Chapter 6

Tra'va was no fool. The spirit stared deeply into Murata's eyes. He seemed so concerned, desperate to know what was to come. In the next few moments, sitting there together in the dark, he would definitely try to pry the information out by one means or another. For, if he could, the spirit knew, he would use all of his wisdom to create the best possible outcome for Yuuri. As his good friend and political advisor, he was compelled to do that. However, Tra'va's goals were different. Yuuri, even though he was king, was not even remotely as important as Wolfram was.

Looking into Murata's dark eyes, even now, brought back memories of another pair of equally dark eyes. The memories were etched as scars into Wolfram's soul.

Between gritted teeth, Wolfram said, "I can't believe I trusted you."

The look on Yuuri's face was innocent, wide-eyed, and confused. Either it was the best acting job in the world, or he really didn't think that what he was doing was wrong.

The doorknob found its way into Wolfram's hand and he turned it hard. He flung open the door and ran out, avoiding the two guards stationed in the hallway. They blinked at their Lord von Bielefeld running off like that, angry as hell with steam rising from his freshly bathed body almost dangerously.

A faint "Wolfram?" could be heard coming from the king's chambers. But no one answered him.

In bare feet, Wolfram ran with his head lowered, tears streaming down his blotched face. As weak as it was, he simply couldn't hold them back any longer. But if he could just make it a few more steps, he could take a quick left and sprint down to the middle of the next hallway to his room. That's where Yuuri wanted to banish him anyway, right? But, instead, he ran into something big, thick, and dark green. Then, he fell on his butt hard and skidded a bit on the stone floor.

"Ouch-ch-ch-ch…"

The blond tilted his face up to see what had stopped him.

Holy crap…It's Gwendal!

Wolfram's oldest brother, hands on his hips, frowned back at him. But, almost instantly, his face grew softer and more concerned.

"Wolfram?" He knelt down. "What happened?" Then, he eyed him closely. Wolfram, sitting in an undignified sprawl on the stone floor, was wearing only the thin, frilly pink nightie. "Why are you dressed like this? The halls are drafty and…" He never finished his sentence. Instead, he placed his hand on the side of Wolfram's face and smudged away the pearl of a cold tear, clinging to his cheek.

Gwendal stood up, trying to force back the mask of calm determination that he usually wore. He offered a hand to Wolfram, who took it reluctantly. It was embarrassing now, being caught like this by someone, maybe the worst possible "someone." It was weak. And, above all, Wolfram hated being weak. It only played into the "perfect, fragile doll" image that his mother and Uncle Waltorana wanted for him. How long had he been trying to fight that?

Gwendal cleared his throat, putting a fist up to his mouth. "Wolfram, please explain what…?"

Pity. That's what Wolfram saw now. It ate at him. Wolfram shook his blond head "no." Words failed him. If he said them out loud, then they'd be real. The situation would be real. And he didn't want it to be. There would be no place for him at the castle—in Yuuri's life—if he did. Unloved. Homeless.

Briefly, he thought about turning back, returning to the maou's bedroom, and living a lie. And why not? He'd been doing it for awhile now, not realizing how much things had changed. Maybe it was the kind of life he deserved as payment for all of the luxuries handed to him. "Love" just wouldn't be one of them.

Gwendal cast his eyes left and right in the hallway. "Let's go," he said gruffly, but the blond couldn't make himself move. It was like being a child again. But, unlike then, a hug from his brother wouldn't fix anything. No amount of affection from him would.

Gwendal fretted, looking around again. "Let's get you away from here before…"

"Oh, Gwendal!" Lady Cheri sing-songed, turning the corner and being greeted by Gwendal's back. She was bubbly and enthusiastic. "I really need you to have those repairs done to my yacht." She held up two glasses. "Come now, dear, we can discuss it over wine and…" Bouncy breasts leading the way, she edged past Gwendal only to see her youngest, Wolfram, standing in the hallway wearing only his nightgown.

She lowered the bottle of wine in her left hand and the long stemmed glasses in her right as she approached a clearly tear-stained Wolfram. "Did something…happen…tonight?" Parent that she was, no matter the age of her child, she worried about the worst. And many horrible scenarios were coming to mind. "Please, tell me what's the matter."

Gwendal stepped in between them. "I think this is a 'men's' discussion," Gwendal said authoritatively.

Lady Cheri tilted her head to one side, not really taking everything in.

Gwendal gave her that "Let me talk to him first" look. Then, she caught on.

"Wolfram?" he said, turning to his baby brother, "Since my room is right here we're going to get some bath things. You need a soak."

"But I've already had a bath tonight." He touched his still damp hair.

"Look at the bottom of your feet."

Wolfram lifted a foot and saw that his feet were smudged with fine, grainy dirt.

"And, then, there's your adorable bottom," Lady Cheri chimed in.

Wolfram glanced down. He had light dirt smudges on his butt from his brief slide on the floor.

"A second bath won't kill you." And that was the end of the discussion. Ten minutes later, Wolfram and Gwendal were in the special bath set aside for the castle administrators. It wasn't as big or as luxurious as Yuuri's. But it could still hold twenty people easily and with just as much steam floating around like little clouds.

Wolfram finished with his brief shower and walked over to the tub with a white towel wrapped around his waist. He sat on the edge and stuck his feet in—kicking the water a little.

"W-o-l-f-r-a-m," Gwendal said in an admonishing tone. It got a sound that could vaguely resemble a laugh. It had a note of nostalgia in it, and Gwendal almost smiled.

Dipping down to soak his broad shoulders inside the tub, Gwendal turned to Wolfram—indigo eyes regarded him. "So," he began, "where does it hurt?"

"It…umm…"

An eyebrow arched at him.

The blond took a shallow breath. "It's…Yuuri…"

"Obviously."

Wolfram tried to fold his arms on his chest, but only managed to hug himself. "I don't want to do this anymore."

Gwendal's face grew stern. He turned away slightly, grabbing a small bottled drink that smelled of yogurt and cherries. He held it in his hands, trying to convince himself that he wanted to drink it. But, he didn't. It just gave him something to do, a prop to hold, while he asked the question that had been burning in his mind since he'd run into his brother in the hallway. "Did Yuuri do something to you tonight?"

"In a way…" Wolfram's voice grew hollow. "But I don't want to talk about it. I can't."

Indigo eyes grew wide with rage. "I'll kill him!" He threw the bottled drink against the wall. It smashed into pieces and created a gloppy goo splat on the floor. The man sloshed water as he trudged his way out of the bath. "I don't care if he's the maou or not!"

Wolfram shoved his hands out, palms wide, to stop him. "No, Gwendal! That's not it. He didn't lay a finger on me."

Naked and dripping, the man looked at Wolfram with a feeling of confusion mixed with frustration.

The blond turned away.

"Like I said... He didn't lay a finger on me. But, that's just the problem. He never did…and never will." Wolfram tried to force a smile on his face to let his brother see that everything was fine. It was going to be okay. He'd make it okay. When the world began to look like rippling water, he continued to smile and closed his eyes. Small tears made shimmering paths down. Not brave enough to open them, he said, "Gwendal, I think I'm going to need your help. Please draw up annulment papers for me…and Yuuri. And, if possible, I'd like it in writing that I still have permission to be Greta's other father."

"Is this really what you want?"

The head lowered. With a shrug, "I don't see any other way out of this."

"I'm sorry, Wolfram," Gwendal said, padding over and then sitting next to his brother. He kicked his legs a little in the water. Then, he got a playful nudge from Wolfram for breaking his own "no splashing" rule.

"I couldn't make him love me. I tried…I really tried." He leaned against Gwendal's shoulder and fought back a sob.

"That's a lesson everyone has to learn on their own."

"So, what's wrong with me?" Wolfram sighed while standing up and then wandering over to his clothes. "I know that I'm beautiful. But, that isn't enough…apparently. I know that I'm brave and loyal. But those things don't matter to him because he's never been surrounded by advisors he didn't trust." The blond began to pull on the set of clothes that belonged to his brother. The borrowed clothes were much too big for him. But, if he tugged the pajama drawstring tight enough and tied the bathrobe around himself just right, it would be good enough. "I know that I'm loud and that everyone sees me as a brat. I tell Yuuri…no, I mean, 'Heika'…the truth. Maybe, too much of it. Maybe…that's why…I…?"

There was a hopeless glance that he threw at his brother—the kind that Gwendal would have done anything in his power to take away.

"I know that Yuuri's denied the engagement all along. I know that he's never wanted to discuss weddings or be any part of a discussion along those lines."

"So, he finally told you…in a way you could understand…that the two of you will never be married?" Gwendal decided that maybe this was for the best after all. It was about time Yuuri developed a vertebrae and explained this concept to his stubborn little brother in a way that was concrete, undeniable.

"In a way, he did," Wolfram said, wiping his face with the sleeve of the bathrobe. "I just wish that he had annulled it first, ordered me out of his life, and sent me away before…finding someone else."

"Now, I want to kill him all over again," Gwendal muttered bitterly.

For the first time that night, Wolfram really laughed. There were tears in his eyes when he did it, but he laughed just the same. "Me, too."

Trouble gave Murata a wry smile. "You're 'The Great Sage.' You have all the answers."

Murata's expression changed. Maybe, this would become a tug-of-war for information. Maybe not. Either way, if he wanted to know more, he would have to play along with this potential mind game. But, it had been awhile since he was challenged. And he wasn't sure if his 'win' would come easily enough. The Original Sage within him was curious, to say the least.

"I've lived a long time… You have, too. Do you have all the answers?"

A toothy grin from a Wolframish face greeted him. "I have learned from every host…every life. Thanks to Wolfram, I have learned a lot…especially about swordplay, battle strategies, training techniques, and Mazoku history."

"I had no idea that Wolfram was such a big fan of history." That part was true. He really didn't think that Wolfram was much more than a loud mouth and a pretty face.

"You'd be surprised about the real Wolfram."

Here we go. Murata leaned back in the chair a little and put his arms on the armrests. "Enlighten me."

Another quirked grin came his way.

Unnoticed by either of them, Yuuri stayed in the bed with the covers pulled up around his chin. He wanted to know, too, but worried about someone like Yozak or Conrad coming in for the night to sleep in the room with them. Trouble would certainly clam up if that happened.

"Let's see… Though he probably would never say so openly, a lot of his interest in history stems from his blood ties to two ancestors: A beautiful cross dresser named "Rufus" and The Original King…someone you know…quite…well."

Murata didn't know how to respond to that. But he was sure that Tra'va had phrased it that way on purpose.

"And I believe that this king…Shinou, is it?"

A nod came as a response.

"Shinou is the spirit that watches over you, sits on your shoulder, invades your dreams, and…sometimes…reads your thoughts, my daytime husband."

Murata's face fell at that. "He can read my thoughts?"

"Even with my own magic, all I have to do is touch you. I'll see what you see, feel what you feel, hear your thoughts, and so on."

Murata chewed his lip a little at that news. It would explain a lot regarding Shinou. And he would have to be much more guarded with him in the future considering what a prankster The Original King could be.

"And I know that there's a spark of fear in you…when you look at me."

Murata's eyes widened. "No, you're mistaken. I'm fairly amused by you." He did his best to put on the relaxed air that he always had with the spirit.

Wolfram's beautiful face smiled at him. "Not all of you…just a spark."

Murata scratched the side of his nose a little. "I suppose that it's just awkward having what looks like Lord von Bielefeld sitting in front of me without that disapproving frown he usually wears in my company. A Wolfram wearing boxers and black socks." His head tilted to one side. "The wings are a nice touch, but a little disconcerting at the same time."

Tra'va laughed in Wolfram's voice. "Would you like to see my true form?"

Murata thought about it. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know what the spirit looked like. Sure, he'd read the books on mythology. He had a fairly sketchy idea of what the flying foxes looked like. But, he wasn't sure if he would treat Tra'va the same way afterwards if he knew for sure.

In the bed, Yuuri leaned his chin up—curious. What did Trouble really look like? He wanted to know.

"But, if it makes you uncomfortable…" Wolfram's blond head shook a "no" while saying it.

"I'm fine with it," Murata said, ignoring the reservations that he had. This might get him closer to the spirit. He might figure out what Wolfram, Lady Cheri, and Gwendal had in store once Yuuri and Wolfram broke up for good.

The spirit folded arms across the chest slowly and tossed the head to one side, giving an impish grin.

"This is my true form."

Black and purple bands of light wrapped around Tra'va—making Wolfram's milky white features fade and another body take its place. The form grew several centimeters and the shoulders widened a bit. The waist narrowed with a navel that was slanted vertically. Straight red hair flowed down past the shoulders and onto the chest. The face seemed almost human but hinted at slightly narrowed features like an earth fox, slanted pinkish eyes, and mocha skin that went perfectly with leathery wings. Fat, wide breasts pressed out from behind the folded arms.

Murata's first thought was She's absolutely beautiful.

It's a girl! Yuuri's brain shouted. He couldn't breathe. What, the hell, was going on?

"So, was I what you expected?" came a voice that was dark and oozing with sex appeal.

"Pretty much," Murata confessed. "The males of your species have fur on the epaulettes." He patted his own shoulders. "You didn't. So, I knew for certain that you were female."

"Thanks a lot, Murata," Yuuri grumped to himself. "You could have shared that little piece of info."

"Yes, I'm a girl," the spirit chuckled, wide breasts practically jiggled over folded arms.

Murata was having a little difficulty not looking lower. His "husband" now turning out to be a "wife." He fought back a grin and asked, "So, being a woman, I suppose it's a little odd being in a male body."

There was a friendly shrug. "It's not the first time. Though, I prefer my own gender whenever possible. That's why I was going to take the maid at first." A slight giggle followed. "Now, being a guy…I've got that extra 'swing' in my step."

"I know what you mean," Murata said, "though I doubt that anyone other than us would be able to understand that."

"Agreed," Tra'va said, standing up and then sitting down directly into Murata's lap.

"I…uh…" His mind went blank.

In the bed, Yuuri tilted up his head to see better and got the shock of his life. In Murata's lap there was a woman, a very sexy woman, who was bare-breasted and wearing his boxers.

"Problem?" Tra'va asked as she lifted Murata's chin up with a taloned fingernail. "Am I too heavy for you? You can't handle it?"

"N-N-No…" His eyes were wide. He didn't dare look down, but his eyes seemed to be pulled in that direction anyway. This was very much a part of every male fantasy that he'd ever had.

"Oh, I see," she said and wrapped her arms around Murata's neck. "It's the spirit of that king. You're worried he'll see this as you cheating on him."

"No…our relationship was always…complicated. There's nothing…," Murata sputtered, worrying that he was lying somewhere in his heart and that Tra'va could read it instantly.

"Well, you don't belong to him right now or in the days to come," the woman whispered and wiggled a little in Murata's lap.

Murata bit his lip—hard. He was trying to be a good boy in spite of his pervy rep. He honestly was—even with the seductive little wiggles going on…that kept going on. Yuuri's in the room and the others could come in at any moment. Murata tensed up again when the slender arms tightened around his neck and the warm, fat breasts pressed against his collar. He was thinking of baseball, cold showers, andGünter pole dancing—anything.

There were gentle nips around the curve of his ear. Murata closed his eyes. The nibbles moved down to his neck. There was a hitch in his breathing when the material of his pajama top was pulled back to get better access to his collarbone. A warm tongue played seductively there.

"Tra'va?" he said quietly, the tone with an edge of panic.

Her angled face came into view, dangerously close to his lips. "I think you should kiss me."

The sage's jaw dropped and Trouble took advantage of it, cupping his face and bringing it up at just the right angle.

Soft lips pressed against Murata's mouth, urging him. When he didn't respond immediately, Tra'va tugged gently on his lower lip with white teeth. Murata, finally giving in, allowed his hands to go directly to Tra'va's waist and he pulled the slender body closer. The kiss deepened. And, hesitantly, Murata explored the sharp little fangs in the spirit's mouth with the tip of his tongue. At first, he worried that they'd be sharp and serrated like shark teeth. But, he was surprised to find out that they were only slightly sharper than human teeth. Tra'va chuckled in her throat before breaking the kiss. "Be careful doing that, my husband," she said in a low voice, "among my kind, it's an invitation…of sorts. Like this is…" The words were followed by another deep kiss against slick lips and a hand unbuttoning Murata's pajama top to run a finger along his chest in dizzying little spirals.

Murata's breathing hitched again and his hands grabbed at the waist with urgency, then moved up, fingers making soft trails. Tra'va extended her wings and wrapped them like a blanket around them both. Murata kissed her neck and then bit hard. She laughed at him devilishly.

Then, there was a brief knock at the door.

Conrad entered to see a very bored looking Wolfram and a very startled Murata sitting in front of the open window.

The breeze caught the curtain.

"Sorry," Tra'va said with a slight shrug. 'I couldn't sleep."