Only when Skinner held the knife tauntingly between his eyes, did Wolfram notice the symbol that adorned the handle. It was…strangely familiar.

White Crow?

"Where did you get that?!" asked Wolfram, feeling that his heart was once again beating.

"Ah beautiful, isn't she?" the Mazoku's mismatched eyes lit up in adoration. "But she's not mine, she's-"

"Please refrain from touching the merchandise." interrupted Shooter coldly as he approached. He shooed Skinner away with the wave of a hand so that the portly slaver could examine Wolfram with his greedy eyes. Wolfram's gaze never left the knife. Here it was; a clue to this mystery that he had tangled himself into and it was slipping away as fast as it had appeared.

"Wait just a damn secon-" Wolfram began, but he was silenced by a hand over his mouth. His next thoughts were those of indignation as foreign hands inspected his body roughly, pinching, prodding, and creeping into places that were exceptionally private.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" snarled Wolfram once his mouth was free. "Get your disgusting hands off of me." No one seemed to be listening. The slaver released Wolfram after a moment, leaving him feeling dirty and violated.

"Two-hundred." he said as he combed his mustache thoughtfully, continuing to stare at Wolfram although he was obviously speaking to Shooter.

"Two-hundred? I won't be settling for less than one-thousand."

"He's sick. That is a liability. Besides, look at those arms. I need men that can work." the slave trader replied.

"But look at his face. You cannot deny his beauty, even by Mazoku standards. The child will be just as good-looking." argued Shooter.

"Bah! I've been in this business too long to know not to take such a gamble. Five-hundred."

"Eight-hundred."

"Done."

Wolfram could barely contain his fury as the money passed under his nose. Apparently, this bag of coins was a man's worth. He was now officially property. "Can there be anything lower?" wondered Wolfram sardonically. And to think a few months ago he had married the king.

Perhaps the most bothersome thought to Wolfram was that he had known that this would happen. Ever since he had overheard their conversation that night, Wolfram had known that it was only a matter of time before they would throw him out. The smart thing to do would have been to run away, but instead he foolishly clung to his hope that his new friends had an ounce of decency in them. Their betrayal, although predicted, did not sting any less.

"It's no use getting yourself worked up over it." Shooter said, noticing Wolfram's animosity.

"The trafficking of Mazoku and/or humans is strictly prohibited within the borders of Shin Makoku and her territories." Wolfram recited angrily. As if these filth need reminding!

"An expert on Mazoku law now, are we?"

"You have no idea." Wolfram growled, his eyes darkening. The human had already turned his back on Wolfram and was walking away. "If I wasn't so goddamn pregnant you can bet your sorry ass that you'd be in a ditch somewhere with hungry wolves feasting upon your charred, rotting carcass!" shouted Wolfram viciously. The human stopped in his tracks.

"I don't doubt it." came the quiet reply followed by a small shudder. He resumed walking.

Wolfram was panting. Lately, breathing had become a bit difficult. He was sure his face must be flushed. His head was throbbing, his legs felt weak underneath him. He sent a glare at the only one of the trio left. Striker stepped forward. He didn't say anything, but his eyes betrayed his mixed emotions. He reached out his hand, as if to stroke Wolfram's face, but Wolfram turned away.

"You'll never understand how painful it is to be in your presence." said Striker. "You, a constant reminder of the life we all chose to cast aside, are causing us to feel things that we thought we'd buried long ago. I can't speak for all of us, but I know that I've come to care about you more than I ever thought I could and I've realized that…I don't want you to become like us."

"It is too late." said Wolfram, "From the start, my hands have been far more bloodstained than your own."

"Can I kiss you?"

"If it will make you feel heroic, then by all means, delude yourself."

Wolfram's next breath was cut off as foreign lips closed over his own. One hand wrapped around the small of his back and the other rested upon the bulge of his belly. Far too intimate a gesture for someone whom Wolfram would still call a stranger.

Wolfram had forgotten the warmth of another's touch. He closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to fall into someone's-anyone's-arms and ignore life altogether. He suppressed a shiver. A prince wasn't supposed to feel this way.

"Leave." commanded Wolfram when he opened his eyes. "May the next time we meet be in Hell."

But, as he watched the three of them depart, Wolfram quelled the urge to shout such things as "Wait! Don't go!" and "Please, take me with you!" but he was a man and he had his pride to keep. Not a sound left his mouth.

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

He was confined inside a small wagon with about ten others. Space was limited and the stench was near unbearable. There was very little light coming in from the outside. During the day, silhouettes could be made out, but at night things were pitch black.

The caravan that they were part of seemed to be heading towards the border. It was likely that they were traveling to a human country where Mazoku could be bought and sold legally. After a few days, however, Wolfram had lost track of their direction and, like the rest of the wagon's occupants, had succumbed to the overwhelming hopelessness and no longer cared about his destination.

Water and food were shoved through the door once a day. At first there were scuffles over food distribution as there was never quite enough to go around. Since he had not the energy to demand his portion, Wolfram was soon accustomed to constant, gnawing hunger and a permanent, unquenchable thirst. Wolfram was only able to watch as his fellow inmates turned more and more savage. As the journey took its toll, however, one by one spirits crumbled and existences that might have once been bright and intelligent were reduced to minds of identityless, domesticated animals.

One thing was certain; none of the other unfortunate souls aboard suffered as much discomfort as Wolfram, who was in the final stages of his pregnancy. He had once read that the changes the body undergoes for male Mazoku in their third trimester are painful, but he had never imagined that he'd actually be going through them. It made him dread all the more the pain that was still to come.

In addition, Wolfram could no longer ignore the fact that he was ill. Very ill. What he had thought only to be a simple cold had suddenly become much more dire. He suffered violent fits of coughing and chills that raked through his whole body despite his raging fever. He had never been so sick in his entire life, and it couldn't have come at a worse time.

Days or weeks could have passed but there was little need to keep track of time. Although their prison was dark, the others took notice of Wolfram's condition. No one seemed to have the will to talk anymore but it was an unspoken agreement that they allow Wolfram to sleep in the center where it was warmest.

There was a person; a person whose name, gender, and appearance Wolfram would never know, but who always remained close, often taking Wolfram's head onto his lap and stroking his hair gently during the other's fitful sleep. Sometimes the stranger would hum a sad melody with his soothing voice. Always with the same melody, lonesome and beautiful, that song would invade Wolfram's dreams.

Leaves from the vine, falling so slow

Like fragile tiny shells, drifting in the foam

Little soldier boy, come marching home

Brave soldier boy, come marching home

In the dark with no one around to see him or judge him, Wolfram allowed himself to cry. He wondered if he would die; if anyone would remember him…or if he would be gone from the world entirely. He sank deep into the chasm of sorrow with only his worst fears for company.

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

When the doors were finally thrown open, Wolfram did not follow the others outside. He might have not been capable of it, he might have not cared. Two men came in after a few minutes.

"This one's not going to make it." Wolfram was grabbed by the hair and forced to look into the face of the vile man who was responsible for his captivity. "Goddamn it!" the man swore. "I spent a fortune on this one too."

"Perhaps you should put a little more effort into their…housing and food." said the second man, looking at their surroundings in disgust. He was quite young, possibly the same age as Wolfram with long, brown hair pulled back and held by a ribbon.

"And what would a lowly healer know of good business?" The slaver demanded. "Shut up and tell me what to do about this." He gestured at Wolfram. The young healer sighed, setting down his bag and coming closer. Pale, green light was emitted from his palm as he touched his hand to Wolfram's chest and abdomen. His eyes were kind and his healing majutsu brought Wolfram's body a bit of relief.

"The bad news is the infection has settled deep in his lungs. I doubt he'll last another week." the healer concluded. "The good news is the child is still alive. If I were to induce labor, the fetus is to the point where it could survive on its own."

"Do it."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. I want it done now."

"He is too weak to give birth now." said the healer.

"He's nearly dead anyway. You can at least save part of my investment. That's what you're paid for." the slaver replied. "Now get to work and call me back in once this mess is over."

The healer turned back to Wolfram reluctantly. The hesitation in his eyes was clear and it became evident to Wolfram that he had never had to make a decision like this before. He began fumbling in his bag for something.

"Please… " Wolfram whispered. "Can you tell me your name?" He wondered if his weak voice was still discernible.

"I'm called Jonathan."

"Jonathan, am I going to die? I need…to know the truth."

"It is…most likely." There was silence for a moment. The desperate prince reached out and took hold of the healer's sleeve with filthy fingers.

"Then, will you grant me a dying wish?"

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Wolfram proceeded to give birth on the dirty, wooden floor, miles away from any of the luxuries he had grown up with. It was an excruciating experience, not at all like the sugar-coated version that parents were known for telling. Joy, happiness…what a complete joke. Instead, there was pain. There was fear. There was blood. There was a wish for death's comforting embrace.

Although during pregnancy Wolfram's body had gone through the necessary transformations to accommodate the birth of a child, the process is still twice as long and hard for a male in comparison to a female. And so, Wolfram's labor continued well into the following night accompanied with much struggle and agony.

When finally the screams of an infant in its first moments of life reached Wolfram's ears, it brought a smile to his lips. He had not the strength to lift his head and look upon the result of his months of hardship. Instead, he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift into the black unknown.

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

The royal courtyard was covered in patches of melting snow. The sun shone brightly overhead and a single Conrad stands upon the earth had poked its way through the thawing ground. A few brave birds twittered lightly in the trees.

Sparks flew as two long, metal swords clashed together. There, in a contest of strength, the winner was clear. The smaller swordsman was on the defensive. Slash, duck, parry. The two swordsmen were caught in an intricate dance. It wouldn't take a trained eye, however, to see that it was a very one-sided fight.

It wasn't long before the smaller swordsman's weapon went soaring out of his grasp.

"Pick it up." said Yuuri.

"I give up, Your Majesty." the blonde panted. "I know I'm not as good as him."

"Nowhere near, in fact. I don't know why you even bother." commented Yuuri as he sheathed his sword. Ralph collapsed in the courtyard's muddy snow, happy for a chance to get his breath back. "I'm going in." Yuuri muttered, already trekking back up to the castle.

The dining room was now a lonely place. The long table sat nearly empty with Gunter teaching most days at their prestigious military academy and Cheri back at sea. By this time, the young king was quite used to dining alone. In fact, he welcomed the solitude in which to brood over his numerous troubles and drown his sorrows in plenty of alcohol. Unfortunately a certain blonde had taken to pestering him at mealtimes.

"It's nearly spring, Your Majesty." mentioned Ralph. Yuuri already knew where the conversation was going.

"So?" grunted the king.

"Sir Voltaire had mentioned that he would be returning to the castle for a short period before the fighting resumes."

"Yeah." said Yuuri. Ralph scowled at Yuuri's lack of interest.

"So I was hoping that you could-"

"No."

"Well maybe we can just-"

"Not a chance." Yuuri drawled in a bored voice.

"Look!" Ralph pounded his fist on the table, knocking over his glass of wine. "What the hell am I supposed to tell Sir Voltaire when it's been months and still there is no hope for an heir? Like it or not, he left me a job to do, you know."

"It's funny when you try to act responsible." hiccupped Yuuri. "Did you rehearse that last night? Because you forgot about the part where I care. Now do me a favor and lick up that mess so Sangria doesn't have to clean it. Go on. Who knows, you might even give me an erection." For a moment, Yuuri saw something dangerous flash through those green eyes, but then it was gone as the boy sighed and leaned over the table.

"If such a thing might awaken your mighty penis, then I guess I have no choice." he spat. Yuuri watched as a pink tongue darted out and began to lap up the red liquid slowly. After a while he added soft, pleasurable moans which caused Yuuri to blush against his better judgment. He picked up his food laden plate and hurled it across the table where it shattered in front of the horny brat.

"You disgust me." Yuuri slurred. Ralph wiped his face clean with a napkin.

"It's bothering you again, isn't it?" he asked quietly. Before Yuuri could issue an angry retort, Dakauscas burst through the dining hall's doors.

"Your Majesty!" he shouted upon entering. He bowed before Yuuri and managed a stiff nod to Ralph before continuing. "A package has arrived for you, Your Majesty."

"Excellent!" boomed Yuuri, happy for the distraction. "Who's it from? Is it a gift?" A second guard entered the room carrying a box. Yuuri frowned after noticing that it was partially open.

"I cannot say, Your Majesty. The deliverer refused to show us his face, but he insisted that it was for the king's eyes only. It could be something dangerous so with your permission I would be happy to-"

"I will open it." asserted Ralph, taking the package into his arms and setting it on the table.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Dakauscas searched his pockets furiously. "The same guy gave me it…said you would know what it meant. Suspicious fellow, if you ask me. Ah here it is."

He held it up. Yuuri's eyes widened at once, for there, twirling slowly from Dakauscas's fingers was the blue pendant with the Wincott crest. The same one that he had imparted to Wolfram half a year ago. Yuuri reached out to take it when suddenly there was a gasp from Ralph.

"What the…hell?" the blonde whispered in disbelief as he peered into the box. Yuuri's stomach dropped. He suddenly understood.

"What is it?" the king asked anyway. When he wasn't answered he walked over and shoved Ralph to the side to have a look himself. His face softened instantly after seeing the sleeping infant. The tiny thing was wrapped heavily in blankets. Only the child's cherubic face and head covered in blonde fuzz were visible. Yuuri reached in and gently lifted the baby from its warm nest. The child stirred in its sleep, opening his eyes for a brief moment to study his new surroundings. Two cerulean orbs stared at Yuuri with wonder.

"I think congratulations are in order." said Yuuri as he slowly turned to face the others. "I give you…the royal heir."

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Please review! Extra points to the reviewer who can guess where the song is from :)