Author's note: Hello again! I apologise for the delay in updating, I was having quite a lot of trouble with this chapter and I rewrote a lot of stuff. There's a little bit of gore here; just a little bit. I wanted to make it more realistic but after researching and attempting to write a decent scene (and backspacing a lot), I've decided to leave it as it is so I would really appreciate it if you'd let me know if what I have written is accurate and possible!

This chapter features Hungary (Elizabeta), so yeah! For those of you who don't know, Elizabeta's the Queen of Clubs. She was without a King for a while because Ivan was running away from the throne. I hope the sequence of events in the story have been coherent and logical so far yikes...

But anyway! I hope you enjoy this chapter; it's a lot longer than the previous chapters for some reason, but I hope it's up to your standards. Do review/favourite/follow! Thank you~

For old readers, in case you're confused about the change in order, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters! One very helpful reviewer has kindly pointed out the really bad structuring, which I have amended and hopefully it's better now. :) I have changed the order such that the story opens with Lovino first, and then goes around the other Kingdoms so as to give you readers a clearer idea as to how the other Kingdoms are run (haven't touched on the Kingdom of Hearts yet though) and also the backstories of the Royals.

When Ivan was handed over to Queen Elizabeta by the farmer and a group of rowdy men and women demanding that he be punished for murdering his father, Elizabeta was more than ready to mete out his punishment. The Kingdom did not tolerate crime, it destroyed the peace that the previous King had brought. General Winter, he had been nicknamed, for he had discovered the mark on his right shoulder while serving as a general for the Knights. He had been firm and harsh, and anyone who broke the law would be immediately thrown into prison, though there were rumors of how he had tortured some into confessing to their crimes. Some said he would force them to immerse their feet in a bowl of centipedes, while others said that he would order for their nails to be ripped out one by one excruciatingly, but either way the King had been feared by everyone, though it was this fear that brought a low crime rate and order to the Kingdom.

For quite a while, Elizabeta had heard rumors around the castle that someone had ruthlessly set his house on fire, intentionally leaving his poor father inside to die. The rumors spread like wildfire for even the people themselves were afraid that their lives would be disrupted. Change had always been something mankind dreaded. Elizabeta had pressed for information but had been disappointed to discover that her subjects were not even clear about the murderer's name, or the time and venue of the incident. Eventually, Ivan was captured by his former landlord.

Since the night of the fire, he and Katyusha had planned to escape the Kingdom, for the problem of his mark was still present and very real. But Ivan had known that there was no running away from his destiny, especially now that the previous King had passed on and the throne remained empty. He had asked Katyusha to make her way to the Kingdom of Diamonds, the nearest Kingdom, while he stalled for time, using the scarf Katyusha had given to him before she had left to cover up the Club. He had also been unsure if the farmer had heard his father shouting about him being the next King, hence he took caution to avoid the plump agriculturalist. For a time, Ivan believed that as long as he laid low, he could probably at least extend his freedom.

But one day, when he finally set foot in town, bleary-eyed and slightly taken aback by the hustle and bustle of the Kingdom after having camped several days in the woods, he overheard whispers of a man who had killed his father. "I heard the murderer has pale hair," a woman hissed to the cashier. "How cruel, he let his father burn to death!"

Ivan had run out from the shop, not even bothering to take the bread from the counter.

A week later, he was brought into the castle and forced to his knees, the hulking chains binding his wrists biting into his skin. Outside, he could hear the crowd chanting, "Murderer! Murderer!" over and over again, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing for everyone to drop dead. Because only the dead don't speak, it occurred to him.

And he watched the Queen approach him, her ash brown hair that tumbled over her shoulders giving her an air of superiority. She was young, probably because she had only recently stepped up to take the throne, and she reached over and grabbed Ivan by the collar of his shirt. Dazed, Ivan wondered why everyone always grabbed him by his collar.

"Did you murder your father?" she interrogated, her chartreuse green eyes bearing in to his. Ivan nodded. He knew it hadn't been his fault. He knew it had been Katyusha who had stopped him. But he also knew that he had given up trying to clear his name and if they thought he was a killer, let them be. It would also save Katyusha any blame anyway. Whatever his punishment was, even if it was death, he was ready.

At that moment, the scarf around his neck came loose and fell off, revealing the mark that had grown over his collarbone due to the delay he had created in accepting the throne. Elizabeta went slack-jawed and a startled gasp escaped her lips. Even her advisors' hands flew to their mouths and they took a step back, unable to believe that the murderer they had been gossiping about was going to be their next ruler. Her stare flitted from Ivan's mark to his face, who had been watching her soundlessly and coolly, his expression betraying not even the slightest of emotions. She narrowed her eyes, contemplating her choices. She admitted that she was having trouble taking up the King's duty along with her own duties and that it would be nice finally having the new King by her side, but on the other hand the new King happened to be a murderer and the Kingdom awaited her decision.

Elizabeta also knew that she could not punish Ivan by death because if he died they probably had to wait for some time before another King was found. Normally, if a King or Queen were close to dying due to natural causes, the heir to the throne would be found relatively quickly due to the rapid emergence of the marks, though Ivan had been an exception. However, if one were to be killed before the age of forty, it might even take more than a decade before the next heir was discovered. Elizabeta did not think that she could handle the possibility of waiting for so much longer. She was not sure how long she could cope with the extra work, and Ivan looked like he was in his twenties. Still, as a woman of principle, she had to see that the appropriate punishment was carried out and after much consideration, Elizabeta made her decision.

"Throw him into the dungeons." She would learn to cope. The Kingdom's laws came first.

Yet when the disease reared its ugly head, Elizabeta was forced to unlock Ivan's prison to let him ascend the throne. She remembered how his thin frame had emerged from the dark room, crouching under the low doorframe, and how he had thanked her courteously as he came out. Ivan had grown a beard and his eyes were weighed down by dark eyebags, but he was still smiling. Is he emotionless or something? Elizabeta had thought.

Since then, if she were to be honest, Elizabeta had to admit that Ivan was a good leader, in a way. She had observed him when he was meeting with the other Royals. He had handled every disagreement and every argument calmly, and she witnessed that even the strict King of Hearts was grateful to have another mediator to help him. The King of Aces, an auburn-haired male with a permanent frown on his face, even seemed to have grudgingly come to respect Ivan, as seen from the unexpected handshake he had offered.

"Thank you for the tips on the economy. I-It was really helpful," the man had muttered to Ivan bashfully, before turning on his heel sharply and leaving with his Queen teasing him from behind. It was at those times that Elizabeta wished she and Ivan could be like the other Kings and Queens. Sure, not everyone was in love like Arthur and Alfred, but she had always admired Emma and Lovino's closeness, Ludwig and Kiku's deep mutual respect for each other and Francis and Lili's synergy. Ivan and her had nearly no chemistry at all, not even as rulers. Sure, there was the occasional polite nod and smile, but even when they were discussing the Kingdom's matters they were always too awkward around each other and their conversations often went like this:

"I heard there's been another patient in the south."

"Oh really? I heard there's been another in the west."

"Oh."

"Urm… Yeah… How are the hospitals going?"

"There aren't enough beds for everyone."

"Oh. Okay. I guess we should get some more. Fund the hospitals, maybe? I doubt the managers have enough money."

"Yeah. We could set up more makeshift clinics too?"

"Okay. I'll tell Roderich."

"Sure. Is that all?"

"Yeah."

In addition, Ivan's name was still tainted with what he had done years ago. Elizabeta could not blame Ivan. Even if she had been willing to forget Ivan's past, it did not mean that the people did, or that Ivan did not hate her for imprisoning him. The people had gradually though reluctantly come to accept Ivan as their leader for they too knew that times were getting harder and a new ruler was needed urgently, plus Ivan had been able to prove himself so far. Nevertheless, not everyone was able to accept Ivan. Once, a few villagers had painted "DOWN WITH THE MURDERER. DOWN WITH THE KING" across the outer walls of the castle at night, though when Ivan was told he had only bowed his head in acknowledgement before continuing to down shots of vodka.

Vodka. Yes, there was the vodka. Elizabeta seldom talked to Ivan about anything else besides work, but that did not stop her from monitoring him secretly. She did not know anything much about Ivan besides the title before his name, and she was curious. Her efforts had brought several sightings of the large man hiding away in his study, indulging in the strong-smelling drink while looking out through the tall windows. His back was often to her as she peered through the crack that she had made from surreptitiously opening the door. Sometimes, Elizabeta would catch him pausing his sipping and staring at the bottle, as if wondering to himself if drinking vodka was the right thing to do. He would mutter a few words that Elizabeta never succeeded deciphering before turning to a small portrait that hung on the wall.

Elizabeta felt like a little girl snooping around, darting into Ivan's study once when he was out. She almost laughed at how childish she must have looked, gathering her emerald skirts and heading over to the portrait that had piqued her inquisitiveness. In a way, it reminded her of when she was a child and how she and Gil would sneak into the orphanage caretaker's office to peep at the documents. She had always been more interested in reading the details of other people but Gil had had a habit of looking for his first. He would pull out documents with his name on them and add words and drawings. ("The awesome Gilbert? Seriously?") Elizabeta had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing when she recalled how Gil had pulled out hers and exclaimed, "Wait, YOU'RE A GIRL?" But then again, even she had been a little confused then, so she had no right to make fun of him.

No, Eliza! The portrait! She scolded herself and focused on the picture in front of her before her thoughts of Gilbert wandered too far. He was, after all, in a different Kingdom now and had probably forgotten about her. The photograph was black and white and of a woman and three children, two girls and one boy. The boy, Eliza realized, was Ivan. He had the same nose that was too large for his chubby face, and the same violet eyes. He was standing beside two girls – Elizabeta assumed they were his sisters – one with short hair and a wide grin, the other with sterner eyes but a playful quirk was present in her lips. The woman resembled all three of the children, and she had her arms around them, her face captured in mid-laugh. Ivan's mother. And Ivan was smiling; there was something different about his smile somehow. It seemed less strained and forced, but more free and natural.

That, she realized, was Ivan's real smile. Not the one she had been seeing. Something caught Elizabeta's eye, and she noticed that part of the photograph had been torn off to fit the frame. A hand could be seen on the woman's shoulder, and Elizabeta pondered if it belonged to Ivan's father. Again, she found herself wondering about how Ivan was like before he became King.

But then, as more and more people fell ill and their Kingdom fell deeper into the grasp of the mysterious disease, Elizabeta noticed how Ivan's eyes darkened further and how his demeanor turned colder. Maybe his walls that had appeared to be so unbreakable in the past were finally crumbling due to the stress from the people. Maybe he was breaking like Alfred did. A thousand maybes occupied Elizabeta's mind, the darkest ones hiding in the crevices of her thoughts, finally emerging when a group of doctors who had threatened to go on strike were brought in.

The guards ushered the horde of around twenty men and women into the main hall, where Ivan and Elizabeta sat at their respective thrones. Elizabeta stole a glance at the pale-haired sovereign. A sword rested against the throne, its blade covered with the ruby-encrusted scabbard that was indented with elaborate patterns around five clubs. Roderich, Jack of Clubs, stood beside Ivan and Elizabeta was taken aback at the realization that he had been watching her when their eyes met. The Jack coughed into his hand and turned away, and before Elizabeta could get confused about the fact that Ivan needed a sword and Roderich's strange behavior, the guards started speaking.

"Your Majesties, these doctors went on a strike yesterday," one of the guards told Ivan and Elizabeta. The Queen was not surprised. It had been months since the first patient had been discovered, and she could empathize with the doctors that they would rather be anywhere than in a hospital having to endure tortured screams. She understood that the morale had decreased steadily due to the lack of a cure though she was slightly irritated at having to deal with the doctors despite what they already had at hand, and was prepared to address the doctors in a rational manner when Ivan's voice pierced the silence that had hung in the room, "Which one of you is the leader?"

The twenty doctors, pushed roughly to their knees by the guards earlier on, shuffled on their kneecaps and exchanged glances with each other. They were mostly middle-aged, except for a one or two bright-eyed youngsters who had probably rushed through their internship due to the misfortune of having to take up the job during that period. Some of the doctors had their eyes locked on Elizabeta and Ivan, their faces scrunched up indignantly and their lips curved downwards in obvious displeasure, while others, obviously more afraid of the Royals' presence, looked away when Ivan's own gaze swept across them. One woman with her hair pulled up into a tight bun eyed Elizabeta with exceptional resentment – Elizabeta could literally feel it radiating across the room – and the Queen suppressed the petulant urge to match the woman's stare with an equally cold glare.

"I am." Immediately, all heads turned and everyone looked at the man who had stood up and walked forwards from the others. He had gray scraggly hair and a beard that appeared to have been left unattended for weeks. Wrinkles weaved across his aged forehead and the skin near his eyes had sunken from the tides of time. Yet, the finger he pointed at Ivan, then Elizabeta, was steady and sure, coupled with the intent scowl that carved more lines into his face.

"I watched him die. He was destined for a bright future, I know a good doctor when I see one, and I treated him like my own son. Still, I watched him sink into insanity, watched him as he forgot his mentor and then his own name." A pause as he shut his eyes and exhaled. "And then one day he stopped speaking… And breathing."

The old man's body shook with emotion. "And you, you are sitting here in the castle doing absolutely nothing! Not giving a damn that we all will one day be consumed by this horrible epidemic – the Kingdom is going down, Your Majesties!" he spat, globs of saliva showering the floor.

"Yeah! What about your people!"

"We are not going to be the sacrifices anymore! We aren't going to stay until we fall sick and die!"

"Do something about it!"

A hullabaloo arose and Elizabeta slammed her fist onto the armrest of the throne. "Silence!" she ordered, then after gathering herself, continued, " We understand that you are greatly upset over the death of your fellow –"

"Understand? You don't understand anything, my dear. You don't even know his name!"

"You don't mean what you're saying!"

"You think you can placate us with such meaningless words?"

"Enough." At the sound of Ivan's voice, the noise ceased and everyone spun around to focus on him. Ivan, who had been witnessing the entire exchange wordlessly, stood up and slowly reached for the hilt of the sword, giving off the impression of nonchalance and calmness. But Elizabeta did not buy the act, for her eyes had again wandered from the golden pommel of the sword to Ivan's tight clasp on the grip, and his white knuckles had failed to escape her.

"Why doesn't anyone ever play nice?" Ivan murmured, letting his speech trail off while gradually pulling the sword out of the scabbard, revealing the wicked blade. The doctors' eyes widened significantly and many began whispering nervously to their leader, but the old man merely grunted and crossed his arms stubbornly, his beady eyes following Ivan as he descended the steps of the throne. The scabbard was discarded uncaringly and a clatter rang out throughout the room. Elizabeta saw Roderich twitch, about to pick the scabbard up, but a glance at Ivan made the Jack pull back and remain. Ivan's expression was unreadable, and Elizabeta felt herself grip the armrests of the throne, her body leaning forwards.

"Ivan don't," she warned, her right foot unconsciously slipping to the stairs of her throne and her body all tensed up at the possibility of what Ivan was about to do.

If Ivan heard her, he did not respond. Instead, he lowered his arm and let the point of the sword touch the floor, dragging it across the room as he approached the leader. The screeching that ensued made everyone in the room flinch and cover their ears, but the leader of the group merely tightened his jaw and Elizabeta's own heart was producing a pounding that could rival the screaming of metal against marble. She watched open-jawed, as Ivan arrived in front of the leader, ending the long scratch he had made in the floor.

"Well? What do you plan to do, huh?" the leader countered, and Ivan finally lifted up his head, his bangs falling away, and Elizabeta felt her heart stop at the way his eyes were bulging. Almost like his sword, Ivan's eyes glinted with a menace that made her feel that her body had been thrown in ice, and for the first time, she feared the King.

"You can't stay quiet, can you?" Ivan's lips were twisted into a sadistic smile, so different from that of the boy in the picture Elizabeta had seen. For a brief moment, Elizabeta wondered what had happened to the boy.

Ivan raised the sword. Elizabeta's reflexes kicked in and she jumped to her feet, screaming, "IVAN, NO!"

But he had already rammed the sword into the old man's chest, driving the point through his heart until it stuck out horrifyingly from his back, dripping in scarlet. The old man's eyelids sprang wide open, his pupils inching towards where Ivan's sword now protruded out, before moving bit by bit to Ivan's face, where his features were manically distorted and the right edge of his lips was uncontrollably jerking upwards.

"You… You monster," he managed to choke out weakly.

"See? This is what happens to those who don't play nice," Ivan announced to the crowd before pulling the sword out with a sickening retch, causing the metallic smell from yet another spurt of blood to waft around the hall.

The old man's knees buckled and he sank to the ground, mouth still gaping in the little consciousness he had left. He pressed his palms to the floor, keeling over and sucking in oxygen in a last-ditch attempt to live. Drool slobbered from his parted lips, sprinkled with drops of blood as his body shut down.

"Stop!" the other doctors cried at the sight of their senior. "We will do our jobs! Just stop!"

"I don't believe you. You don't sound sincere enough," Ivan replied flatly. And then he shoved the old man backwards and plunged the blade downwards again, earning himself screams from the audience of his gruesome actions.

"WE PROMISE!" the people wept. "WE PROMISE!" And they all pressed their foreheads to the ground in a begging position, biting their lips to curb their wailing and watching their own tears splash to the floor.

Meanwhile, Elizabeta stood, frozen. Everything had happened so quickly, and she was at a lost of what to do. She could not believe what Ivan had done. He stabbed him, oh God, he stabbed him. Elizabeta wanted to run forwards to stop Ivan. She wanted to yell at him, to hit him for making such an impulsive mistake, but all she could see at that moment was Ivan's lunatic expression that chilled her to the bone. She saw the vein sticking out in his temple, the way his eyeballs seemed to pop out of their sockets and how his lips had been pulled apart to reveal a completely psychotic grin.

Murderermurderermurderermurderer. Her mind was on a roll and she had lost control of her own thinking. Ivan's hands were splattered with the same viscous liquid that now stained the floor – the hands of a killer, Elizabeta thought. For so long, she had been trying to figure Ivan out, the man who was always wearing the thick scarf and cooping himself up in his study whenever he was not needed. She had been curious, interested – fascinated even – and perhaps a little melancholic at having discovered a piece of Ivan's childhood, but at that instant, all of those emotions became overridden with one, and that was utter, absolute terror.

That's all for now! Hahaha I hope the ending wasn't too anti-climatic or anything. Also, I hope the way I've portrayed Ivan so far is to your liking T.T Hope you enjoyed this chapter!