I fell asleep somehow. The heat was probably the main factor. Lying still while I slowly broiled was a good way to lose consciousness. It also seemed as though my mind just refused to process any more of my miserable reality. Faced with the prospect looming before me, my cowardly subconscious dragged me into sleep. But it was hardly an escape.

Dreams were never easy for me. To hear others talk, their dreams were laden with symbolism, multilayered plot progression, haunting and precise depictions of their daily concerns, sharp shadows that illuminated all their secrets and cares, and sometimes showed the way to true happiness.

Not Gwendal. My dreams always came confused and vague, misty most of the time. I often dreamed of Gunter, but the visions were either filthy and reprehensible (and so very lovely) or a stream of seemingly random images and snatches of his voice. It was the latter that I dreamed now, but he was distant. I stood on an empty plain surrounded y billowing, swirling fog. When I first fell asleep I could feel his beautifully soft fingers caressing me, fleetingly. Or it might have been a breath of wind that sent the mist to swirling. I didn't see him when I thought I felt his touch, and his voice seemed to be coming from everywhere when it came. I could see, though, a tall, slim form in flowing white somewhere ahead of me. I tried to catch up with my destined one, but as is the way of dreams I couldn't reach him, couldn't build any speed.

As I slept on he grew more and more distant. Those peculiar brushes of the wind that felt like his magic or his hands grew fainter and disappeared. Could he even touch me anymore? Or maybe he just didn't want to. Gunter's tuneful voice grew more and more distant, still directionless but ever fainter. The lovely pale figure ahead of me vanished into the fog and I caught only occasional glimpses. I could only struggle to keep up, hope I was going the right way. I was exhaustednot a physical feeling but a loss of will, a heaviness of spirit that pressed harder as I fought it. It was the feeling that holds you in place while the monster is in pursuit and you can't run. The feeling of total helplessness, of the whole world wanting you to give in.

But if I lost him, no power would be needed to hold me in place. I'd have no will to move anymore. So I fought. I recognized the ground I was running over now. My tactician's mind took it all in quietly. The earth under my feet (bare for some reason) was soft and cold, wet with the droplets of fog. I was surrounded by jutting boulders, mostly worn smooth by some unimaginable force, whatever had torn the bones of the land out of the earth. I was running too fast, though not as fast as Gunter. Eventually I'd bump into one. If I fell I'd never catch up with him.

But I wouldn't make such an error. This was home, after all. This was the cool, rich earth that I'd gloried in as a child and learned my own power from, the loam and clay under my feet, the jutting rock giants beside me. The heart of Voltaire lands. My heart.

There was a light to my right. A lifeless light, a tired glow that barely penetrated the fog, but it felt like the sun nonetheless. Threatening me with its wearying heat, mocking my nearly blind quest through the dense mists. And it was afternoon. Cruel as it was, that dim and distant sun told me I was headed south. Directly south of Voltaire lands, allowing for cutting through the Maou's territory and avoiding a bit of Karbelnikoff land that jutted out thanks to some forgotten battle, was Christ's country.

Alright, sometimes even my dreams made a little sense.

He was leaving me behind. How did he move with such speed? A tiger on four lithe legs would have been left in his wake. In spite of the mist and my hurry, somehow the dream showed me his footprints in the dirt just ahead. Thin and just a little knobby, with fragile heels that left the slightest, most delicate imprints, sharp toes that dug into the loamy soil, turning up fresh, cool earth.

I could barely make him out now. No matter how fast I ran, how nimbly I dodged and wove my way through the rocks, he was always a little faster. Far from catching up, I'd certainly be left alone soon, and we hadn't even reached Christ lands yet. How was I going to find him again in this mist if I wasn't even in his country? There'd be no one to help me catch up again.

And I wouldn't take any help. I'd reach him alone.

And to anyone who believed that, I had a bridge in Cavalcade I'd be willing to sell.

My own devices had failed me. Gunter was beyond my reach, and at this point I wouldn't even know how to ask for help, let alone accept it. Despair reached a vile crescendo. I could have sworn one of the rocks shifted into my path. Or my path shifted into the boulder. Who could tell in a dream? Either way as I gave up I toppled, landing in the dirt. It no longer felt wholesome and welcoming, my homeland's rich earth, but cold and filthy.

I pushed myself halfway back up, but on my hands and knees I ran out of even that much drive. He was gone. My tears felt hot and foreign on my cheeks. My mentor, my friend, my beloved… Gone along with everything else. My childhood. My hopes. Standards. Freedom.

Without meaning to I cried out for him. And suddenly a soothing, long-fingered hand rested on my shoulder. "You only had to call, Gwen."

No time for thought. And not much capacity for it either. I jumped up, spun, wrapped my arms around him. I couldn't see his face. That mocking sun was glaring off beads of mist, but it was my own Gunter, and that was what mattered. I felt his thick, sleek hair slide across my cheek, caught in a breeze that carried his lovely, seductive scent. He was mine. I tightened my grip and kissed him.

Just for a moment, it might as well have been real. Not that I knew the least bit about what kissing felt like, but that split second certainly satisfied my imagination. And then I was completely awake. There wasn't the least transition. I didn't even blink much. I was lying in bed twisted up in my sheets from tossing and turning. The room was so hot I felt sick. Stray strands of hair were sticking to my face.

Just how foolish had I to be to believe for a moment (again) that I had a hope of claiming my sweet Gunter? I set about disentangling myself from tightly wound sheets, blaming the wet, salty smudges around my eyes on sweat.

It was dark. Dinner was probably close to over. I wished someone had come to get me. It wouldn't do to look like I was trying to avoid my husband-to-be. I'd suggested we meet after dinner, but I should at least be putting in an appearance. Damn it, I had about three minutes to make myself look presentable…

When I finally got out of bed, I realized it wasn't as late as I'd thought. Rather than the dark of night, I was looking at thunderheads so heavy they thoroughly blocked out the sun. Not a drop of rain had fallen yet, and the air was so still, humid, and charged it was maddening. I opened the window and leaned out a ways, hoping for the rain. The world looked almost as dreamy as the landscape I'd just woken up from, every color somehow muted and unnaturally vibrant at the same time in the mad light that slipped through the clouds.

A bolt of lightening so close I thought I could feel its heat crackled just above me, and with the earthshaking thunderclap that followed the rain began to fall. All at once. A solid sheet of water from the sky. I left my head outside the window for moments, cooling off, feeling the wind pick up from a whisper to a howl in not more than a few seconds.

My hair was a bit damp when I pulled back inside, but however hard the rain had hit the soaking was rather superficial. I left the window wide open and headed for my wardrobe. The wind knocked papers off my desk, toppled my current attempt at a knitted tiger onto the floor between bed and dresser, tossed wet locks onto my cheeks where they stuck. The wildness of the storm was calming. The roaring wind was the voice of every scream I couldn't let out.

I looked through my clothes, trying to figure out what I should put on. I really didn't have any idea if I had anything becoming. I still hadn't gotten used to being anything but an awkwardly proportioned, slightly clumsy child, and I left fashion to people like mother who enjoyed it. And the thought of trying to look nice for my detestable fiancé was stomach turning.

As I eyed a linen shirt and deep green vest dubiously, there was a knock on the door. I froze for a moment. I'd wished for someone to come fetch me a moment before, but now I'd really rather be left alone, if only for another minute. Besides, it might not just be a servant or family member. What if he'd come to escort me? I didn't doubt Young Lord Dirk would want to lay immediate claim to anyone in his power.

I was saving Wolfram. "Yes?"

"May I come in, Gwendal?"

Gunter. Oh… For the first time I didn't want to see him, but only for a moment. "Yes, of course." I hurriedly replaced my clothes on the hook and turned.

His hair was up. It looked to have started in an elegant bun, but he must have run across the courtyard in the storm. Now it was wet and a bit lopsided and falling down. Locks of hair hung around his face in disarray. He was lovely in polished elegance, but this untidiness sent a shiver through me that I couldn't help. Disheveled he was a wilder angel, white tiger returned to his untamed woodland home. Usually I was content to drink him in with my eyes, but now…

The storm, the dream, and desperation no doubt contributed to the sudden impulse, but mostly I attributed my hunger to the sight of him in this odd confusion. I wanted to pull him to me and kiss him breathless, confess everything, explore that lovely smooth skin, run my fingers through his hair until it was even more a tangle, and ultimately ravish him. I actually felt my hands begin to move. My heart was pounding so hard my whole upper body reverberated; my ears and head beat along with it. I felt myself begin to flush, felt heat where I shouldn't have, and turned back to the wardrobe. Better that he watch my total ineptitude in choosing clothes than my ridiculous and absolutely filthy-minded response. "Hello, Gunter."

"Thank you."

That confused me a little. I looked back at him, an awkward movement as I was definitely afraid of turning all the way around until I'd calmed down a bit.

He met my eyes before I thought to lower my gaze. The soft, pearly lilac shade had an iridescence in the otherworldly, stormy light from the window, shimmering and even more opalescent than usual. Eyes to drown in. They were so soft now, welcoming but mournful. "I wouldn't have been able to make that sacrifice."

"For the country, my brother, every one of us…" I swallowed. I wanted to talk about it, wanted at least to hear that I'd done the right thing, to be thanked, but I didn't quite trust myself to discuss it. "It wasn't really hard, in the end. It doesn't seem to me that there's any other choice."

"It's certainly the best and easiest choice. For everyone but you." He pulled out my desk chair and sat. The rush of hot confusion had receded now and I felt up to talking, so I sat on the edge of my bed. Perhaps a little stiffly. "I can only imagine how you must feel…"

"Don't. It can't be pleasant." Even in imagination he shouldn't have to suffer. "I'll do what I must. Learn to live with it. And it'll at least put me in a position to mediate." With Gunter in the room, shining beacon, hopes personified, everything I'd lost, I couldn't quite accept my fate. Not now. My voice cracked on that last word and I was covering my face in my hands, trying to shut it all out.

I felt his weight settle beside me. His soft hand on my shoulder. I was going to cry. He'd never have been mine, perhaps, but I was cut off so completely now. If it weren't for him I'd certainly have been unhappy, but I could have accepted this unpleasant development. After all, there were ways around everything. Except forever being denied my love.

"He's a brute, Gwendal. I feel awful. We're throwing you to the wolves to save our skins. I only wanted you to know at least… I'm grateful." He paused for a long moment. He was just going to make me cry. I'd never expected to wish Gunter away! I needed to steel myself. Alone. Dreaming of him was safer than his really being there.

"It's good to hear." My voice was not allowed to tremble. Even to my ears it sounded dead. Hollow. Lost. But better that than on the edge of tears.

"Don't give up hope, Gwendal. He's a lout, perhaps, but he's still younger than you are. He may improve. You may improve him! Teach him manners and conscience. I'm sure there are worse prospects with whom to go through life." I couldn't bring myself to answer. He surely meant well, but when Gunter's voice was so deadpan the emptiness of the words echoed all the louder. At least he meant for me to feel better. "Gwendal, there wasn't… someone else, was there? Someone you'd have preferred to marry?"

I winced and froze halfway, every muscle suddenly rigidly tense. There was no question what answer I'd give, of course, but giving it caused me plenty of pain nonetheless. "No. Of course not."

"That's not an of course at all, Gwendal." I wasn't sure if he believed me or not. "A handsome, young, noble war hero? Don't tell me candidates aren't tripping over themselves to reach you. Ah, but you're too moral and dutiful." He smiled at me. Or I thought I heard a smile in his voice. I didn't trust myself to look at him.

I wanted this conversation quickly derailed. "You sound as though that's something foreign. A little ironic with you speaking. Do you need a receiving line outside your manor house to handle the prospective paramours?" An edge of bitterness? Maybe. Such would have been hard to avoid. But I was also honestly curious. I'd never had a chance to outright ask about his romantic inclinations before. Who wouldn't be falling over themselves for Gunter? His beauty alone was beyond what belonged to gender or even mortals, something divine.

"Some of us are meant to be lonely souls, Gwendal. But I wouldn't count you one of us. You've got more to offer." He patted my back gently. "At least you won't be sacrificing a marriage you wanted, Gwen. But I won't pretend you should be happy. If you need help, you know to come to me."

Lonely soul. That sounded just right for me. My heart was obscured in a rime of ice that would melt only for my younger brothers or Gunter. The former two wouldn't need me much longer. The latter was gone (and also annoying me just a little at the moment.) Gunter, however, shouldn't be let to be lonely. He deserved better. He deserved devoted love.

But that wasn't really what had my attention. He didn't want to discuss this with me. I'd been hoping he might open up, tell me a secret or two that was his, not his ideals'. But I was not invited in. Because he was a lonely soul or because I wasn't worthy I didn't know.

I was hurt. Couldn't help that. It stung worse than hearing my lie from Gunter's lips, disavowing the love that could never be embraced. And however hard I tried to excuse him, I was irked. Gunter was saying quite the wrong things to comfort me, and while in some part it wasn't his fault, I couldn't imagine anyone in my circumstances being consoled by such awkward optimism.

He wasn't perfect, was he? There was more to his weaknesses than that charming clumsiness. After so many years admiring every move I imagined him making, the realization came as something of a shock. His ideals, admirable as they were, were born of naivety. One might even say foolishness. He was flighty. He was too trusting. He had to keep the whole world at arms' length, fleeing its ugliness so he could cling to his belief in fundamental goodness. So much a paragon of talent and virtue, he didn't know how to be a real person. My brave, righteous Gunter was really a bit of a flake. An emotional wreck. In denial, trying to escape an awful past, hoping to craft a future where everything that he'd lost would be found again, unable to embrace or even reluctantly accept the world he had.

I felt terrible for entertaining such thoughts, but the floodgate was open. I closed my eyes, lost in a sort of cold bitterness, the insight hitting suddenly and brutally that my love was not an angel beyond my grasp but just one more soul blundering through the world.

Perhaps a fallen angel, a lonely angel. When I opened my eyes again, the bitterness was gone. Hero worship was gone too, for the most part. I'd never stop admiring his military career, his courage, gentleness, skill in magic, academics, and swordsmanship. But I loved a man, not an ideal. The moment I spent realizing Gunter had his faults I also spent growing up, and my love for him grew with me. Deepened. Strengthened.

I straightened. He shouldn't have to worry about me. Gunter had plenty to worry about on his own. "I'm sure he'll learn. There's no reason the boy can't become a reasonably tolerable helpmate in time. And the only way I'd ever marry would be for the sake of a situation like this one, anyway."

I sounded cold even to myself. Yes, marriage among aristocrats was generally a monetary and political affair more than an affair of the heart, but to say it so bluntly was crass.

"You're an old soul, Gwen. It's hard to remember I'm meant to be the mature one. I do wish you'd allow yourself a few pleasures of youth. Discipline, sacrifice, and duty are all well and good, but…" He trailed off. I had a sense Gunter knew no more of what the pleasures of youth were meant to be than I did. "Well, in a marriage like this one, no one would really demand or even expect fidelity…"

Gunter blushed as he spoke. I stared for a moment. That was the kind of thing I expected to hear from Anissina. "Why… do you feel the need to take such interest in my… recreation?" At least I didn't sound so cold. I could almost forget the wedding in my embarrassment, a resurgence of what I'd felt when I first saw Gunter in his state of damp dishevelment.

Oh, and that loveliness hadn't lessened in the least… Far from it. Now that he'd dried off a little he seemed even more becomingly tousled. Oh, my imagination needed to be kept under a much tighter reign. At least I had an excuse to be blushing this time.

He sighed, looking almost as uncomfortable as I felt. There was even a little bit of a blush. "That wasn't handled well, was it? You remind me of myself, Gwendal, and I'd like to see you turn out a bit happier. That's all. Something I've never been good at working out…" He was dithering just a little, and twisting a handkerchief nervously in his hands.

"Reminding anyone of you is quite a compliment." I thought that was safe to say. What wouldn't I have given to be like him, to have such beauty and skill. Then I might deserve him. "Try to worry less, Gunter. I'm happy enough. And there are worse fates than a political marriage." It was flattering to know he worried.

"I'll try. Poor enough at running my own life as I am, I should at all costs stay out of another's, hmm? But it's hard not to be concerned over a friend." He smiled, still looking a little awkward. Poor Gunter. He meant well. And he was just so cute, untidy and awkward, uncertain as Conrart at his dancing lessons. My Gunter was fragile. Even if I couldn't be his lover, I'd stay by his side. I'd protect him. Whenever marriage didn't demand my attention…

"I appreciate the concern. But it is needless."

"I wouldn't say entirely needless. But I did come to see you for another reason." He collected himself rather quickly. "This has been a trying day and you're still injured. If you make yourself ill it'll be the worse for us all."

"Oh." If there was anything in Shin Makoku that could really cheer me up, it was being worked on by Gunter. He seemed to expect opposition, but I nodded obediently.

"Thank you. I was feeling a little sick." Of everything.

"We'll fix that. Your injuries will be healing on their own pretty well by now, but we need to look after that knock on your head carefully, of course, and general healing energies will aid in your natural recovery. Lie down."

Gunter didn't heal like a doctor, I realized. He wasn't trained to be a healing witch. He had talent, honed mostly likely on the battlefield, but he lacked the meticulous, businesslike approach I knew in every professional healer I'd seen. He worked in sweeps, grandiose movements and outpourings of power, gentle nudges toward what needed healing but a general suffusing of his patient with his magic. That was why it felt so achingly wonderful. I was drowning in Gunter's power, Gunter's essence. I was glad he'd had me lie on my stomach. My responses, from shy, timid smile to the too familiar stirrings of insistent, electrical heat, we easily hidden.

His hands rested on my shoulders when he finished. Oh, divine favor. If that moment could have lasted eternity I'd have found heaven. I wished dinner weren't getting close. Gunter's concern, for the time being, was mine to milk for all it was worth. His sweet sympathy was mine. Manipulative, unforgivably selfish, and whorish it might have been, but I could no more give up his attentions than breathing. These little crumbs of happiness were all I could have henceforth. I'd treasure them.

"Gwendal, what do you do to yourself? There are knots like ropes in your shoulders." I felt his fingers tighten. "This almost feels like bone."

"Er…" Probably came of spending most of my free time hunched over books or work in my study. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to apologize for the state of my musculature or be offended.

I heard a thin sigh. "I'll fix it." And suddenly those thin fingers were digging into my flesh with more strength than I could have imagined. As I got used to that unique sort of pain, the deep, flat, somehow pleasant jab of a very solid massage, I went from mere startlement to absolute mortification. As much as our dance this was the stuff of my dreams. Admittedly, in the dreams there were less clothes, more scented oil, maybe candles, a bath or waiting silk sheets… No! Bad imagination! I was such a miserable lecher…

"You really must take better care of yourself. I don't know what we'd do without you at this point." His fingers dug harder into my shoulders. Deep, hard, penetrating… There I went again. I suppose it was no surprise that it was hard to keep my mind out of the gutter with Gunter's hands sliding over me in pure and perfect innocence. Damn innocence.

Maybe if I kept talking I'd be able to stop thinking. "You're very good at this."

"It was one way I could be of use to my soldiers. As a matter of fact, I learned from your mother. So that I could practice on her of course." He chuckled a bit. "At least you'll be loosened up for coming along to practice in a day or two."

I'd forgotten about that. Gunter's training. I smiled to myself just a little guiltily. Sure, I'd been dubious, but now I'd throw all I had into this effort of his. An excuse to spend hours with him, helping him plan his classes, seeing him teach, receiving some of his precious instruction myself… I'd become a swordsman for him. And no one, not my damn fiancé or his family or mine, could object to my devotion to improving my martial and tactical skill. Who knew when another war would break out? Who else was there to properly advise Mother should conflict arise?

"I'll be preparing. Do you want me to start teaching right away, or—" My voice cut off dead as his hands slid up under my shirt.

"Gwen?"

"Er, your hands are cold."

"Sorry. But your back is as bad as your shoulders." Just a little hint of a laugh in his voice. I was being teased, and I loved it. He was so gentle with me. Though it was hard to think of anyone as gentle whose knuckles were burying themselves in knots of muscle. We bantered back and forth and I kept my fantasies mostly at bay, and far too soon he was satisfied.

"There. You'll be much more comfortable." He patted my shoulder. "Better get dressed for dinner. That looks very… slept in."

"Right." I did feel wonderful as I got up. Between healing, massage, and Gunter the world could not have been more right. As long as I didn't step outside the magic circle around us and return to reality. "I suppose I ought to dress up a little." I sat up slowly, still seeing the occasional star.

"It wouldn't hurt. Hmm, what do you have?" He glanced at my open wardrobe, walked over, and poked through what was hanging there. He must have read my quiet call for help. "Just a step or two up from ordinary. Going in formal clothes would be entirely too much. You'll suffocate in a dress jacket in this weather." He smiled a little mockingly at me. I wished heat wouldn't render me so entirely pathetic. "However, the half cloak might do. The clasp on it is very plain. But I suppose that suits you." I stopped listening, as I'd ceased to absorb much of anything. I just let his voice wash over me and watched his lips move, his hair tossed about by the stormy breeze from the window, the ghostly, beautiful effect of lightening flashes on his pale skin and silvery hair. "Here." I was suddenly handed a pile of clothes. "That will do. I'll see you at dinner, Gwendal." He paused. "And thank you again, my friend. On behalf of everyone who won't say a word of it. And myself." He actually bowed slightly to me. Misguided as his attempts to cheer me had been, there was only sincere sentiment behind it. I felt myself melt a bit and smiled as he turned to go.

Before I dressed, I leaned out the window again for a long moment. The rain had calmed down but the air was still electric. Fading fast. With the storm I'd been strong. With luck, between Gunter's support and any residual electric vigor I could draw from the air, I'd make it through dinner.

It didn't seem so bad now. I wouldn't lose Gunter's friendship. I'd see him every day. I could even make my residence at court essentially permanent. I'd miss home, but frankly home wouldn't be the same with that irritating brat around. He'd likely lose interest in me in a few years, though. Oh, this marriage would never be less than a thorn in my side, but it didn't have to defeat me. It didn't have to take away my Gunter.

I brushed my hair and tied it back. It was a little uneven and the ends had some scorched pieces hanging on. I should have someone fix it for me. Maybe Gunter would. I smiled to myself like a scheming schoolgirl. If he was going to be such an attentive, concerned friend anyway, was it so reprehensible to use the opportunity to steal a soft caress or two? It meant nothing to him and everything to me…

Yes, I'd ask Gunter to fix my hair. But there wasn't time. I saw a dark blue sky through the gaps between the clouds. By wrapping my hair up into a sort of loose bun it hid the frizzy and blackened tips. And kept it off my neck a little, which was nice. Even I could tell that the outfit Gunter had picked for me looked… nice. I'd never be able to describe myself with a more enthusiastic adjective, certainly not visually. I eyed myself dubiously in the mirror.

Why on earth had I caught Dirk's eye, if indeed I had? I was such a drab specimen. Mother unabashedly called me the plain one in the family. I'd never cared until Gunter's loveliness began to torment me. I didn't care much now. But why? He apparently felt he had his pick of all the prettiest housemaids. Why me? I glared at the mirror and hurried downstairs. Whenever I thought to much my bleak depression returned.

Both Lord Rocheforts were at the table. I sat beside my fiancé as nonchalantly as I could manage. He smiled at me. A very predatory smile. I felt like a mouse under the eye of a sheep. And not a manju in sight.

Fortunately, before he said anything to me, a maid walked into the room with a letter she handed to my mother. She was the redhead I'd rescued. Presumably a little behind on the castle gossip, she sniffed primly as she passed Dirk and smiled at me. Mother read the letter quickly. As she began she didn't even stop her conversation with Evert, smiling and nodding offhandedly. As her eyes slid down the paper, her face fell gradually. She was frowning by the time she folded the letter back up, an expression I'd almost never seen.

She looked more distressed than she had at the prospect of selling her youngest son into captivity. "Oh, dear."

"What's the news?" Stoffel asked, looking miffed that he had to take his attention away from being exceedingly smug.

"There've been cases of Grey Plague reported in several cities along the border."

There was silence. Some faces looked stunned, some almost unconcerned. Wolfram and Giesela just looked confused. I envied them the innocence. Was no one going to say anything? Gunter was looking stunned, so I suppose the only other responsible one in the room had to be… me. "Port towns?"

"Er, I think one of them is on the coast…"

"Close the harbor immediately." There hadn't been a real outbreak of plague since before I was born. Small ones, but they'd all been contained in time. If this had already spread to multiple towns, we might be beyond the help of quarantine. Another epidemic. I snatched the letter from Mother's hands, forgetting politeness. I knew more geography than she did.

Two of the cities mentioned were on the shore. And one was far from all the others. "The towns struck are all close together… except the port town. It's already been on a ship." And it'd be almost impossible to find out which one. The letter was dated from yesterday. It might not be too late. Might. "If we shut down all exports from both cities as of now and get the navy out to make sure no one leaves illegally… Small, fast ships. Or we'll have blockade runners. And the regular army will probably need to be dispatched to watch the land routes. Those who run from the disease will bring it with them." If it were contained, if the healers could concentrate their efforts on the towns already hit, then casualties would be minimal. The illness was powerful enough to weaken a healer considerably, but with a manageable number of cases it could still be combated. I began to pace, trying to remember all I could of the last plague. This was a bit of non-military history I did know. Morbid fascination. That, and the military had been forced to become far more involved than one would like by the end.

"Don't be foolish, Voltaire." Evert scoffed openly, though at least he'd stopped pretending to be on a filial first-name basis. "Breburg is one of the country's most important ports. You know what you'd be doing to shippers and merchants all over Shin Makoku?"

"Let me guess. You're expecting a ship." I whirled on him. My fury from earlier in the day, hatred that went back to the beginning of his illicit courtship of my mother, flared all at once, stoked by this new, despicable spark. "You loathsome little insect. Do you know what the death toll was from the last major Grey Plague epidemic."

Oh, I'd wounded his pride. Wolfram was staring at me in horror, Conrart in open approval. Evert himself was seething. "I spend less time pouring over the contents of your hermit father's library than you. You'll have to enlighten me, Gwen."

"Five and a half million. Verified. Mazoku. There are no available numbers for humans. The entire population of Shin Makoku, if you don't know that either, is only thirty-five million, including both us and the humans."

"Gwendal's right. If we don't move immediately, it'll spread like wildfire." Finally Gunter had collected himself. He stood up as well. "I'm sure it will damage the economy far more if we lose a quarter of our people." He looked at me. "I'm not sure we need to immediately throw in the army, Gwendal. That may spark panic more than suppress it."

"As long as panic stays where it is, it stills cuts our losses." He looked like I'd slapped him. Then kicked a puppy in front of him. I wished I could take it back, but I wasn't Gunter. I might mourn any lives lost, but in a choice between saving few or many, my course of action was obvious.

But of course, it wasn't my course of action. It was Mother's. She looked as severe as she knew how as she also drew herself up. "Well, all my advisors seem to be here, don't they? I've had three votes. What are the others?"

"I'd have to agree with your son, Your Majesty," volunteered Lord Rochefort. I was glad he was being sensible, but funny. I didn't know he'd received an invitation onto the council. I was about to make a sarcastic remark to that effect when I realized he might actually have one. With Evert around, nothing was certain.

"Gwendal's right," Conrart said. I assumed that came more of confidence in me than any newfound flair for persuasion. Wolfram glared at him and then stared determinedly at his plate, clearly afraid of his father. Or maybe of me. I wished I could spare him this, but his father was a bastard. I'd never been fond of Lord Weller. At the time, he'd disgusted me wholly. But compared to Wolfram's father the human had been a saint.

Stoffel looked torn. He wasn't the wily merchant that Lord Bielefeld was, but he did approve of money and didn't approve of defensive tactics much. He probably saw steeling ourselves against a plague outbreak as a weakness. "It'd… be rash to shut down two ports, especially when one is so major."

I could have screamed. I'd have liked to shake him. Even with three voices against them, Mother wouldn't oppose her husband and brother together, not when she'd already handed the two of them most of the Maou's power, not when the alternative was taking responsibility herself. Oh Shinou, why Cecilie Von Spitzberg?

"Gwendal, how many did you say died?" Mother's voice was a bit shaky.

"Officially five and a half million. Maybe as much as seven between humans and unreported deaths." My voice was hard. Apparently that mattered far less than Evert's shipment of whatever it happened to be.

"Close the ports."

I certainly wasn't the only one shocked to hear it, but I did relish the surprise of Evert and Stoffel. So Mother wasn't going to be a puppet after all. Or at least not in this. I could have hugged her.

Gunter bowed. "I'll have orders dispatched immediately, Your Majesty. If we use the Flybone Tribe as messengers the quarantines will be enacted by morning."

I only hoped that was enough time. I smiled gratefully to Gunter as he left. He smiled back. Not very warmly. I'd certainly not impressed him. And despite my victory, Gunter's disapproval left me with the sensation of having been stabbed in the gut with an icicle. I'd have to apologize, but in the end… Well, in the end I couldn't really say I was sorry. I sighed.

We finally got to eat. I pretended a lot more interest than I felt in dinner. Meals were a little less opulent than our first night, but not much. It was still all much too heavy for this heat. It wasn't even raining anymore, and the air was quickly returning to being heavy and still. And I was supposed to be eating roast beef drowning in gravy, russet potatoes full of sour cream and cheese, and drinking sweet wine? Had I not had Dirk Von Rochefort at my side I'd have stuck with the asparagus and some bread with water and left in about ten minutes. As it was, I choked the affluent mess down.

When Gunter returned I was even more determined to hide in my plate. I didn't even look up. I didn't want to know how upset he was with me. Had I lost my ally after all.

It was the first time I'd finished a plate since arriving at the castle and I felt a little queasy as dessert was brought. The mere idea of cheesecake was anathema. I stuck to coffee, and coffee was no defense.

"So, did you want to go off and get to know each other a bit?" Dirk asked me with a gruesome jollity. I cringed inwardly but nodded. Better to get it over with.

"Well, of course." I set my cup down and stood. So did he.

"Ah, and just to make things official." I had no idea what he meant until he slapped me.

The slap is one of the oldest and most storied traditions of Shin Makoku, and in the minds of most about the silliest. Anissina had told me that it sprang from the days when marriages were won through real combat, and only once the one proposing could conquer whomever they meant to make a husband or wife of could a wedding take place. That was the sort of thing Anissina read up on. Now it was merely a formality, tolerated and smiled at a bit. In some ways a measure of how bold a lover was going to be. Doing it, for instance, at a crowded dinner table with a captive audience was proof of seriousness. But it was just a tap. That was the main thing. Just a little pat.

He'd hit me as hard as he could. Something in his eyes told me to steel myself a moment before, and I braced for impact just in time. He didn't knock me over, didn't even turn my head appreciatively. It wasn't even too loud. I didn't think anyone could tell.

Which was probably better for him than for me, but all I'd gain from sympathy would be more of his animosity. It wouldn't change anything for the whole room to know I'd just been wronged. So I took that one, and met his eyes without missing a beat. "Shall we? I think there's a sitting room just down the hall."

"Sure." He hooked my arm in his. I just rolled my eyes at that. By comparison, this childish possessiveness was harmless. I was going to have to learn all over again to deal with a spoiled brat, just when I'd figured Wolfram was grown out of it. And when I had the plague to worry about, the prospect was doubly distressing. What a little pest he was.

The room was large, but somehow cozy, decorated in dark wood paneling, full of leather armchairs, and dominated by a huge brick fireplace. There was something comforting about it, and I took the chair where the fire would be nearest, were it lit. I didn't like to play these little games to reassure and amuse myself, but it was that or become afraid of him. And if I was cowed by my fiancé, I'd be reduced to the perfect pawn. Forever. "I hadn't realized you found me at all appealing. Your father surprised me." Icy politeness seemed the way to go.

"It's the hair. The rest of you… Could take or leave. It's not a bad face, but really doesn't register." He put his feet up on the table, clearly relishing being as rude as he liked, me powerless to stop it. These pitiful attacks on me were probably at his father's bidding. He badly timed, overacted insults lowered my opinion of him, not myself. "But even a single black is rare."

Enough that on first meeting people usually checked my eyes and then looked disappointed. Attacking my looks was entirely the wrong way to go, so I hoped he'd stay on this track. I could pretty easily ignore him. "I hope you'll learn to endure having only half a good omen for a husband." My tone stayed icy.

"Doesn't matter a lot once the lights are out." He shrugged. I tried to ignore him, but he was leering at me. And much more than being called plain, the look made me uncomfortable. He wouldn't dare suggest… Oh, yes he would. I knew full well no one really bothered with celibacy before marriage. I wouldn't myself if there was a remote chance of Gunter coming to my bed. But insisting on being moral was my only hope of avoiding him as long as I could.

I didn't have to feign offense. I was just offended by him more than his very thinly veiled suggestion. He even winked at me. Not a subtle negotiator. What, I'd lost him his night with the terrified maid and now I owed him that much back? It was too easy, and too depressing, to realize how his mind worked. "I wouldn't know."

"Oh, don't tell me you're a virgin." I grimaced. Couldn't help it. He got out of his chair. "You are, aren't you? Oh… Wow. Aw, you're not that ugly." He touched my cheek. The one he hadn't smacked. I shoved his hand away. In this I could afford to be less than polite.

"My hope was that we could get to know each other a bit better in what time we have." I swallowed. He was still too close, even if he wasn't touching me. "If yours was to get me to sleep with you the moment our engagement became official, I have very little to say to you. You may wait for the wedding night."

I got up to leave. I didn't have to take this. I'd marry him. In the meantime I'd have nothing to do with him. How he'd come to believe that slap in the face gave him free access to my bedroom should be taken up with his parents, but as far as I was concerned he was beyond reclamation. I'd be polite in public, but if he thought his clumsy attempt at bullying me into compliance was getting him anyway, he had some thinking to do. With me on the other end of the castle.

"Bed? Be a little more creative." Hand on my cheek again. I grabbed his wrist and twisted it away. He didn't fight me, at least. "Alright, you're cute enough. And you're fiery. I like that. We're going to be married in a few months. If you're a virgin, I get why you're a little scared, but I'll be gentle." I kept glaring at him. It didn't seem to be working. "Why wait?"

Suddenly his wrist was free of my grip. Damn. He was fast as well as strong. I stepped deliberately away. "A sense of decorum and a dislike of being coerced." I was leaving! "I've demonstrated contempt for your habits enough. I'm sure I can learn to tolerate you. But if this is going to be the substance of discourse, I'll see you in mixed company and nowhere else, thank you."

I spun on my heel and made for the door, but he caught my shoulder and spun me back around. He was a martial artist. An accomplished one a knack for manipulating joints and balance. I noted this with calm detachment, ready to hit him again as soon as my feet were firmly planted. He was getting a husband and not a whore, and he'd have to learn that.

But before I was sure enough of my balance to give him a firmer rebuff, he was kissing me. Nothing like my dreams, cool, delicate, searching lips, Gunter's smell and sweetness all around me, but an invasive, vile theft of the kiss I'd been prepared to save all my life for him. He only held me in it for a moment before I shoved him back with all the strength I could. Still unbalanced myself I stumbled a bit. Bigger than me and better used to this sort of thing, no doubt, he only staggered about two steps before righting himself.

"Eventually you'll have to learn some manners as well," I spat, not bothering with coldness anymore. I was angry. I felt dirty. I wanted to flee and cry, but I couldn't and settled for nearly shouting instead. "You animal. No wonder your father needed quite the ploy to find someone to marry you."

"Shut up." He pushed me. Not just a careless shove, but a careful application of his palm to my shoulder and his ankle hooking mine, toppling me over the arm and into the seat of the nearest armchair. A rough, rather painful landing. My spine seemed displeased by its impact with the little metal tacks arranged decoratively on the arm of the thing.

I was just confused now. Forcing a kiss on me (oh, Shinou, he'd taken that first kiss from me…) I understood. He was a lout. That was all there was to understand. And that first slap was retaliation. And a test. This was just violence. If he thought he'd get away with hitting me regularly…

Wait. He could, couldn't he? To whom would I appeal? The repercussions of canceling our marriage remained. I'd just have to learn from Gunter to hit back. He'd stop eventually if I didn't just take it. I was about to stand up and push back, just to let him know I wouldn't be a compliant abused hostage, when he knelt on the edge of the chair and kissed me again.

And what to do about this? Might he decide to ask his father to undo the contract if I didn't comply? His hands were already wandering. And what was I to do? Complain that my fiancé kissed me? Touched… Oh, God… Was he determined to ruin my dreams of Gunter? I was scared now. He could keep me here. I was nothing like a physical match for him, and he had me in the Gwendal trap he'd borrowed from Daddy. I tried to think of Gunter, but the idea of ever associating him with this treatment made me recoil.

It was his hand sliding up under my shirt that drew a strangled little sob from me. His searching hands were hot and dry, his mouth repulsive. He could and would make me his hostage and whore.

But not yet. I was selling myself for the others' sake when I wed, not before. Not yet, damn it! I managed to get my hand into his hair and tightened my grip right at the top of his head, one thing I did know about fighting. I twisted his head back and made him let go of me to stop from falling. In that moment I bolted.

The hallways was empty. Maybe they were all still having coffee. Or had left we two lovebirds alone. Or Rochefort had orchestrated it. I suspected His Lordship of telling his son to put me in my place. How much I should hate him depended on how free Dirk had been with those instructions.

But that I'd think on later. I didn't think he'd come after me where he might be spotted. I ran upstairs, ignoring the pain in my not-quite-healed legs, anyone who might be confused by my dash. I slammed my door behind me and fell onto the bed, and finally let myself cry.

He might not have really done much to me. A few stolen kisses, roaming hands mostly through clothes, and pushing me into an armchair. Didn't sound like much in the way of charges. But I felt plenty violated. Plenty dirty. And above all helpless. The world's too much for me, Gunter. I'm not ready. I can't play this game. I'm a kid in the end. Please come and save me. The plea was whispered to my pillow while I clutched the fragile, aged handkerchief. I couldn't really tell him. Shouldn't be soiling his innocent ears with such filth, burdening him with what couldn't be changed. But around him that ideal world he wanted seemed to possible… A world where I wouldn't be trapped this way.

There was a knock. I froze, horrified. "Gwendal? Are you back yet? Impressions?" Gunter. All I had to do was call. How had he known I needed him?

A nice moment of fantasy, but I didn't want to explain to him or for him to see the wreck I was. I sat up to tell him I wasn't feeling well, that I was changing, any lie that came to mind to at least give me a minute to collect myself.

But he'd let himself in. "Think you'll be able to—Gwendal!" He looked casually sympathetic as he stepped into the room, but the moment he met my eyes he blanched visibly. Without another word he walked to the cabinet containing a bottle of brandy and a few cups (standard issue in a castle room) and set a very full glass before me, pressed his fingers to my bruised cheek with an immediate infusion of healing, and sat beside me. "Gwendal, what did he do to you?"

"Nothing. I mean… He didn't actually…" It must have been written all over my face. "Nothing happened. But only because I didn't quite let it." I downed the liquor at a gulp. I wasn't a drinker, really, and it burned my throat, but I needed a little numbness right now. Maybe it'd settle my nerves, keep me from bawling to him, from making this any worse.

"Oh, Gunter…" Too late. I buried my face in his shoulder. Less upset I'd never have been able to do such a thing, but what could be more comforting than his embrace? He didn't pull back, to my surprise and even, distantly, delight. He put one arm around me. "They've got me. I can't fight him. Lose this alliance and… He can do what he wants…" I was being such a child. I had to pull myself together, face this rationally.

Gunter let me be a child for a little while, though. "No. No he can't. I won't let him hurt you again, Gwendal."

Author's Note: Wow, this story is getting so dark. Don't know what's up with that. My mood lately? Anyway, the way I see it is this. We are in the days before Yuuri made everything better. That's kind of a weak starting point, but there it is. Things were clearly far bleaker in Shin Makoku before him. Horrid things happened, and it's only because of the veneer of optimism through which we experience KKM that it doesn't seem so bad. Besides, the overarching theme of the show is that the bad people are the ones who manipulate others thoughtlessly and use violence to attain their selfish ends. It's just the specific way they're using poor Gwen that's so… ugh. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.