Author's Note: Surprise! I thought I would put this up earlier than planned. I actually wrote this chapter before the previous one, although in order for the story to work I put that one first. I was originally not going to adapt every episode, but I changed my mind. I am planning on writing the next part soon. Though it may take some time because of the new length of the chapters.

Please enjoy.

Bielefeld Manor, Bielefeld Lands, The Great Demon Kingdom

Wolfram Von Bielefeld hovered in the doorway of his uncle's office, an ice cold chill skittering down the length of his spine at having being summoned here while he'd been on patrol so close to the borders between the central part of the kingdom and that territory controlled by his uncle, Waltorana Von Bielefeld. He hadn't been able to refuse the request, but he could already guess what this was about and his lips turned down in a slight frown, brows pressing together in consternation.

Standing up from the elegant couch, the man opened his arms in welcome, his pale green eyes flashing with a moment of genuine warmth. His darker blonde hair framed his youthful face, lips attempting to curve into some haunting semblance of a smile, but it never reached his eyes.

"Wolfram!" He welcomed his nephew, moving in to embrace him. "I knew you'd come."

The teenager stepped back sharply, refusing to accept that hug and all the things that went with it. "Uncle." He said stiffly, his pressing into a sharp line.

"What is it?" Waltorana questioned, his brows drawing together slightly in confusion over just how coldly he was being greeted by his favourite nephew… his only nephew and potential heir if his plan fell through.

"I won't do it." Lifting his chin stubbornly, Wolfram took another step backwards, his teeth gritting together as he knew exactly what his uncle wanted of him. "This is none of my business."

"Nephew." The lord's gloved hands dropped down to his sides, his green eyes fixing on Wolfram's face stoically. "This does concern you."

"No, it doesn't." Wolfram snapped, his temper getting the best of him, his teeth gritting together in irritation. "This is between you, Uncle, and Marina. I have no part in this."

"She will listen to you, Wolfram… she will consider…"

Wolfram almost snarled, fury flashing in those emerald eyes. "And why the hell would I speak up on your behalf?! You are the one responsible for breaking off her engagement. You tore out her heart the moment you did that." The young Demon Tribesman swore he could hear his uncle's molars grind together at his words. "I might not have approved of him before … but he was still a good man and she loved him with everything in her. I will not do this for you! And you know Gwendal will be furious… she's under his protection…"

"I will make you my heir then."

All of Wolfram's ire vanished in a moment of pure confusion and horror. Shaking his head sharply, he backpedalled, stumbling back and away at the thought of inheriting his uncle's title and all that came with it. He didn't want it! By all that was holy, it was the last thing he would ever desire! It belonged to his cousin. All this was meant to be hers, destined to be hers, but rights and by blood. This was wrong!

"You know I don't want it! I'm not…" I'm not the right kind of person for such responsibilities. The words hovered there unspoken, truer than any others. Wolfram knew he wasn't ever the right person to have such responsibilities as that… and any protests he gave wouldn't be enough to dissuade the other man from naming him his heir and disinheriting Marina in the process. He wouldn't allow that. His cousin deserved better than that.

"All I am asking is that you talk to her."

Wolfram scowled at the man, backed rather forcefully into a corner and knowing that the Maou himself wouldn't be able to change this if Waltorana really set his mind to it. "Fine." He hissed irritatedly. "I'll talk to her. But, I'm not promising you anything! And I can't be held responsible for anything that comes of this." Gwendal probably was going to blow his top when he heard Wolfram had agreed to speak to Marina on Waltorana's behalf. His brother was damned protective of his cousin…especially after what had happened to her ex-fiancé.

The lord nodded once, his smile returning in full force. "That's all I ask."

Wolfram just wanted to curse him for the manipulator that he was. This wasn't going to end well.

Spitzweg Castle, Spitzweg Lands, The Great Demon Kingdom

Stoffel Von Spitzweg paced the entire length of his small library several times, his steps quickening with each circuit. Both of his hands ran back through his hair as he let out a slightly shaken breath, attempting to at least calm himself as he glanced towards his rather surprising visitor. He honestly didn't know how to even begin to process this particular request from someone who, by all rights, should not be asking anything of a disgraced man such as himself. But instead, this person should have consulted Lord Raven upon the matter... or his sister, who would have probably championed such a cause.

"Can I not convince you to reconsider, my dear, this course of action?" He turned to face the young woman, his troubled expression growing more stricken by the moment. "I am not one held in high standing in the eyes of the Maou or the Council, my word is practically worthless in such circles."

Her steady, stoic silence and piercing gaze held him within their thrall, her chin lifting ever so slightly in defiance.

"I plead with you; speak with your Uncle or your Aunt. I am truly not the one to ask... I have no way of doing what it is you ask."

One blonde brow arched sharply upwards in challenge.

"Are you certain it is truly what you desire, my dear?" A resigned sigh slipped from between his lips, knowing that she was right, that there were still some left that would consider his request and assist this young lady on her quest to pursue true love. For as much as Stoffel was certain this quest was a tad reckless, he couldn't help but feel a pang deep within his own heart at the thought of love and of the happiness of having someone special in your life. A happiness he had never found, for what woman would want a man as corrupt and as weak as he had always been. "Who am I to deny my aid in the search for such honest love?" He wished to do right by all those he did care about.

Stoffel Von Spitzweg crumpled beneath her insistent stare, but he couldn't help but catch a glimpse of something honest within her rosebud-tinted gaze. She wanted love and the joy of marriage, who was he to stand in her way?

Her lips tipped upwards into a pleased smile, a dark shadow glinting in her eyes.

The Throne Room, Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

"Introduce him to someone to marry?" Both of Yuuri's obsidian eyes widened slightly in surprise as he regarded Gunter with bemused disbelief, especially considering who this arrangement was being suggested for.

"Yes." Gunter sighed, peering down into the thin book he held. "That accursed Stoffel says he has found a suitable princess for Lord Wolfram and that he is vigorously requesting that you meet with her at least once to ascertain her suitability."

"Why would she need to meet my approval?" The Maou questioned, clearly puzzled over the entire matter, especially since he didn't see how it was any of his business whether or not Wolfram accepted such a proposal. He only desired to see his younger brother-in-law happy... even if Yuuri couldn't help but feel that Wolfram might not be ready for such a thing... notwithstanding the fact that Wolfram was technically older than Yuuri himself.

"As a close relation to Your Majesty, Lord Von Bielefeld's marriage or potential marriage requires both your approval and also that of his family's Head."

"Oh." Yuuri breathed in understanding, feeling surprisingly awkward, especially when his eyes settled on Gwendal for a moment.

Clearing his throat, Lord Von Voltaire inclined his head slightly in answer to the unspoken question that hovered in the air.

"Wow..." Brushing stray strands of hair out of his eyes, he leaned back against his throne and honestly had to pause for a moment to take in this rather startling revelation. Sometimes his life could throw new surprises his way and he had a feeling that even after a lifetime he would still not know everything, that there would always be things left to learn.

"It is a good thing then that Wolfram is out on border patrol." Conrart murmured as he stepped up beside the Maou's throne after abandoning his own, his hand curling tenderly around the nape of Yuuri's neck as his thumb began to rub tender circles into the strained muscles just there. "If he was here now, things would probably get rather out of control."

"Now Stoffel uses betrothal," Gwendal growled indignantly. "Such a transparent scheme..."

"I might be the last to defend him given his past actions," Yuuri responded swiftly, feeling the same quiet doubt that everyone else in this room did when it came to Stoffel's motivations. "But I can't help but give him the benefit of the doubt on this. It is the Maou's prerogative to reserve judgement on a matter such as this..."

"I think it might be better, my Lord, to avoid this matter entirely." Conrart murmured against his beloved's ear, having a feeling deep down in his gut that something about this entire situation was off, in more than just the usual way.

Gunter's nimble fingers carefully turned the next page before freezing in place, lips pressed together in a troubled line. "Curse that scoundrel, Stoffel!" The words erupted from Gunter as his hands shook ever so slightly, becoming white-knuckled on either side of the book. "To think he would try something as brazen as this!"

"Gunter?"

Gwendal leaned slightly to the side, his head twisting just enough to catch a glimpse of the picture, and his brows winged upwards in a silent flicker of appreciation for whatever it was he saw. It was a telling lapse before he caught himself, and his arms crossed defensively across his chest, letting out a quiet snort of masculine bravado. However, he couldn't help but glance surreptitiously towards Gunter as their shoulders brushed lightly in passing.

"Is that a matchmaker's picture?" Yuuri questioned, his lips twitching upwards before he tried to keep a straight face as he glanced between two of his closest friends and couldn't help but notice the abrupt stiffness that seemed to have overtaken all of Gwendal's body since the moment their bodies touched. Gunter seemed blissfully unaware of the entire exchange.

"Will you let me see?" Yuuri curiosity was piqued and silently he had to wonder if this young lady might just actually be a positive influence on Wolfram. Would it honestly hurt to consider this... meet the young lady and then talk to Wolfram about the issue? It would probably also be a good idea to send a message to his brother-in-law, considering Wolfram's firecracker nature and the situation at hand. "Gunter..."

"I will not let you fall for his plan so easily," Gunter immediately lifted the book upwards, clearly not about to give into the King's request as Yuuri descended from his throne to stand before Gunter and Gwendal.

Conrart looked extremely pleased with himself as he offered a slight smile to the messenger he had cornered as he handed over a folded sheet of paper he had been carrying. "Well I have her description right here." The Prince Consort stood, following his beloved Maou, and unfolding the hastily written parchment the messenger had been carrying. He knew that matters like this could often become hot sources of gossip for the Castle staff, especially considering one or two of the messengers had taken notes while carrying this matchmaker booklet to the court of the King.

It looked like he would need to tell Adalbert again of the need for some kind of privacy in the Castle when it came to such matters. His lips curled at the very thought of Adalbert's face when he mentioned it at their next meeting.

"Clever man," Yuuri grinned.

"The princess is extremely intelligent, charming, and quite lovely." Conrart cleared his throat; amusement dancing in his silvered eyes as he watched just how flustered Gunter Von Christ was getting. "It also says that she entered last year's Great Demon Kingdom Beauty Pageant... and won."

"Well now." The Maou mused, this situation brightening his day with each passing moment. "You mean Wolfram's potential match is Miss Great Demon Kingdom? Now I definitely want to see her." The Maou flashed his husband an impish grin, knowing that Conrart knew Yuuri had absolutely no interest in women or anyone other than his beloved, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a pretty smile.

"You cannot," Gunter attempted to twist out of the way of the half-blood's curious gaze, though he knew he was stepping upon dangerous territory and that he could simply be ordered to hand over the document. Bending rather awkwardly to keep the booklet away from his Majesty's gaze, he ended up with it open right before another person's nose.

"Oh, my!" Cecilie Von Spitzweg looked positively delighted as she peered down into the face of the young woman who her own brother had suggested would be an appropriate choice to marry her youngest son. She also recognised that it was her husband's niece in the picture, though despite the startling differences between the young Lady and her Raven, they shared the same wide smile. The kind of smile that their precious little Gabriele had inherited too. "If she took the overall championship in the Great Demon Kingdom Beauty Pageant, then she's my junior."

"She didn't try to enter you in a pageant, did she?" Yuuri couldn't help but suddenly ask Conrart, his smile growing wider by the moment as a rather faint blush spread over that handsome face, turning even Conrart's ears a rather adorable shade of crimson. "You have the face for it, my dearest Knight. Although the question would be... as a little boy or a little girl?"

The Maou's attention moved around the faces of those present and almost laughed at the rather horrified expression that ghosted across Gwendal's face as well, before it darkened in the most fiercesome scowl yet. Yuuri had to cover his mouth in order to try to prevent the startled laughter from his escaping his mouth at the very thought of Gwendal, handsome, but terribly grim, in such a pageant. He could imagine the scowl on that young face, one that matched the one the man currently sported. However, he was internally grimacing, hoping that no one would realise that his mother too had 'dressed him up' as a child... and just not as a little boy. Now that was a story he definitely didn't want to share, or he would never hear the end of it.

"Oh, what a lovely person she is." Cecilie continued, also turning her attention towards Gwendal. She tugged the booklet from Gunter's hands and thrust it before her eldest son's nose. "Don't you think so, Gwen?"

The man in question cleared his throat, his eyes flicking from the page and then towards Gunter, immediately skittering away from that man and returning to the waving image before him. "However lovely a person she is, mother, she is obviously the right woman to be chosen for whatever scheme he has concocted."

"Princess Elizabeth is my niece, through my husband's family. I honestly don't see the harm in entertaining this match and seeing if anything fortuitous comes from it." Gazing down at the portrait of her niece, Celie also had to wonder just what it was his brother was planning... or if it was even Stoffel's idea. Could Elizabeth be planning something...? As farfetched as it seemed, the idea stuck sharply into her gut. "It's always best to know..."

"You're right, Lady Celi." The Maou answered. "It's always better to know than not. Arrange for the meeting to take place as soon as possible." However, he couldn't help but wonder just what might come out of all of this... apparently only time would tell.

What Yuuri didn't see behind him was the colour slowly draining from Conrart's face as the true identity of the Princess was revealed to those present. For the Prince Consort remembered the young woman in question, and in his mind, all he could see was her weeping face and smell the sweet smell of roses that tormented him.

Gwendal's Personal Chambers, Covenant Castle, The Great Demon Kingdom

"One of the messengers actually got to see her portrait... and he said she's as lovely as the Lady Celi, maybe even more so!"

Gwendal's fingers twitched against the tabletop as the maids' voices filtered in through the wood door of his personal chambers, sending several pieces of paper fluttering across the tabletop as his teeth ground together in silent irritation.

"The competition just got far more interesting! Although it is a shame it isn't Lord Von Voltaire... Can you imagine how exciting that would be?!"

"No one can truly say who will win this Love Lotto..."

His shoulders tightened and quivered while he fought against the rising emotions that burnt fiercely in his gut. Emotions driven to the surface as that date drew closer. For all his ambivalence towards this entire situation involving the Lady Elizabeth, the Maou and his brothers, he couldn't help but be reminded of the fact that he was unmarried and that it was Wolfram and not he who had been singled out for this supposed honour. Was he so undesirable as a potential husband? Was he the unwanted one, yet again? Was he not someone... somebody would desire as a husband... or even a lover?

His heart twisted at that thought, his mouth dry as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair as his thoughts went in a direction that they should not, a direction that would bring him nothing, but grief and a battered ego.

It was all completely ridiculous the whole lot of it, especially his own untamed thoughts and speculations.

With a frustrated growl, he shoved aside the papers he had endeavoured to read, grimacing as he realised spots of spilt ink dotted the surface of the top page. Dropping the quill into the inkpot, he rubbed at the smears of black ink that darkened his callused hands, only spreading them further.

Would there be no one to mourn him if he died?

Abandoning his desk all together, Gwendal drew out a hidden key tucked amongst the knitted creations seated on the mantel above the cold hearth. There was a soft click of a lock and he gazed down at the collection of various expensive bottles of liquor, stretching out a hand to grip the neck of one of the rear bottles. As he lifted it out several of the others clinked together almost musically, the soft sound stirring something inside of him. He froze at that sound, his heart skipping a beat inside of his chest, the echo of it chiming loudly within the depths of his soul... reminding him of times so very long ago.

95 Years Before Present, Rose Hall House, Spitzweg, The Great Demon Kingdom (Gwendal aged 35/7)

A single candle flickered beneath its fine glass cover, sending shadows dancing across the walls of the quiet room and across the boy's neatly arranged desk. The faint strains of music and laughter drifted underneath the door, along with the bright, almost harsh flare of torches from the corridor beyond.

Up until an hour ago, the entire house had been soothing and quiet, Gwendal delighting in this rare opportunity to put extra hours into his studies, the familiar comforting smells of ink, old books and parchment filling the boy's head with each breath. Those moments of peace he managed to build for himself were interrupted now by the pounding of feet, or hoots of raucous laughter… or the sickening smell of common ale under the door. Each crash of glass and expensive crockery against walls and floors made his teeth grind together. It was too much! Too much to bear!

The shouts and delighted crowing of a pair of drunken commoners from the corridor beyond his bedroom door was like a knife against his skin, cutting deep until it hit the bone. His book snapped shut between his fingers and he slammed it down against the desktop, his shoulders quivering with silent rage as his fingers scratched against the worn leather of the tome. The legs of his chair scraped against the rug beneath him as his blue eyes blazed towards the door, irritation marring his face, adding to his childish scowl.

"Bring all the booze in the house, he tells me!" One man bellowed loudly, eyes glittering with delight as he gazed down at the two bottles of old spirits, one clenched in each hand, with appreciation. "All of it."

"Lord Dunheely sure knows commoners, even though he's the Demon Queen's husband." His companion replied, lifting the heavy, bottle-laden box a little higher in his grip, grunting softly with the effort.

The two men continued along the corridor, their merriment and drunkenness apparent with their every sloshing movement. Both men shouted louder, their voices echoing down the length of the formerly silent hallway as they continued sharing their thoughts with every willing and unwilling ear in this wing of the vast house.

"What is the meaning of this uproar?!" The boy growled fiercely, fists clenching at his sides as he pinned the two men with a glare that promised swift retribution if not answered promptly, and with respect.

"Begging your pardon, Master Gwendal..." One man dared to answer, bowing his head slightly in clear respect to the young, noble Lord. "We are just bringing some more alcohol to your father's celebrations."

The boy sneered at the very thought of that human being as his father, the thought of it disgusting him in a way he could never ever put into words. Stalking forwards, entire body stiff and trembling with his pent-up emotions, he stopped before the sitting room that had been turned into a room for partying and drunken foolishness, all of which he could see through the slightly ajar door before him. Gwendal's stomach twisted into knots tighter and tighter with each passing moment as he studied every inch of that inebriated decadence, there was his mother's husband, front and centre amongst it all, his jovial laughter floating up from amongst the din.

For one instant, he swore that Dunheely Weller could see him, was aware that he was standing out here in the corridor, with that pair of drunken fools looking on worriedly. He felt as if that laughter had, as it twisted in his young ears and sank claws into his brain, turned from joyful to derisive. It mocked him, his people and his beloved mother, with each second it continued.

He hated them... hated this man... despised them all with all the fervour his small body contained! Yet, deep down... deep down in a place he would never let anyone see, he wept, longing that instead of all this... this man would not be like Gwendal's own father, Nicholas Von Voltaire, who... had absolutely no interest in him beyond him one day inheriting his title and continuing the Von Voltaire family line. His hopes had been dashed... even when this man spared him a thought, he knew he could not trust him, couldn't believe in those small fleeting moments of kindness... if it could be called that. One day this man would betray them, betray them all... he knew it.

That man... he hated him!

Gwendal turned from that scene in the room beyond, his teeth grinding together as he walked away, determined to find his mother and his little brother. Determined to give them the love and attention this man was meant to be giving them. The boy cursed the man and he promised himself he would curse the name of Dunheely Weller until he died.

Tomb Of The Great One, The Great Demon Kingdom

"Did you hear?" Murata felt his lips twitch slightly as he dropped his head back against Yozak's broad shoulder, leaning backwards against his beloved's body. The book lowered from where he had been scanning its pages for any hint to either support or deny the strange legend the Maou had been told by Lady Ondine in the Forest concerning the location of the last Forbidden Box. "Shibuya's going to have a matchmaker meeting... on behalf of Lord Bielefeld."

"I get the feeling this is going to be nothing but trouble." Yozak responded, one hand rather lazily sliding up under the edge of his love's shirt, his palm spreading across his lover's side and stomach, caressing both in slow, soothing circles. However, he immediately stilled his movements when he realised that Lady Ulrike was watching them with something close to fascination from where she, too, was currently studying one of the rather large tomes from the vast collection housed within the Tomb of the Great One.

Murata let out a soft sound of protest at the cessation of the caress, one of his own hands dropping down to lightly rub over the one beneath his shirt, only for his gaze to follow Yozak's and for a flush to darken his cheeks in a moment of quiet embarrassment. "I apologise... it is probably forbidden to discuss romance and intrigue before priestesses..."

"Oh, no," Ulrike's expression brightened with quiet delight, grateful that her recent experiences hadn't completely and utterly ruined the friendship she had with both of these men. She couldn't help but still feel ashamed, though, that she had befallen to such a simple ploy of their enemy's. "I think there is nothing more intriguing and delightful than love issues in this world."

"I have to admit, I view the coming developments with great interest." The Sage murmured, squeezing Yozak's fingers lovingly between his own. "I can imagine that when she arrives, that her motivations and that of Lord Stoffel might not be what we are expecting. Yet, sometimes it is nice to have a little intrigue to brighten up the sombre mood of Covenant Castle. Best though to keep an eye on it all, just in case anything gets out of hand."

Yozak's teeth ground together, the soldier disliking the entire notion of Stoffel Von Spitzweg having any kind of part in this situation. He just knew that if that man was involved in this that all of it was suspect. It might be time to find a reason to be up at the Castle... even if it was just to report the happenings to his beloved and keep his brilliant mind appraised of this entire situation. A small ache settled in his heart as he considered another reason to keep an eye on those he cared about... that the anniversary of Dunheely's Weller's death was swiftly approaching...

He promised himself silently that he would do all he could to support anyone who needed it through this, feeling the painful ache in his own chest and knowing so many others shared it with him. His free hand lifted up to tenderly slide his fingertips through Kenta's dark locks, smoothing them back away from that beautiful face which turned up towards him in concern. Somewhere he found a smile for this beautiful man, leaning in to press his lips against those inviting ones, silencing the question they were just about to ask him.

"Memories, my Love, that's all. Just... memories. Now tell me what it is you think might happen, for, if I know anything about you, Kenta, it is that your brain is always speculating..." Pausing for a moment, he dared to ask, wondering how much worse this could get. "Do you know the name of the Lady in question that they selected for Wolfram?"

"Lady Elizabeth, the niece of Lord Raven," Murata's dark brows lifted at the sudden, even more stricken look that crossed Yozak's face. "Do you know her?"

"I knew of her," He murmured, his lips pressing sharply together, his face growing a little pale. "I served briefly with her elder brother Stoddart Eichel in the War, after he had been dismissed from his well-deserved post by Lord Waltarana Von Bielefeld and came to serve in our regiment. He was always so proud of her. We honestly couldn't shut him up about little Eliza."

Ulrike leaned in closer, her book having dropped onto the table with a soft thump, eager to hear more.

Training Courtyard, Covenant Castle, The Great Demon Kingdom

"I bet you were an adorable little boy..." The Maou lunged forwards to meet the powerful swing that would have taken his arm clean off if he hadn't been ready to block it. "I wonder if Lady Celi is in possession of a portrait of little Conrart Weller..."

Growling fiercely, Conrart drove in for another swift slash again his beloved's blade, his silvery eyes sparking for a moment as memories so clear he could still smell the perfume of fragrant red roses distracted him. The teasing voice of his husband played across his senses, reminding him of another person who had once played with him, encouraging him… offering words of reassurance… the smell of roses.

"That's it! Put your waist into it!"

The smiling face of his father flashed before his eyes in place of his husband, for one moment making him react as he might if he had been facing a taller opponent. The blade swung wide in a high arch, sending him off balance when it wasn't met with the musical clang of steel. He pitched forwards, his silvery eyes blinking in surprise as the vision that had caught him for a moment released him just as quickly. It was only Yuuri's quick reactions that prevented him from practically impaling himself on the Maou's blade.

"Conrart!"

Yuuri's sword dropped to the ground with a clatter, his arms stretching out to catch Conrart, supporting that strong frame as the man practically sagged against him, as if the man had indeed been struck by his blade this time. Staggering a little under the man's weight, he managed to get him over to the nearest set of steps, sinking down onto it with him.

Reaching up, he caught that handsome face between his palms, startled to see the shimmer of tears in the man's eyes for he had absolutely no explanation for them. "What is it?" His thumbs rubbed ever so gently at those unexpected tears, trying to understand their source. "What happened, love?"

"It's nothing." Conrart attempted to dismiss the sudden and unexpected grief that had been stirred up inside of him and the mountains of regrets that weighed down his heart. "Truly, it's nothing to worry about."

The scent of sweet roses lingered in the air, a physical catalyst for memories he had thought he had buried deep within himself… things he had tried to shut away. But with the growing frequency in which Suzanna Julia had appeared to him, tormenting him with the past and his role in her death, more he had tried to bury had been dragged up along with it. All of it reminding him that each breath he took was a stolen one, given to him on the backs of so many who had sacrificed themselves in the name of honour and glory.

"It isn't nothing, my Knight, not when I almost turned you into a shish-kabob, something that has never happened before." His hands remained gripping that lovely face, unwilling to allow Conrart to pull away, not when he knew Julia's shadow stretched long between them, and the past was creeping in along with her. "What is it? What has you so shaken?"

Yuuri remembered Gwendal's request earlier that morning to be formally excused from the plans that were being built around Elizabeth's arrival in order to do something personal. The same personal thing Gwendal had done twice before of which he was aware. It struck him then, a painful blow that he hadn't realised the date set for Elizabeth's arrival fell upon one that was deeply significant to Gwendal, Conrart and Celie… the date of Dunheely Weller's death. He cursed himself for being so caught up in this potentially good situation, one that might distract them all from the futile hunt for the last Forbidden Box, that he had forgotten all about this.

Some great husband he was turning out to be, forgetting such an important event.

"How could I be so insensitive and forgetful."

"Do not blame yourself," the Prince Consort whispered, large hands coming up to cover Yuuri's, lacing their fingers together, his head turning to nuzzle against one of Yuuri's palms. Conrart drew comfort from that touch as he always did, drawing strength from the invisible but vital connection that stretched between them. "You have been under a great deal of pressure as have I," The Prince admitted, more to himself than to his husband.

"I fear it is the influence of the Forbidden Boxes." Yuuri murmured with a worried frown, his dark brows drawing together, the ever-present concerns returning even when this sparring session had supposed to have been the one time where they could banish such thoughts for an hour. "That all the safeguards and the protections that have been put in place aren't enough… aren't enough to prevent the evil within from seeping out. Yet, I do not know what more we can be doing at present then we already are."

Conrart's silver eyes lifted, fixing on Yuuri's face, feeling questions rise to his lips, his own worries seeping up from within. "Are you…"

"I am well, my love." Yuuri reassured him firmly, his dark eyes firm enough to end that line of questioning before it could begin. He didn't desire to burden anyone with the moments when he felt like he was losing himself to another force inside of him, or what the sightings of Suzanna Julia Von Wincott's ghost were doing to him mentally and emotionally. "We were talking about you, not me."

Conrart's lips pressed into a firm line at the response he had received, his mouth opened, wanting to pursue the subject when both of their attentions were drawn by a happy cry from across the courtyard. Their weighted conversation was forgotten for a few moments in response to the rather happy sight of Cecelie being presented with the biggest bouquet of roses Yuuri had ever seen.

A startled laugh was drawn from between the Maou's lips for he could not see Raven at all beneath that quivering mass of foliage and bright red roses. The number of them would well explain the tantalising scent of roses that had been haunting the courtyard for the last few minutes.

Conrart looked on, witnessing the exchange of flowers between the pair, caught by the similarities between this moment and one he had observed so long ago.

"It really is wonderful to leave the castle once in a while... and just be together as a family, with no outsiders." His father's voice echoed through his head as he saw his mother's brilliant smile, alight with her joy at this rather unexpected gift from her husband. He could almost imagine the sight of Dunheely Weller, romantic and suave offering out a similar bouquet to the Lady Cecilie, yet not of the same kind of proportions as Raven's several rosebushes worth of flowers. "Yes. Everything I need is here, my sweet love. My son's smiling face... Flowers blooming in profusion... Not to mention... a wife who is lovelier than any flower."

Unlike Raven though, those words… those words would have been more for Dunheely than for Celie. The swordman's attempt to remind himself what it was he had and how it brought him happiness. But this… a wife, a home, a child… would never been enough. His father had always had shadows in his eyes, a longing in his soul that had been more important than his love for his wife, even for the love of his child.

"I won't ever abandon you."

The Maou was startled by the sudden fierce look in Conrart's eyes, the strength of those hands where they curled around his own. "I know that you never would." He could well remember what had happened months before, but he knew his Conrart, no matter where he was would always return to him, even if it was from death. "If you did… I would simply follow after you and drag you back home." Leaning in, the Maou delivered a breath stealing kiss to Conrart's mouth, one that lingered for a long time until all the thoughts that had been rattling around inside of Conrart's head were well and truly chased away. "And I would find some very inventive ways to prevent you from ever escaping me again."

A dazed and slightly goofy smile pulled at Conrart's lips, while he leaned in close again, definitely wanting another one of those toe-curling kisses. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

Yuuri just grinned. "Maybe I should just give you a demonstration."

The North-Western Road, The Great Demon Kingdom

The sound of pounding hoof beats behind him had Wolfram von Bielefeld drawing back on the reins of his horse and feeling the animal attempt to resist the sudden stop. Green eyes turned to focus on the rapidly approaching member of his own personal guard, one he had specifically left behind to bring him news if his presence was needed once more at Covenant Castle. A leaden feeling spread itself through his gut, making him grip the reins all the harder, his face growing pale with concern.

"MY LORD!" The messenger yelled, his face turning a muted shade of crimson as he approached. The man's horse was drenched in sweat and sides heaving, showing that it had been driven hard in the messenger's haste. "MY LORD! NEWS FROM THE CASTLE!"

"What is it?" Wolfram demanded the moment the messenger came to a desperate halt, needing to know the sordid details of what was going on within the walls of Covenant Castle.

Each word that escaped from between the man's lips merged with the next in a tumble that left Wolfram speechless and terribly worried. This was not good. This was not good at all! He had to return to Covenant Castle immediately. All his plans for the next few days now paled in comparison to the drama that was about to unfold at the Castle without him even being present. A sliver of absolute dread plunged itself into his heart over what might be happening, especially when he knew that Gwendal would soon no longer be at Covenant Castle to help put a stop to what might possibly unfold.

Turning towards one of his other companions, his expression grave. "Apologise to the Lady Marina on my behalf for my unexpected delay and tell her I will not be able to visit her until possibly next week. Please, extend to her my sincerest apologises!"

Without another word, his horse was urged in a swift loop, his personal guard following his lead, leaving behind a single lone rider to carry his heartfelt apologises to a lady that had been awaiting his arrival. Waltorana's plans would just have to be put on hold until this was handled.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

Yuuri lightly rubbed a spot between his eyes, trying to knead away the ache that was developing right behind them. The edges of his vision began to blur, growing slightly fuzzy, and he closed his eyes the moment it started. Breathing through the slight discomfort, he counted slowly to ten, before opening them again, his office coming back into sharp focus. A sudden, almost clawing, scent of roses permeating the air.

He hated when it happened. Those brief moments when it felt like a cloud was sliding across his vision, making everything hazy and indistinct. It passed as quickly as it came. But, it was always accompanied by a cold stab of worry deep in his gut, and by that uncanny feeling as if someone had suddenly put one foot straight on top of his grave. Yuuri couldn't help but be reminded him of that moment weeks ago, when he had blacked out completely and someone else had been within his skin.

Julia.

Sagging back into his chair, he released a small, shaky breath. It would be fine. He would be fine. There was already so much to be worried over, he didn't want to add one more thing to anyone's plate. It was a very mild, harmless complaint. Even if the lingering scent of roses tickled against his nose and made his stomach roll in response.

With a soft groan, he straightened, pulling the next pile of documents towards him, definitely hoping that he could get through this before dinner, so that he would be able to get out of his office and spend the evening with Conrart. He definitely desired to stretch his legs and put this out of his mind. Who knew what else might turn up to turn their day upside down more than it had already been. God only knew...Yuuri didn't know. Anything could happen and knowing their luck, it would probably involve aliens, Godzilla and one of Anissina's inventions… which were all the stuff of nightmares.

The soft slide of bare feet against cool stone, the pained sigh and restless shifting. The loss of the warm, vital presence that had shared this intimate, private space with her. A fine shiver raced across her skin at the sounds of clothing being pulled on, the rattle of a sword in its scabbard, the clink of a few coins… The bed dipping again, drawing her a little closer to the man perched on the very edge, so close and yet so far away she could not have reached him no matter how she tried.

"Everything I need is here." Familiar words, yet filled with a painful doubt and desperation that he never allowed her to hear when she was awake. His doubts about this life they had dared to build together despite everything people said and their inability to make it all work as she desired for it to. "And yet, Celi... I still don't want to give up. Give up obtaining something I have not yet seen. And for the sake of that, there's something I must part with. Though I know nothing is more important than you, my only Love, my precious Celie."

For one brief moment, heat bloomed tenderly across her cheek, calloused fingers sliding over soft, rosy skin. Lips touching for just an instant as he leaned in for one last goodbye, done in the dead of night so the same lips would not be able to convince him to stay.

"I cannot stay. I cannot live this lie… I don't belong here. You've always deserved better… and I thought I could be that. But, I'm only a man, a man who needs to prove that he was alive…"

Then that warmth… on the edge of her little world tumbled away, leaving her cold and bitterly alone as a door swung shut and locked on the happiest part of her past, never again allowing her to return to it.

Cool sheets greeted Cecilie's searching hand and she jerked awake with a jolt of sheer terror as she found the bed beside her empty. Her long hair fell about her face in bright golden waves, her green eyes filling with tears as the dream that had plagued her moments before began to fog her waking mind. Her heart was in her mouth as she searched the room, desperate for any sign that he was still there.

A shadow filled the doorway, tall, strong-shouldered, familiar... but as he stepped forwards, the muted image of Dunheely was replaced with the dark-haired form of her husband, Raven. A restless child sucked at a newly warmed bottle of milk, small hands clutching at it and around big fingers that held onto the bottle for their daughter. Raven's peaceful expression immediately changed to one of fierce concern and worry at the sight of tears in his wife's wide green eyes.

Like the bird he was named for, the man seemed to fly across the space towards her, bringing with him the light, warmth and happiness that her memoir of a dream had sucked away. He sat down beside her, their daughter cradled in one strong arm, the other brushing at her tears. "What is it, Celie?" He asked tenderly, inching closer, desiring nothing more than to take away whatever it is that had caused her such distress. "I'm sorry I was gone so long, my love. Gabriele is teething and was a little hungry… and I thought it would simply be quicker if I did it myself instead of disturbing the servants over something so small."

"I just…" A furrow grew between her brows as she tried to hold onto the wisps of that dream… or had it been a memory? "… a dream…"

"Ah." A soft, understanding smile touched his lips as he was able to work out exactly what it was that had awoken her from such a deep sleep, he knew the story of all of her other husbands all too well. It was also clear that Raven would have dearly loved to beat the proverbial snot right out of that man, Dunheely Weller, but time and death stood between them now and he could do nothing to change what had already passed. "Well, I promise next time, my dear wife, that I will wake you, so you will not worry."

Gabriele let out a little whimper, beginning to fuss in her father's arms, her big eyes blinking up at them owlishly, her bottle now empty. Soon she was transferred to her mother's waiting arms, Celie resting her cheek against her daughter's dark, silky hair. Inhaling deeply of the delicate scent of her daughter, she felt her heart ease a little. She could remember well each time she had cradled one of her children so close to her, knowing those few years she would have with her this small would be fleeting.

A knot of guilt settled into the bottom of her heart, knowing that her children had suffered at times from having an absent or emotionally unavailable parent… and she included herself in that, knowing she had made terrible mistakes too. Mistakes her children now had to live with every day. She should have done more to protect them, to shield them from the pain and suffering the world could inflict on them, especially Conrart. Her beautiful son... who now had found a man to love him... as she had been fortunate enough to for a second time find the sweet tenderness that was true love. Yet, he carried with him the sins of the past, most of them not his own, but those of others that he had been forced to bear, still unresolved and festering… never addressed. But… Wolfram and Gwendal too bore the weight as well, all three of her little boys caught up in the past, each trapped by their own prison constructed of memories and emotional bonds to people both living and dead.

"Are we doing the right thing?" Celie asked, allowing her daughter to suck happily on her fingertip, her tiny body relaxing into contentment. "Is it the right thing… to do this? To even contemplate it? Wolfram is so young and he's… he's not seen Elizabeth since they were so very little… Is this truly what she wants and not something my brother decided to cook up?"

"She was very insistent apparently, according to Stoffel." Raven Eichel would usually be sceptical of this whole thing, knowing from experience just how much Stoffel Von Spitzweg had desired to return to the kind of power he had once had when Cecilie was on the throne. However, there had been something in the Lord's message that hadn't seemed fake at all when Raven had read it. Stoffel had seemed to be reluctant to push the idea, but had done so in order to please and accommodate the wishes of Elizabeth. "She can be so stubborn at times about what she wants. For once, I think Stoffel was being honest in his letter to me about her insistence."

"I think she picked up that from my Wolfie. So, headstrong the pair of them, always getting into mischief and the like." Celie sighed with the shake of her head. "I don't think there truly can be any harm in this. Can there?"

"I don't think so." Raven murmured, and yet a niggling worry continued to remain. "If Wolfram isn't interested when he is presented with the offer that will be the end of it. The Maou is not one for forcing marriages or the like upon others. And I think we can all do with a bit of good news about now."

"Yes," Celie agreed, though both of them couldn't help but feel reservations over this. "Yes, good news would be most welcome."

80 Years Before Present, Rose Hall House, Spitzweg, The Great Demon Kingdom (Gwendal aged 50/10)

"How dare he!" The flat of Gwendal's palm slammed against the table, the boy's face red with anger and with the powerful, overwhelming emotions that surged through him. A stab of pain shot through him, like an arrow to his heart knowing with a sickening kind of certainty that he had been right. He'd been right that just like his own father, that Dunheely Weller would eventually abandon them. Humans were always doing that, running away… abandoning everyone they supposedly cared about. "I'll find him and when I do, I'm going to kill him myself."

Celie's large green eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she gazed upon her eldest son, wishing she could reach out for him and pull him in close like she was Conrart, knowing with an odd kind of certainty that just like her youngest, Dunheely's departure had torn out the boy's heart, for he was losing another father. "No, please Gwendal, it's fine. I know why he went away."

"So, tell me, what do you know?" Gwendal snapped, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body vibrating with all the pent up emotions that wanted to erupt out of him.

Celie couldn't answer, the words lingering on the tip of her tongue too painful to say aloud. Her eyes dropped, her shoulders sagging in utter defeat like all the other times she had folded beneath the weight of someone else's expectations, knowing she came up short.

A sharp little tch escaped Gwendal. "I'll never forgive him. That human, he abandoned us."

Conrart's small body trembled and flinched at the sharp crack of Gwendal's fist meeting the table top again, emphasizing his words, his wide cinnamon eyes staring up at his big brother from where he was sheltering against his mother's body. It was the first time he'd ever been truly frightened by Gwendal, by the flash of something in his brother's eyes… just like the baker's in the village near Rose House when he'd been with Brodrick, his human friend. The look of hate…

And the terrible knowledge that humans abandoned other people, just like his father had done, leaving them all behind without a single word of goodbye. That he was something he knew he would never be able to shake… never be able to unlearn. His wide cinnamon eyes peered up at Gwendal, wishing his brother would look at him… would look at him and know he would never leave him. But Gwendal never looked.

And Gwendal never saw.

The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

The sinuous parade of attendants and Spitzweg soldiers in their red and white uniforms that wended their way towards the capital accompanied the fine deep green and golden carriage drawn by two fine chestnut mares. White curtains fluttered ever so slightly, shielding the lady within from the curious eyes of all the local inhabitants of the Capital who had come out of their homes in order to catch a glimpse of the whispered potential bride of the Maou's younger brother-in-law. Maybe it was the stories of her charm and beauty that drew them, or the fact that for the first time in over a year, Stoffel Von Spitzweg, the former Head of that noble house, rode in front, his face a touch pinched, his colour almost ashen.

Cheers and well-wishes were showered upon the private coach and its sole occupant. Brightly hued streamers and garlands of bright flowers decorated the arches the procession made its way under as they snaked their way up the steep climb towards Covenant Castle. The whole city was out in force, doing its best to make a positive and lasting impression.

Their words, however, fell on deaf ears, for neither Stoffel nor the Princess were left unoccupied by their own thoughts. Stoffel's upon what disasters might erupt at any given moment, and the Princess's on the reunions to come.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

"She's really gotten so lovely." Celie regarded the portrait of Elizabeth that was clipped just inside of the matchmaker's folio that had been sent to them by Stoffel. "But she does still look a little like her elder half-brother, Stoddart. Don't you think, Conrart?"

Her blonde head lifted from her third re-reading of the information to turn towards her second eldest who had, moments before, been hovering over her and Gabriele, the little girl cooing up at them from her cradle just by Celie's side. She was surprised to find that Conrart was now standing by the broad, full length windows of her favourite sitting room, windows that overlooked the main entrance to the castle. For a long moment, she almost thought it was Gwendal standing there, for Conrart stood so still and silent, emotions bubbling beneath the surface, none of which she could read.

Conrart had been unusually silent the last few days and for the life of her she could not think why the arrival of Elizabeth Eichel would cause such an uncharacteristic response in her son. The half-blooded Prince Consort was not one for silent, pensive brooding… at least in the amounts she would usually associate with her currently absent eldest, who had inherited that trait from his father Nikolaus.

Gunter, who had been sitting on the other side of her leaned over and considered the picture with a thoughtful eye. "She does indeed," He answered the question, a finger lightly tapping at the spot just beside the portrait's eyes. "They have the same eyes, like the roses the Eichel are famous for growing for the Lords and Ladies of Spitzweg."

A smile touched the former Queen's lips as she turned to Gunter, a flicker of surprise in her face. "I had forgotten that you had trained Stoddart too, alongside my Conrart."

"Yes." The lavender head bobbed slightly, Gunter delighted to talk about one of his former students, though there was a flicker of anguish that darted across his features before it disappeared without a trace. "He was one of the best of that graduate year. I was so very proud of him… he had so much potential, but..."

"But he was a half-breed." Conrart suddenly spoke up, startling both with the harshness of his voice. "And once that got out…"

"I meant no offense."

"I know you didn't, Gunter." Silver eyes flashed as Conrart's head turned towards the pair, tiny sparks of cinnamon swirling in their depths. "But that doesn't change the fact that someone thought the purity of his blood was his only value and the truth… the truth destroyed all he worked for and cared about. Our society is still burdened by blind prejudices."

Prejudices that had first taken root in Conrart's own family. Conrart's left hand lifted to press against the glass as the first horses of the Princess's entourage appeared below. His wedding band glittered on his finger and he asked himself deep down in the bottom of his soul, if he would ever be truly worthy of the incredible, boundless love of his Maou, of his beloved husband. Would he ever be able to touch the one he loved without the blood of his past staining them… tainting Yuuri with every touch. Would these half-blooded hands… ever be worthy?

A shadow had wrapped itself around his heart, gnawing its way into him… slipping past all his defences, and finding a new home within his soul. A soul that carried the weight for so many needless deaths… that it would never be washed clean. Never.

He was just like his father, running and thinking he could really hide from the guilt of what he was responsible for… for the people he'd never managed to bring home to their families or their loved ones. Their blood was on his hands.

50 Years Before Present, Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom (Gwendal aged 80/16)

"I wonder if little big brother will be home soon." Tiny hands pressed against cool glass as green eyes peered out into the bright, sunny day just on the other side of the window.

"Why? He's probably off having grand adventures with Lord Dunheely," Celie answered, looking up from the romance novel she had been reading in this one quiet moment they had finally had away from the rigors of court life. Her lips curved into a small smile as she allowed herself a moment of playful romanticism, but it quickly faded the instant she heard the angry scrape of chair legs against wood boards.

"Oh!" Wolfram turned towards his mother, interest in that bright little face. "That's little big brother's father, isn't it?"

"He only sends for his son by carrier pigeon when the mood strikes him." The broad shouldered young man set down his teacup, his lips pressing into a firm line of utter distaste. "That man's shamelessness knows no bounds!"

Celie leaned forwards slightly, resting her chin against one elegant hand as she regarded her son, seeing right through the layers that cocooned Gwendal in his own emotional bubble. "Why not ask Conrart to send for you?" Deep in her heart, she truly wanted her eldest son to make peace with a man who had had such an influence on his life. She wanted Gwendal to say what was truly in his heart. "Tell him next time you would like to go with him."

For the next time, might be the last time… like it could have been the last time over the last thirty-five years. For each day, she couldn't help but look at every visitor and every messenger that arrived at the castle, and worried what word it would bring to her. The word that the man she loved and longed to be with… was forever out of her reach.

Gwendal stood up with an irritated snort, dismissing the very notion she had suggested with that simple sound.

"Come on now, Gwendal, don't you think it's been an awfully long time since we left the castle?" Celie asked hopefully, gazing up at him.

"Really, Mother..." He huffed out, though his deep indigo eyes didn't meet hers.

Celie was startled by that response, wondering rather suddenly if she had not been the only one waiting. The only one standing at the window, night after night, staring out at the moonlight world desperately hoping that the one she loved would return to her. Did her son too, long for the return of a man who had walked away from them and feared that if they were gone… Dunheely wouldn't find them. Her lips parted on the question, but she was silenced by Wolfram's cry.

"Look!" The little boy was practically bouncing with excitement, cherub face pressed suddenly against the glass. "It's little big brother!"

Gwendal's head jerked up, startled by his youngest brother's words, his eyes glancing towards the wide span of windows that stretched across the wall. "What…?!"

Wolfram's bouncing slowed slightly, as if whatever it was that he saw from the window confused him. "That's strange…" The boy's voice trailed off, his head tipping confusedly as he continued his staring, palms pressed to the cool glass.

"What wrong?" He asked, worry gripped tightly around Gwendal's heart. He immediately left his place at the table to cross over to stand beside the tow-headed boy.

Peering down into the gravelled courtyard and the castle gates, he heard the whinny of Conrart's horse as his younger brother's dark head appeared, the boy appearing like always, stoic and quiet on the back of his mount. However, it wasn't Conrart that had drawn that comment from Wolfram, by instead, it was the man that rode in just behind his brother.

Shock curled itself like a vice around Gwendal's stomach, twisting and wrenching at it as he stared in slack-jawed confusion at the sight of Dunheely Weller, broad shouldered, dark haired… and just as strong and sturdy as Gwendal remembered him. It was absolutely impossible. Impossible. It couldn't be! That man was human.

Gwendal leaned forwards, as if attempting to push himself through the glass that separated them and deny the reality of what was before his eyes. His heart pounded like a drum in the back of his throat, his skin paling.

This just couldn't be!

The couch squeaked softly as Lord Dunheely Weller settled down into the chair, one arm resting carelessly over the back, his eyes fixed upon Celie with that quiet appreciation of his. There was a flicker there, a dance of unspoken emotions hidden behind the man's bitter chocolate gaze, things that spoke words of love that no lips had dared to express in years. Yet, there was also a shadow there, a quiet, darkness that smothered the light.

"Well, you're just as lovely as ever, I see." His lips curved very slightly as he turned all the more towards his former wife, his knee touching ever so softly against hers.

"And looking at you now," Her green eyes full of bright warmth and welcome, her hands curled in her lap, longing as always to touch. "That you haven't changed one bit. It's wonderful."

Wolfram's legs swung back and forth, back and forth, the little boy uninterested in their guest, but unwilling to leave his mother's side.

A shadow of almost wry amusement pulled at Dunheely's lips, his long, shagging hair falling all the more into his eyes as he turned away from her. Both of them knowing the silent truth and pretty lies they both spoke. "I haven't changed, really?"

"I've kept our room just as it was." Her green eyes were fixed upon her former husband with a glimmer of desperate longing, her heart fluttering like a bird behind her ribs. She barely felt the touch of Wolfram's hand against her arm, her eyes fixed upon a man she'd loved for decades and still did. "So, I'm assuming you're here for a while?" Hope, like a trembling flame, had been lit within her breast. Yet, her voice betrayed none of it. Gave away nothing of her inner turmoil and aching need, even now… even after so long. A wish… a wish… they could be a family again.

Conrart stood quietly just on this side of the door, his slender hands curled into silent fists, his own quiet hope echoing his mother's. But, that dropped like a stone thrown into a deep glacial lake when his father stood, resolute and silent, unable to give the woman he loved what it was her heart desired. The look of weary determination was etched on his face, one that he'd glimpsed so often there during the last few months they had been spending together. Something icy speared itself into his young heart, a knowledge he could give no thought or word to… but knowing it might be the last time he saw his father. That this time… his father might not call for him.

"Actually, I was thinking of leaving straight away." Dunheely murmured. "With a certain young man."

Celie stiffed and straightened, confused by his words, but knowing that resolute glimmer in his eyes that she could not dissuade him from what he was planning on doing. No matter how much she longed to beg him to stay… she knew… like she had known years before… that her old knight… could not remain when the road and destiny called and as always, she could not follow.

Conrart's heart plummeted, but he remained silent. Terrified of what was to come.

How dare he! HOW DARE HE!

Gwendal's arms wrapped around his body, fingers fisting into his own clothing, straining the fabric as he trembled with impudent rage over the fact that that man was in their home. How dare he walk around as if he were once more the master of these halls? How dare he act as if he had not abandoned his mother, or his brother, Conrart, or… He shook himself fiercely with a sound that was almost a growl. Hands trembling at that very thought that dared to enter his mind, dared to even touch the very edge of his heart.

The soft squeak of the door made him still, caught like a thief in the night, frozen to the spot.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it, Gwendal?" Dunheely greeted the young man.

Dunheely swaggered in, crossing the space between them, a flash of something in the man's eyes making Gwendal's heart give an ungainly lurch in response. What it was, he refused to acknowledge, his back going ramrod straight.

"I see you've grown into a strong young man." A glimmer of something akin to pride and maybe hope shone in the other man's eyes as he looked upon Gwendal, one large hand stretching out as he approached, longing to touch.

Gwendal's arm whipped up, smacking that offending hand away, wanting to rage and snarl at the person responsible for his mother's grief and his brother's tears. A man who was responsible for tearing apart their family as if it were nothing of value. Abandoning them in the dead of night, like the dishonourable coward that he was. Coward. Abandoner. Human. How he wanted to destroy this man for that.

"Keep your filthy human hands off of me!" He hissed out, hands clenching into tight fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

Dunheely froze, caught in a moment of startled surprise, before attempting to hide the shot of pain over the bitter, angry rejection. His lips turned upwards into a smirk, so many emotions driven back into silent hiding. Straightening, his dark eyes, so much like Conrart's, regarded Gwendal almost thoughtfully.

"Tell me do you know of a place called the nameless village?"

The young man snorted in mild disgust, closing his eyes to cut off the sight of the other man and tipping his head away. "You mean that village where both Demon and human parents live in secrecy."

"I was wondering if you would go there with me."

Gwendal, startled for the second time that very day, jerked sharply, navy blue eyes wide as he stared in disbelief at the man before him and the absurdity of what he'd asked him for.

"Because if you will, we can finally settle things." Dunheely finished, eyes filled with that unnameable emotion that put Gwendal back on edge.

Rage and suppressed fury, rose like a blazing inferno inside of him, so hot it actually made him shiver. He wanted that, wanted that sharp, clean finality and the chance to finally punish this man for all the pain he'd ever inflicted upon his family. He would make this man pay for every night his mother spent in tears, inconsolable and desperate for the arms of a man who would never come back to her, and for Conrart's pain… Conrart's anguish and uncertainty at never knowing when or if his father would ever call for him… or if he too would be left out in the cold like the rest of them. He would get justice for that, and for himself.

Dunheely Weller would pay.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

She paced like a caged lioness, from wall to wall, long crimson dress sweeping along behind her in a swirl of embroidered cloth. Fingers clenched and unclenched, her heart pounding hard in her ears. She wanted to scream, to throw her head back and rage at the world that had allowed something like this to happen.

He'd been right there, whole, healthy and vital beside the Maou. Alive. Alive and breathing… when her brother was a lost corpse on a burning battlefield… his bones left for the buzzards to pick clean. But… Conrart Weller was alive… alive and here. She had rejoiced at news of his death, elated that her brother's murderer had finally been brought to justice. But no. No, he had lived. Returning from the grave like the creature of darkness she knew him to be.

A breathless sob escaped her, a sound swallowed by the thick stone walls and her own hands. Stinging hot tears, like lava scalded her skin, dripping down over her trembling fingers. Her heart still tearing itself apart with the pain of her brother's loss… his death. It was as raw as that very day her life had been torn apart… that day the letter had come. A letter… from this man, Conrart Weller… that told her the brother she loved so dearly was gone and would never be coming back.

If only he had waited. If only he had waited just a few days… just a few days for the weapons and supplies that would have seen so many lives saved. But he hadn't waited. Weller hadn't waited. And it was his choice that had put a sword through her brother's heart as surely as if he had been the one to do it himself. It was his fault. His fault that her brother would never return home to her.

Her knees folded beneath her, the weight of her grief enough to choke her. Her body shook painfully.

How could he be gone?

How could her smiling, laughing brother be gone when Weller was still alive?

"Keep your chin up, Eliza." A touch against her chin, lifting her eyes up to her half-brother's. His smile was wide and filled with a thousand promises, a thousand promises of days to come...days they'd spend together as a family. "I'll be home sooner than you think, a proper officer and everything. And when I do, I'll introduce you to someone very special to me. I know you two will get along like two peas in a pod." A light blazed into those rose-coloured eyes, a joy… a promise… that soon… soon… happiness would find them again… after their destined parting. "I'll be safe, little Rose." He ruffled her hair, large hand callused and so warm, filled with such open affection. "Don't you worry."

How wrong he'd been. How terribly wrong Stoddart had been about everything.

Stoddart had been outed as a half-Demon shortly after his return to his new unit… and drummed out. Tossed aside like garbage. And then… and then… he'd gotten himself killed because he placed his trust in the wrong person.

They would never have that happily ever after.

But she could do this. She could do this for not only her brother… but for everyone else... She had to do this.

She could find justice for a crime that had left her brother dead and his murderer a hero. He would have justice, even if it had to come at her own hands. Elizabeth Eichel would not allow her brother's murderer to take the one person left to her that she loved. Wolfram would be safe.

She was strong enough to do that.

Quiet.

The awkward kind of quiet that could fill an entire space filled with people, even when there was so much to say.

Yuuri wondered for the thousandth time just how sound an idea this actually was, especially with Wolfram currently out of the castle and unaware of what was being discussed about his future. Wolfram would probably explode, like a firecracker in an enclosed space. Even though, his brother-in-law had mellowed and matured over the years that they had known each other, he still had his moments.

Cutlery clicked and clunked against the fine china as the meal progressed. No one quite up for talking… no one willing to break the tension. Not even Celie, who would usually be bubbling away by now. His head tipped to the side, glancing towards his husband, his heart twisting in his chest at the haunted look written all over his face, especially with the way Conrart glanced up at Elizabeth. The food on Conrart's plate to the untrained eye looked like it had been partially eaten, but Conrart hadn't touched a thing. And it reminded him of several other skipped meals since this entire matter with Elizabeth had started.

Yuuri had been hoping this distraction might bright a little joy back into the hearts of the castle residents, a little hope for the future. Now it just seemed it was the wrong thing to do.

"How can you sit there… knowing what he did?"

Her voice startled everyone in the room, especially when they realised that Elizabeth wasn't speaking to Yuuri or Conrart, or even her uncle who sat to her right… instead her rose coloured eyes were turned towards the man on her left. Where Gwendal would usually be, Adalbert had filled in to complete the table.

Adalbert's goblet hovered half way to his lips, his brilliant blue eyes flashing with confusion as he set the goblet down and turned his blond head towards the striking young woman beside him. Brows drew together, clearly uncertain to what Elizabeth was referring to, considering they had never met before this day. "Begging your pardon, my Lady, but to whom and what do you refer to?"

Elizabeth's eyes burned, like two tiny flames caught in her paling face as her fingers clenched around the utensils still in her hands. Her jaw worked, her shoulders shaking with the force of everything she had contained up until this moment.

Yuuri blinked sharply, startled by the unexpected show of anger… one that was being directed now at Conrart.

"How… how can any of you… bear to look at him? That coward… that selfish coward! How can you stand to let him anywhere near you… that traitor… that bastard! Murderer! How can you trust him, when he'd sooner thrust a knife into your back!"

Conrart flinched visibly, his silver eyes skittering away from Elizabeth's brutal, furious gaze as she rose to her feet, no longer able to contain all the emotions trapped within her. She was trembling, the hot well of her emotions filling her to bursting, her accusations echoing around the room and fixing every eye upon her.

"You are responsible for his death and I'm here to get the justice he deserves and to put an end to the harm you could do to anyone else." Her chair tottered a little as she forced it back even further. Her slim fingers were white-knuckled around her knife, her entire body vibrating like a tightly strung bow. "I won't let you hurt them too. I won't let you! I'll stop you! I'll make them see just what a coward you are! Filthy…"

Cold, hard anger speared through Yuuri as his hand protectively covered one of Conrart's as he slowly stood, his body rigid, lips pressed in a cold, hard line.

"Watch your tongue."

Elizabeth's eyes widened at the air seemed to suddenly be several degrees colder at the sound of the Maou's voice, her voice dying in that instant.

"You come into my home under false pretences, insult my husband." Yuuri's fingers curled tighter around Conrart's, his body standing protectively at his beloved's side. "And threaten his safety." Cold ice was swimming in Yuuri's veins at the thought of Conrart's life in danger, of anyone daring to lay a hand against the man he loved so deeply and dearly… a man he'd almost lost.

Elizabeth's heart was beating like a drum behind her sternum

Elizabeth's heart was beating like a drum behind her sternum quite ready to simply pound its way out of her chest. Her fingers tightened around the knife she held, her body vibrating with her anguished. She couldn't stop. Not when she was so close. Not after the years of waiting… the years of training just for this moment.

This was her moment. The only moment she had.

The Maou didn't understand, didn't see just what kind of man he was protecting. One that wasn't worthy of such devotion or protection.

"He is a murderer, your Majesty." She continued stalwartly, refusing to back down, her eyes fixed on Conrart Weller's face, seeing the shame and his cowardice in the way he turned his head, unable to meet her eyes. "How can none of you not see it?" Her head whipped around to regard Adalbert Von Grantz, her rose gaze shining with hot tears. "How can you ignore that it was his actions that killed the woman you loved?! How can you forget Lady Julia?!"

Adalbert visibly flinched, his entire heart wrenched tightly by her words as memories of his Julia rose from where he'd tried to bury them. The ghost… the ghost who'd called for him… lost… afraid… uncertain. His hands clenched tightly, his shoulders crowding in as he retreated into himself as if she had shoved a hot knife between his ribs to pierce his heart.

He was still trying to come to grips with it all… still caught with a noose of emotions tightening around his neck to know that Julia's beautiful spirit was still not at rest. That he could not truly take a step forwards… to marry Gisela like he wished because she stood between them, an invisible wall that cornered him, cut him off once more. What right did this girl have to come into their home and slash at them with her words, tearing up scarred flesh and emotions? She had no right to do this.

Gisela. His heart whispered the name, longing for the certainty of her embrace and her love. He couldn't… he couldn't… not again…

"He isn't a murderer." Yuuri growled, his voice like gravel in his throat. The dragon awakening within him, a coiling serpent that burned white hot with rage and the need to protect. "He would never…!"

"HE KILLED MY BROTHER!" She screamed defiantly, refusing to allow Conrart Weller to hide, to get away from that truth. A knife in her hand, gripped white knuckled, a deadly weapon if she turned it against them. "AND HE WILL PAY FOR THAT!"

"NO!"

The candles and torches flared dangerously, their flames raging higher as Yuuri's usual control bent and twisted like a branch in a thunderstorm, close to snapping. The air seethed and rippled, the stress and strain on the Maou, all those cracks rising to the surface, his helpless anger all channelled into this one instant towards someone. The same someone that wanted to hurt Conrart. Someone wanted to hurt him. The dragon let out an agonised roar inside of Yuuri's head, rattling against his insides.

Everyone at the table was frozen as the situation went from bad to worse.

The dragon's thunderous roar escaped his throat, inhuman and deafening. His jagged emotions scraped his insides like razor-sharp glass, touching that place inside of his own heart that raged at the world that had tried to take so much from him already. Black… black shadows crowded the edges of his vision, insidious and deadly. Whispers… loud whispers chattering in his ears… feeding the dragon… feeding the rage. The helplessness of his own existence… and his fight with Julia over his soul.

He lunged forwards, in motion before anyone could do anything to stop him…

Arms, powerful like iron-bands caught him around the waist, hauling Yuuri backwards, dragging him from the table, and Elizabeth and the knife. He fought against that hold, crying out his desperation, despair and rage, his voice a choked off scream. The world disappeared suddenly as his body was turned, his face forced against soft fabric, a hand buried in his hair. A scent… familiar and beloved filled his nose and the heat of another swamped his senses, and he wrapped his arms desperately around that protective body where they sat on the floor, Yuuri wrapped up tight in Conrart's embrace.

"No…" Yuuri cried, shaking his head and pressed his face harder into that broad chest, his fingers clung to the soft fabric of his Knight's clothing. "No… no… no…"

"I love you, my little dragon." Conrart cradled his husband all the closer, feeling the way the other man shook all over, as if he were falling apart. Falling apart right there in Conrart's arms and there was nothing he could do to stop it. "I'm right here."

Something metallic clattered to the floor right there before the two of them where they were crouched together. A brilliant silver knife lay there on the cold stone floor, still spinning from the throw. Elizabeth stood there before them, colour burning high on her cheekbones, Adalbert's sword resting against her throat, a hair's breadth from ending her life for throwing the blade towards the Maou. Adalbert had sworn to protect Yuuri with his life for the generosity and friendship he'd been shown… and so much more.

"Pick it up." Elizabeth hissed out, her eyes burning with decades of pain and hatred. "Pick it up, coward!"

Guilt, like a black gaping pit opened up within his soul, eating him from the inside out as he gazed upon the result of his own actions. She deserved justice, a justice denied to her. Justice for the death of a man Conrart had always considered a dear friend… his blood still staining Conrart's hands. How could he deny her the chance to seek justice? His eyes dropped to the dark head rested against his shoulder, his fingers curled into the long, coiled length of dark hair, the softness tickling against his skin. How could he look his beloved in the eyes knowing what he had done, and wilfully ignoring the truth of what had happened years before?

His free hand drew away from Yuuri's back, leaning forwards in order to reach out for that knife.

"Con…" A strangled sound escaped Yuuri's throat as both of his hands immediately curled around Conrart's, catching it before it could touch that blade and all that it represented. Confusion filled Yuuri's eyes, his throat working as he held on tightly, not wanting to let go. "No… please."

"She's right, Yuuri." Conrart murmured softly, his head lowering, his silvered eyes capturing his beloved's for a long heartbeat. "Right about me."

"Never." Yuuri's head shook back and forth sharply, disbelieving, unable to believe that Conrart was capable of something so horrific. It wasn't right. It wasn't. How could Conrart be blamed for surviving that terrible battle? How could anyone think that his honourable, noble knight was capable of anything like that? He refused to believe it. Refused to ever think Conrart would willingly have done something like that without good reason.

"Yuu," The man whispered gently, silver eyes filled with quiet pleading his hand still stretching out, still needing to set this right. His soul would not allow him to ignore her pain or the injustice. "Sweet dragon…"

Before Conrart could say more, there was a sudden and unexpected sound of horse's hooves upon stone, racing towards them through the hallways. And the doors burst open underneath the hooves of Wolfram's horse, the young man's cheeks flushed from the rapid ride back to Covenant Castle, his clothing and hair ruffled and rumpled.

Green eyes flared wide at the startling sight before him, trying to understand what was happening. His face paled all the more when Elizabeth turned towards him, her eyes equally as shocked to see him. The two caught in each other's gazes, two objects abruptly caught in each other's gravity.

"Elizabeth?" Wolfram breathed her name, wonder and incomprehension working its way across his pale, exhausted face, eyes darting to the blade at her throat. His hand was already reaching for his own sword, wanting to defend her from Adalbert. "How…? What…? Grantz! Get away from her!"

And in that breathless moment of distraction, Yuuri lurched sharply in Conrart's arms, long, scarred fingers curling tightly around the hilt of the knife, lifting it from where it had fallen.

Conrart jerked as if struck as he stared in dumbstruck horror down at his beloved and the knife he now held and the challenge he'd just accepted against a woman who was a fair match for Conrart himself.

"What… what have you done…?" He gasped out, struck painfully to the core. "Yuuri, why? By the Great One, why!"

"Because, you are my husband and I refuse to lose you. No matter what."

The Road To The Nameless Village, The Great Demon Kingdom

Gwendal sat by the small fire, the salty scent of cooking fish rising to his nose and filling the evening air as he wrapped long arms around his knees, watching the dance of the flames. His head dipped, chin dropping onto one arm, his throat working for a long moment as he tried to shut out the quiet rush of memories this place and the smell of cooking fish brought back. Long dark hair spilled over his face and down across his shoulders, his body almost wanting to shiver, but not from cold.

He swore in that moment he could see another man down by the stream, up to his knees in the cool, clear water, waiting to pounce, the sound of his laughter rising above the whisper of the stream. A man who had been strong, proud… and…

"It's quite clear a Demon's conceit is a difficult thing to deal with."

His dark head turned to gaze across the fire towards the empty place on the other side, feeling the bitter ache rising up within his chest, catching against the inside of his throat.

"Even so, I don't mind it."

A tiny shiver ran through him, sliding like a bucket of ice down his spine. Remembering the look in those dark eyes and wondering if his own mirrored it in that moment. Would they, if someone were to look at him now, think that Gwendal himself was like that? Was he so caught up in his own duties and stiffness that he was missing out on all that he could have in his life? Pinching sharply at the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes tightly, letting out a short, pained breath. Was he still that conceited Demon that had once ridden this same road alongside Dunheely Weller fifty years before? Was he…?

He shoved away those thoughts as he reached out to pull his travel pack towards him, intent on having any kind of distraction. His hand reached into the satchel, fingers searching around for the spine of his book when something unbelievably soft tickled against his fingertips and he wrapped a hand around it to withdraw the length of a plush scarf. His brows drew sharply together, uncertain what to make of the velvety soft length now spilling out of the bag and over his knees. Staring at it, he wondered if in a moment of motherly concern, Celie had shoved it into his bags, huffing about Gwendal not looking after himself in his headlong rush to leave. She was far more overbearing now after having Gabriele.

Drawing it to his nose, he inhaled deeply, expecting the familiar scent of wildflowers… his mother's favourite scent from her gardening, or maybe the bitter bite of chemicals to remind him of Anissina, and yet found something different. Horses… and hay… greeted his nose like a bright spring afternoon all wrapped up and pressed into the whisper soft fabric. He jerked back, staring down at the scarf in utter confusion.

Gunter.

His palm lightly smoothed across the fabric, trying to remember when the other man had slipped this into his saddlebags. Head dipping down again, his cheek pressed against the fabric, fingers clutching almost desperately at the length of it.

"Idiot." Gwendal muttered to himself, eyes closing again and letting out a harsh laugh. He gave in. Wrapping the length of it around his neck and tucking his fingers beneath a coil of it. He swore he would never tell the other man how much he appreciated the stupid gesture.

And there, alone in the darkness with painful memories crowding in close around him, he found a small moment of comfort… thanks to a very unexpected source. He wasn't so alone as he thought.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

Wolfram scrubbed his hands frantically against his cheeks and over his eyes, trying rather desperately to push away the horror of what he'd just witnessed. His golden hair hung tousled around his flushed, deeply troubled face, his shoulders hunching as he lifted his gaze back to where the young woman sat perched on the nearby couch. His heart fluttered achingly within him, his stomach twisting into knots at the sight of the young woman sitting there, her hands tucked into her lap.

"I don't understand this, Elizabeth…" He dropped his hands, confusion written in every feature, throat visibly working hard. "I don't understand any of this."

He paced several steps forwards, just past her, then back again, feeling restless and agitated.

"How can you still be blaming Conrart?" His green eyes filled with anxiety as he stood before her, trapped in a web of so many sharp emotions. "I thought we talked about this the last time."

His throat worked helplessly, Adam's Apple bobbing frantically, remembering that day years ago, when they had last spoken, and a burn started around his heart at the callous, bitter words he'd used to defend his brother. A wave of nauseous guilt gripped him at his own wretched stupidity and blindness when it came to his brother and the fact that he was half human. It bit sharply at him to think of just how blind he'd been to how his words had cut into his brother's heart… and the way he'd harmed others with his twisted anger and hurt.

He could still feel that distance between them. That space that he'd let grow there because he hadn't tried harder to reach Elizabeth… and maybe it was also because he hadn't thought her brother worthy of such devotion, for Stoddart had been outed during the war as being half-human. The only reason they had been able to hide that fact was because Stoddart Eichel's mother, Liezel, had died young. The other demons hadn't realised that when she'd returned with Elizabeth's father, Eckhart—that he'd married a human woman. She hadn't had the chance to age and give herself away.

It had devastated both Elizabeth and Eckhart when Stoddart had been ejected from his regiment after his humiliation and blood status was made public. He had had to join Conrart's Luttenberg Regiment in order to continue to fight for the Great Demon Kingdom, which was something he had very much wanted to do despite his treatment at the hands of full-blooded demons.

"I thought you understood…" He breathed out as he finally dropped into a chair, his green eyes closing as he tried to remember everything he'd said to her all those years before and he winced. "I thought I understood."

Wolfram smoothed his sweaty palms against his pant legs, lifting his gaze back to Elizabeth and felt that pang resound within his heart at the sight of the woman she had become when he hadn't been looking. That feeling, sweeter than any other, rose up the back of his throat… reminding him of the fact that all those years ago, he'd imagined something else with her. It had been childish and short-sighted and he'd been someone… someone he knew now was undeserving of her.

"But… I don't, do I? I never did…"

Rose coloured eyes lifted slowly from the ground to regard Wolfram with quiet determination.

"All your training… all those sword lessons…" It hadn't been until after Stoddart's death that she ever had shown an interest in joining the boys on the practice field. She'd spent hours and hours in practice, relentless and focused. It didn't take much to work out what it was that Elizabeth had meant with her challenge to Conrart, which the Maou had intercepted. The two facts easily falling together. "You were going to duel him to the death. You desired to do it yourself."

She flinched slightly, her mouth forming a thin, pale line.

"You intend on punishing him… because you still blame him for your brother's death." He felt sick with the realisation, the thought of Eliza having even a single death upon her hands. For all her determination and spirit, he knew what one single death would do to her. Even if she believed with all her heart what she was doing was right, it would destroy her from the inside out. "Eliza…"

"Nothing you can say will change my mind, Wolfram." Her voice was tight, her cheeks reddening. "He's…"

Sliding from his chair to the floor just before her, he stretched out both of his hands to gently curl them around hers, holding onto them tightly even when she tried to pull away from him. Her hands trembled within his grasp, her entire body following, as tears misted her bright, intelligent eyes when they finally met his own again. Cradling them gently, he stroked his thumbs across those callused fingers, trying to chase away the shivers.

"Elizabeth." He pleaded. "Please, stop this before it goes any further… Especially now that it was the Maou that accepted your challenge and not my brother. I'm so sorry for being so blind before… for not understanding… for not seeing your brother for the wonderful person he was after what happened, but… please… please don't do this. I know they'll… There is no reason…"

"There is a reason!" She hissed back, cheeks flaming as the young woman attempted to withdraw her hands from his grip, attempting to draw them free. Yet, Wolfram didn't let them go. "I…" Her eyes darted down to his face, for just one heartbeat, before the colour spread even higher, her head twisting all the more away from his.

"Ellie," He whispered, watching the way she shook like a leaf caught up in a windstorm. The years dropped away in that brief instant, the two of them reconnecting. Wolfram could feel it. "Ellie, you don't need to do this. If you just talked to Conrart, I'm certain you'd understand… he…"

At the sound of Conrart's name, something shuttered across Elizabeth's face, her eyes, glimmering with unshed tears, hardened into two chips of rose-tinted ice. Her hands jerked sharply out of Wolfram's, every part of her fleeing from that touch… from the man who held what was left of her heart.

He didn't understand. No matter what he said, he didn't understand at all.

This was for him.

Wolfram stretched out for her, feeling his heart pounding, a drum against his sternum. "Ellie!"

But in a flutter of dark scarlet fabric she was gone, the door slamming resoundingly in his face. Shutting him out.

"Ellie." He breathed, laying a hand against the solid oak of the door, forehead tipping forwards to rest against the cool surface. "What's really going on?"

50 Years Before Present, The Nameless Village, The Great Demon Kingdom (Gwendal aged 80/16)

A door banged harshly in the clawing wind, slamming restlessly against the heavy stone frame.

Scarlet rays of light painted the houses and hills crimson, as if each surface had been splashed by blood, forever stained by the glow of the setting sun. The buildings stood shuttered and locked up tighter than a drum, their walls damp and decorated with clinging mosses. It felt as if every hope and spark of life that had once inhabited these streets had been stolen away in the night, leaving only ghosts and shadows to haunt them.

"It's deserted." Gwendal stated as he allowed his eyes to scan the depressing little village for any signs of life. His lip almost curled at the state of it, wondering how anyone could allow themselves to live in such conditions.

"No," Weller murmured softly, his old, intelligent eyes lingering upon each tightly shuttered window and each bolted door. His gaze missed nothing, not the scuff of boot prints in the hard-packed earth of the road or the tingling sense of being watched. "There are signs of people here."

From over one shoulder, a whistle of sound and movement rushed towards Gwendal and it was only that short warning that had him leaning back in his saddle and prevented him from ending up with an arrow to the side. His fingers wrapped around the shaft as the deadly projectile when it flew past him, badly shot but still with lethal force. His eyes darted around the still, quiet buildings, and he stiffened when the murmur of angry voices reached his ears.

In ones and twos, peasants started to appear amongst the rundown houses, their hands filled with any tool or implement that might be used as a weapon.

"Move on...!"

"Get out of here!"

Voices rose from mere mutters to full-blown shouts of anger as the crowd condensed around them, their makeshift weapons raised in challenge. Every face was marked with anger, that furious emotion stemming from years of being trodden under the feet of others.

"Wait!" A young voice cut across the angry murmurings of the crowd and several of them turned back to glance at the youth that was hurrying towards them.

Gwendal was surprised to see a boy that looked no older than Conrart striding towards them so defiantly. The boy's brilliant coppery hair and vivid blue eyes gave him away immediately as belonging at least in part to the Demon Tribe. There was something very strong about the boy, but his eyes were fixed on Dunheely and not himself.

"Yozak?" One of the elders of the village asked. "What do you want?"

Slowly, but confidently, the boy continued his approach, chin lifting slightly with recognition burning in his bright eyes.

"By any chance, Sire, are you Lord Dunheely?" Gurrier Yozak stood there, certain he already knew the answer to his question and wondering wildly how any of the adults had failed to realise exactly who had come to visit them.

A warm smile curved Dunheely's lips, his eyes brightening with recognition. "It's been a while."

A wave of shock swept over the small crowd, along with horror at just how they had behaved towards the man who had always been so very good to them. Their shame burned in their eyes for their actions as they each, one by one, dropped down onto their knees in supplication and apology for their actions.

"Lord Dunheely," One man pleaded, hands raised up towards the Lord pleadingly, but he dared not look up after such a terrible blunder. "Forgive us for the disrespect we've shown you today."

"Please, my friends, raise your faces. Anyway…" His gaze swept around the village, taking in the terrible state of it and his shoulders slumped slightly at what these poor people had had to suffer through. "What happened here?"

The loud, incessant wails of an infant set Gwendal's teeth on edge, his fingers clenching into fists as he leaned against the wall and stared around at the people that called this village home. His eyes flicked back to the table where Weller sat, his arms resting against the table top, a half-drunk mug of tea sitting before him. Scowling at all of them, he wanted nothing more than to escape this. It was their own fault that their village was in such a state.

"I understand." Dunheely nodded slightly, his dark hair falling over his brow and hiding his expression from Gwendal. "This area is being targeted by bandits."

"We've been trying to mount some sort of resistance." The elder stated exhaustedly, his hands clenched together upon the tabletop but still moving restlessly. "But…"

"I don't understand your problem." Gwendal spoke up, cutting the man off abruptly. "The solution seems obvious. Why don't you just ask the neighbouring villages to help you."

"You see… it's just that…" The elder's head drooped all the more, a shadow of grim defeat clinging to him.

"Clearly, Gwendal, this village is not accepted by those of the Great Demon Kingdom either."

The young Demon Tribesman straightened sharply, his brows lifting in surprise at those words. It was a swift kick to the gut as he realised that he had made a rather stupid error in judgement about the entire situation and it had taken words from that man to point it out to him. That just got under his skin like nothing else.

"That's what brought the bandits to our village in the first place."

"Nothing's changed." The mother of the wailing infant breathed out, that same, terrible air of defeat clinging to her as it did to all the other weary souls of this village. "We're neither Demon, nor human. It's almost the same terrible treatment that we received from the people of Big Cimaron."

"But have you forgotten that Lord Dunheely helped us out of there!"

"No!" She snapped, her pale face flushing with anxious colour. "I'm grateful for all he did! Grateful for him proving to us how awful it is not to have a place to belong and call our own."

Abruptly, Dunheely Weller stood, his chair legs scraping against the dusty wood floor. Every head whipped towards him.

"Lord Dunheely!" Fear and panic filled the elder's tone as he reached out towards the man who had been so good to them over all these decades.

"Bandits, you say." The Lord stated calmly. "Gwendal?" The man's head tipped towards his former step-son, dark eyes meeting those troubled navy ones. "Do you think you're ready for a little warm-up before our big faceoff?"

Gazing around at those haunted, deeply troubled faces, especially young Yozak… Gwendal felt a sharp pang somewhere near his heart at the thought of Conrart. The thought of his little brother in a place like this… a look of such pain in his eyes. It burned him… forever searing this moment into his memory as a reminder to truly look before he acted spoke. He would do this. For if he didn't, he was nothing but a coward, abandoning people who belonged to the Great Demon Kingdom to thieves and murderers. He was sworn to protect this Kingdom and all of its peoples, and he would do so.

The night wrapped like a thick black cloak around them, the only light a distant, waning moon and the pin-pricks of gold rising from the village in the valley below. Pale faces in a gathering crowd were turned towards the strength that was Dunheely Weller, like flowers towards a rising sun, waiting there, hoping that when dawn came it would find them all alive. All around them, the mountains rose like impassable walls in the blackness, lurking giants that promised protection, but truly offered none.

"The bandits apparently approach the village from that mountain trail." Weller's voice rang out clear in the stillness, drawing everyone a step closer. "You and I will split up."

"Why should I do that?" Gwendal grumbled, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides restlessly.

The head elder of the village approached Dunheely, hands clasped nervously together, his blue eyes silently pleading. "Lord Dunheely," There was worry in his movements and in his voice, worry directed not at those around them, but for Dunheely himself… something Gwendal didn't understand. "Please, you must rest. It's too dangerous!"

Scoffing sharply at that comment, Gwendal straightened, his lips curving into an irritated scowl. There was something so accepting about Dunheely, a quiet, effortless peace, which was such a stark contrast to everyone else. It made Gwendal scowl all the more fiercely in annoyance.

"I was the one that brought you all to this place, remember?"

"My Lord!" The elder continued to plead.

"You know that I take pride in this village." That dark head lifted, eyes firm and unshakeable in their intensity. "Now, please allow me this conceit."

A shimmer of something painful burned in the elder's soft blue eyes, something bittersweet and aching. "But… my Lord Dunheely…"

A wave of quiet grief rippled through the assembled villagers, as sudden and unexpected as a sun shower of rain from a clear blue sky...a wave with no obvious cause to Gwendal's keen eyes. The young Demon Tribesman turned away, unable to bear this strangeness any longer. He strode past them, shoulders stiff and straight. "I'm going to take up my position."

And in the following silence, half of the men reluctantly turned and followed after him. Leaving the others behind, in the darker shadows of the great tree.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

"Yuuri!"

The Maou paused for a moment at the sound of his name, his head twisting to see his husband standing barely a few feet away, filled with obvious tension, silver eyes dark with anguish. It burned him from the inside out, that look. That look on his beloved's face. One that haunted him.

"Yuuri, you can't do this! I won't let you do this. This is my burden to carry…"

"I can and I will."

Yuuri was unprepared for the sudden thump of a larger body against his own, thrusting him backwards hard against the cold stone. Hands caught his wrists in a vice-like grip, pinning them hard over his head. A mouth, hot and furious smashed into his own, swallowing down the confused shout before it could come. Heat. He was burning with it, the white-hot scorch of lust and need that rose to a boil inside of his body as a knee insinuated itself between his thighs and pressed upwards.

He fought hard against that grip, feeling the bubble of desperation behind what his beloved was doing. Conrart's free hand was already sliding beneath his clothes, scaldingly hot against his skin, knowing just how to rouse him. His head spun with it, body caught between trying to fight free and simply giving into his lover's frantic passion. But as abruptly as it had started, that large body pressed so intimately against his own stilled.

A palm pressed against Yuuri's side, just beneath his ribs on the right-hand side, right over the scar that marked the place where a blade had found Yuuri's flesh. A blade Conrart had been unable to stop. A shudder ran through Conrart as his head dropped against his husband's shoulder, harsh breaths tickling against the side of Yuuri's throat. Something hot and wet soaked into Yuuri's shirt and jacket, stinging against his skin as Conrart's fingers traced over the scar, that touch almost feeling like Conrart was attempting to smooth away the ridged scar with his fingers, anything to erase the hated blemish from his body.

Yuuri's wrists easily slipped free of a loosening grip, his arms coming up to curl around his husband's trembling shoulders and tucking him closer. A sense that he was missing something vital from all of this kicked him squarely in the solar plexus. While his fingers caressed through the shaggy brown locks soothingly, he tried to go over everything he'd noticed since the very start of this situation surrounding Lady Elizabeth Eichel.

Inch by inch, his brain put the half-hidden pieces of this puzzle together, one he'd missed due to his own absorption with his personal situation, Julia and his pre-occupation with the Boxes. A burning shame gnawed away at his gut, eating him from the inside out over being so unaware of just how much his husband was suffering. He hadn't glimpsed the true depths of what Conrart was carrying around like a leaden weight inside of his soul, poisoning him from the inside out, and no amount of words or actions could hide it anymore.

Their recent separation, even though it was now weeks ago, was just as raw in this moment as it had been then, and it had cut away like an exacting scalpel another piece of Conrart, creating a deep, emotional wound, just like it had in Yuuri… but in a far more dangerous way in his already wounded husband.

His right hand dropped down to cover the back of Conrart's own, stilling it over his scar, his dark eyes peering down at the head tucked against his shoulder.

"Why…?" The word was a choked whisper, caught hard on his lips. "Why…!"

And Yuuri knew what the questions were.

Why am I here and they are not? Why me?

Slowly they sank downwards together, their knees buckling beneath their combined weight. Yuuri leaned back against the wall, long arms shifting again to coil around Conrart and gather him close as the man wept hard and freely, body shaking beneath the onslaught of his own bottled emotions.

Conrart didn't even stir when there was a soft knock on the other side of the door and it opened just a little. Brilliant blue eyes gazed in at them from that crack, Adalbert Von Grantz remaining silent at the sight before him, for he had come in response to the earlier shouting between the two of them. Yuuri's head lifted, his lips forming a single, silent word as he just held Conrart all the closer, and the door eased silently shut once more. The heavy footfalls of Yuuri's Captain of the Guard rapidly disappearing down the corridor on the other side.

Survivor's guilt.

Yuuri finally recognised it for what it was. Conrart, for all his stubbornness and strength, carried around one hidden weakness: His lack of self-worth. How often had he glimpsed it in those early days of their relationship? All those times he'd caught this man looking at him as if unable to believe that it was him that Yuuri wanted above all others. And that lack of valuing himself as someone worthy fed into the fact that Conrart was one of only two people to survive the battle of Arnold on the winning side… although that battle had nearly taken Conrart's life.

They sat there quietly, two people cuddled desperately together, consumed by their thoughts.

Another knock sounded against the door, Conrart flinching away from the overly loud sound in their very quiet sitting room.

"Come."

The door opened and Gurrier Yozak stood there, looking as rumpled as if he had just dragged himself out of bed… which he more than likely had given the late hour. Azure blue eyes widened sharply at the sight of Conrart, before snapping up and meeting Yuuri's, the man hesitantly stepping forwards.

"Captain?" Yozak's voice was soft, but even that made Conrart flinch again as if struck physically by the word.

A moment of painful awkwardness lingered in the air, especially after Yozak's past actions… and the fact that for the longest time, the other man had been in love with Yuuri's husband.

However, in that moment, the Maou didn't care one iota for that. All that mattered was that somehow their voices would be able to truly reach Conrart. If that took having Yozak here, that was what he was going to do. Yuuri gestured Yozak forwards, coaxing the man into the room and over to them. In this moment, all that mattered was Conrart, and Yuuri's need to protect him... even from himself.

Tears, scorching hot, slid down his cheeks, searing Conrart's skin with their passing. Shame bubbled up in thick, overpowering torrents, drowning him from the inside out as his world cracked right down the middle, splintering into a thousand jagged pieces. Guilt pounded through him along with his own racing heartbeat, as his head was forcefully lifted from Yuuri's shoulder, allowing both men to see his tears. Tears he had no right to shed… a grief he had no right to experience.

Staring up into his husband's worried, obsidian eyes, he knew for a fact that he was nothing but a burden hanging around his beloved's neck, dragging him down… troubling him… worrying him… when Yuuri already had so much to deal with. He was meant to be of support and comfort to his beloved, not a burden, but he was. He knew it. Ever since their return it had been different. And now Yuuri had taken it upon himself to take a challenge in Conrart's stead, placing himself in danger over something that… was all his fault.

Again… again Yuuri faced the darkness because of Conrart, because he wasn't strong enough to protect him. His hand trembled as his fingers touched the length of Yuuri's scar, touching a wound that Conrart was responsible for. He had failed.

Why? Why was he here? When so many good men and women were dead?

His stomach roiled, his arms wrapping tightly around it as his chest heaved, feeling as if he were running out of air. He was choking on his own tears as decades of emotion rose like a tidal wave to drag him down. Blood… he could taste it on his lips… smell it in the air… it stained everything… tainting everything with its darkness and bitter heat.

Jerking his fingers back from that inviting skin, Conrart frantically looked down, frightened that the blood staining his hands now was smeared against that pale skin. Red. So much red. Hot… by all that was, he could feel it… feel the rising heat… the burning, acrid stench as bodies were swallowed by the hungry flames of the battle field. An inferno that had burned away any last trace of Stoddard Eichel. Flames so hot… there had been nothing left of the man to bring back to his family… no body to mourn over.

His body rocked, jerking into motion, his fingers clenching in his clothes. Everything collapsed, cracking and crumbling, spiralling down to close over his head.

He should have burned too. Burned along with his men. Every inch of him incinerated by the heat… so that they would regain their honour, regain their names. There would be no Lion of Luttenburg, no hero of the war… but just the memories of honest, noble men that deserved to be recognised for what they had done in service of a country that had turned its back on them.

A howl rose from within him, a raw, ragged sound that wrenched itself free of his throat and filled the entire space. A mournful cry from his heart, filled with the agony he'd never allowed himself to truly express. Friends… comrades… all gone. Swallowed by the flames. A deathly pyre to free their souls…

Death. Death followed him, walking in his footsteps, hiding in his shadow. A fate that would come for Yuuri... which had already come so close already. It was because of him, because of him that Yuuri bore that scar, had suffered for so long… pain… pain he had caused! It was he who had put that haunted look on that beloved face… He had failed. Just as he had failed his men.

Hands, so gentle… so unbearably tender, caught his face between them, forcing his head up. He tried to pull back, tried to escape that loving touch he knew so well. A touch he wanted to lean into. Conrart wanted to lean into that touch, to allow the soft lips stroking so lovingly against his own to become the balm to chase away his demons.

"Yuuri."

I've failed you…

His head jerked back, unable to swallow down all that consumed him. Those hands slipped from his skin, leaving him suddenly feeling bereft of that beloved touch. But it was how it should be… he didn't deserve any kind of compassion or kindness.

Years of emotion bottle up were spilling up and out of him, unable to be contained.

50 Years Before Present, Hills Above The Nameless Village, The Great Demon Kingdom (Yozak aged 50/10)

Standing nervously beside the man who had rescued him from his nightmares, he lightly poked at the ground with a shoe, his throat working painfully. His blue eyes didn't dare look up, not daring to look his hero in the face.

"Umm…" His words choked off in his throat, fingers attempting to smooth down his ragged clothing, eyes closed tight as he dared to ask about someone that mattered to him. "Excuse me?"

Dark cinnamon eyes, the same shade as another set of longed for eyes, tipped down to regard him with quiet affection.

"Well, what is it, young man?" Dunheely asked curiously.

"It… it was just… the boy you were travelling with before…" He stuttered, trying to gather together his courage, blue eyes finally flickering upwards to fix on the Lord's face for a moment. A faint flush of colour spread across his pale, dirt-streaked cheeks. "Is he well, Sire?"

"Ah, you mean Conrart?" The old swordsman's face lit up, eyes sparkling with love and a deep affection for the child of his blood. The very thought of his son renewed something within his old heart, making his back straighten just a little more from its stoop.

"I really hoped I would get to see him again. But, with the village the way it is…"

Both pairs of eyes looked down from their vantage point above the village, feeling a swell of something within their hearts at the sight.

"You have something to protect," Dunheely finished with understanding. "That's a joy nothing else can surpass."

Yozak's head jerked upwards at those words, blue eyes staring at the man beside him, feeling those words reach down and touch something inside of his heart, which up until that moment had never had the word to describe his feelings clearly. Protect. Yes… that was it. He wanted to protect all that he loved with every part of him and he swore that he would.

He would protect his village… and maybe one day… he might be able to protect a boy… with pain in his eyes and an ache in his heart.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

Yozak stood there, caught by the heart at the sight of Conrart's tears. He staggered back a step as the raw emotions clawed at him, stealing the very breath from his lungs. How? How... had he not realised this depth of pain still flowed like a bitter river through the heart of Conrart's soul? It chilled him to the core. The thought that Conrart could truly be drowned by it.

He had rightly feared in those first few days after the Battle of Arnold that Conrart's grief over the death of their soldiers and that of Susannah Julia would so consume him that he would take his own life. Yet, as the weeks passed… then months… then eventually years… and then when the man had returned from Earth, he'd thought, that finally Conrart had found his peace. He and everyone else had been utterly fooled by Conrart's smile.

He wasn't alright… and never had been. And he'd been blinded by his own supposed love to see it.

But Yuuri… the Maou had seen it… glimpsed it and now understood what it was that tore the beautiful core right out of Conrart's spirit. Yozak's gaze went to where his king was still holding Conrart, and he saw the pain in the Maou's dark eyes, too.

Yuuri refused to allow Conrart to pull away from him, reaching out again and capturing those trembling shoulders. He wrapped himself around the knight, drawing that chestnut head against his shoulder protectively, one hand curled into the long, wild strands, wilfully absorbing every silent shudder, each muted cry of agony.

"I love you."

The words filled the space, repeated over and over again to the heart-sick man, a whisper that was louder than the hoarse pleadings of the broken soldier. Yozak stepped forwards, straining his ears to try to understand what was being said and was shocked by what he heard.

"My fault… all of them… my fault…" It struck him again like an arrow squarely to the heart to hear his friend blame himself for things that no one would have ever been able to change. Of a battle that could never have been truly won… no matter what they might have done. They had all known what they were walking into. "…I failed them… they burned… blood… so much blood… She's right about me! I am a murderer… I am! Why won't you let me pay for my crimes?"

"Because you aren't guilty of them." Yuuri replied sharply, staring down into Conrart wild gaze, reaching into the intimate space between Conrart and Yuuri and catching the man's face tightly between his palms. "I know it right down to my bones that you aren't."

Conrart's large hands lifted, palms out, hovering in mid-air in the gap between the three of them. "Can't you see it? Why… can't you see the blood? Why can't you see the blood of my men?! I'm stained by it. It's my fault that they have nothing left to mourn. No bodies to ease their grief… Nothing to say goodbye to. They trusted me to bring them home! And I… I led them right to the slaughter!"

"Conrart… that isn't true."

But the man refused to listen, refused to see.

Yuuri's obsidian gaze lifted to Yozak for just a single glance and it felt like he was slapped hard… as if waking him from a stupor he'd fallen into. In that single look, Yozak felt a biting, bitter sting of a shame so deep that it almost swallowed him whole. He had been so selfish when it came to Conrart for so long, and he would have believed himself capable of solving this on his own. Yet, Yuuri, for all his pain and reason to never let Yozak near to Conrart again-especially when he was this vulnerable-had called to him for help. Humility. A trait Yozak didn't seem to possess very much of burned bright within their King, and he truly could see what it was his former best friend did when he looked at their Maou. Here was a man willing to put aside their differences for the one he loved.

And how could he ignore that? The trust that was being placed in him in this moment of vulnerability for both Maou and his beloved Consort.

Dropping to his knees beside the Maou, Yozak reached out to grip Conrart's shoulders hard, shaking him sharply, so hard that Conrart's teeth rattled in his head and the tears that were coursing from his silver eyes stilled at the roughness of his grip. Wide eyes stared at him, shocked to suddenly see him, as if Conrart had been unaware that he was even there.

"Stop this, Captain."

"But…"

"NO!" He gave Conrart another hard shake. "No buts, no argument. You and I both know that every single one of our men knew that death was waiting. We all walked into that with our eyes open, knowing we might never come back."

"I could have…"

"NO!" Gurrier Yozak snarled, gripping the other man's shoulders bruisingly tight, not allowing him to turn away. "Damnit, Captain! We were ready to die for our country, ready to die for the cause."

"Elizabeth… she…"

"Is a child who has no understanding of what happened that day. She doesn't understand what happened to her brother. She is just trying to find someone to blame for her pain… for her loss." Yozak was rather thankful that his lover was well versed in castle gossip and willing to share, or he wouldn't know at all what was going on. His hands stayed firm upon the man's shoulders. "Why do you blame yourself? What guilt can you call yours?"

"I was the one that moved out before we…"

"At the orders of the Council!" Yozak snapped back instantly, his blue eyes narrowing. "We were going to wait. You were going to wait. Yet, they ordered us to go without being resupplied. Even if you had argued, we both know what would have happened!"

Conrart's eyes dropped, trying to escape that hold, wincing at every word from Yozak's lips.

"They would have stripped you of your command and placed the Division under the control of Deitrich Ianhoff and sent them out anyway before the supplies came. We both know that that man was no commander and had no tactical training whatsoever. All of our men would have been slaughtered within the first fifteen minutes of the battle and that line would have fallen. The defences of this Kingdom would have fallen and we would never have gained a ceasefire so quickly! We knew what we had to do and why we had to do it!"

Silver eyes were wide and dark with emotion and denial, lips parted, and Yozak could almost imagine the words that were contained within, words Conrart appeared to be unable to form upon his tongue.

"You saved their honour and gave them their names to be remembered by each of their families. There might not be any bodies to bury… but their names are still remembered. Look at Elizabeth. She sees her brother as a hero fallen in battle, as a man as noble and as brave as any full-blooded Demon Tribesman. You gave each of our men their pride."

"If there is any blame to be had, Conrart, lay it at the feet of the coward that ordered us into battle a day early, and at the feet of those that started that senseless war in the first place. If there is any blame to be had, lay it at the feet of every person who ridiculed and belittled our men for being human or half-blooded, and thought less of them because of who they were born to." He paused, his voice gentling, his hand lifting gently from the man's shoulder to lightly touch against his cheek, wiping away a single tear that escaped from those silvery eyes. "If there is any blame to be had, put it at the feet of those that did not come to stand beside the road the day we marched out to witness the selfless bravery and unmatched courage of every soldier that fought in their name and died for them."

"And Julia, her death was not your fault either. You and I both know that there was the will of the Great One in her fate. She walked a path different from ours." Yozak's eyes glanced towards where the Maou knelt so close, knowing just where it was that Julia's soul had gone, understanding that Yuuri truly was the result of so much… a blessing that had returned to them, offering them renewed hope for the future and for every person like them, born of Demon Tribe and Human. "That her path was always set."

Yuuri shifted closer, long arms curling around Conrart's shoulders from behind, raven head resting against the back of the man's neck, embracing him tightly. There was an offering of strength and reassurance in that gentle, loving hold.

"You never once failed me." Yuuri whispered, giving his husband a squeeze. "I'm right here, aren't I? Alive and well and with you? I love you, Conrart Weller, and everything that you were, are and will be."

Conrart struggled for a moment, his heart visibly cracking beneath the words of two people that cared about him the most. Yuuri just held all the tighter, pressing his body against the curve of his husband's back, the heat of his own body soaking into that chilled one. What no one could see was the tears that streaked down the Maou's cheeks, a silent testament to the pain and suffering of so many at the hands of others. But, most of all for the man he loved. But Yozak could hear it, the hitch in the Maou's breathing, the way those arms trembled around Conrart's shoulders.

"You did everything you could for them, Captain. You stood beside them and honoured them. And now… we remember them. We speak their names and remember them for who they really were. You did everything right. There is nothing… nothing… that could have been done to change any of it. Not for Julia, not for Stoddart, not for our men."

"You're allowed to love. You're allowed to be happy." Yozak smiled softly, his hands lightly touching those salt-streaked cheeks. "You're allowed to live."

Like a house with its foundations taken out from beneath it, Conrart crumbled, his emotional defences shattering into a thousand pieces as for the first time since that terrible battle, there was nothing left to protect his vulnerable heart. A sound, almost inhuman in its tormented anguish, punched a hole right through their hearts and left them too, bleeding.

It was only the arms of the Maou that held Conrart Weller together as he finally released the guilt and regrets of decades, the entire room rang with it… no ear ever able to unhear the raw anguish and pain of one of their own.

They would hear and remember, as Yozak would, the tears wept for those they had lost no matter who they were.

And that, it was no longer Yozak's place to protect the one he'd loved… because there was another far stronger and more capable of it.

Conrart was loved.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

Her blonde head dropped forwards to rest against the cool glass, her shoulders shaking slightly as he stared down into the darkness, her heart burning within her. A hand lifted to press against the glass, which stood like a barrier between herself and the man down there on the training grounds.

A blade flashed in the torchlight, but the shine of its steel paled in comparison to the bright shine of the young man's golden blond hair. All Elizabeth could do was watch. Watch as he released pent up frustration and anger upon the training rigs that had been set out, the anger evinced by his practice sword almost enough to tear them apart. It had been her own words that had driven him from her. Her own actions that had pushed him away, and her gut ached with the longing now that she was so close… so close… and he was right there. Alive, vital... and the one she loved.

"Why don't you understand?" She asked him, eyes closed as her shoulders trembled with her bitterness and confusion. "Why don't you see it will all be better? He won't be able to hurt you… hurt anyone anymore…"

But he didn't answer, he couldn't answer.

For he was still out of her reach.

"Why… can't you see?"

A single tear streaked down her cheek, knowing that no one understood at all.

She was alone.

50 Years Before Present, Hills Above The Nameless Village, The Great Demon Kingdom

A shrill, haunting whistle sounded from out there amongst the skeletal trees, the sound biting into the courage of every man who stood with Gwendal upon this ridge.

Like wraths, born of the darkness and cold, the wolf-like figures appeared. The only sound they made was their feet, crushing dried leaves and twigs beneath them. Dusty furs cloaked them from head to toe, making them truly all the more animalistic. Predators that had come to hunt down and slaughter their fearful prey.

Gwendal stood a little straighter, his hand resting upon the pummel of his sword as he watched the dozen bandits come to a halt before them, clearly surprised by the fact that anyone had dared to stand against them, especially out here beyond the supposed safety of the heart of the village.

The men with him suddenly sprinted forwards, their hoes and scythes gripped tightly in their hands, raised and ready. Their voices cut through the night, filling it with their desperate determination that this time they would no longer be victims to these men. They would stand tall and proud in the face of adversity and defeat it. It was only the memory Dunheely's earlier orders that finally stilled them a mere handful of yards from the wretched monsters that had terrorised them.

The young noble followed in their wake, confident and unwavering in his stride.

"Well, aren't you intimidating tonight!" The lead bandit mocked the men and their desperate courage, trying to stare them down, and yet, he was obviously surprised to note Gwendal's presence just behind that of the villagers. "Now what is this? A little runt of a pup come to bark at us?"

"Your stench," Gwendal cut the other man off, his lips drawn together in a disgusted line, "I find it offensive."

"Who the hell are you?!" The bandit's second snarled, lunging forwards a step, eyes narrowing into furious slits.

"I have no obligation to help those from the nameless village." His feet carried him forwards, fingers curling all the tighter around the hilt of his sword, knuckles going white. His voice, however, remained deadly calm and steady, even though he felt his anger like a white-hot brand against his organs. "But, if your gang was allowed to run rampant in the Great Demon Kingdom…"

"WHAT ARE YOU BABBLING ABOUT?!" The leader of the human wolves roared, his curved blade scraping against its scabbard as it was withdrawn. That one action immediately charging every single one of his men with energy and the potential for action to crush this childish challenge to their authority.

Like a rabid dog, the man flew at Gwendal, sword raised, ready to smite the boy who dared to insult him, to stand in his way.

"If that is the way you want it," The noble sighed, his blade sighing as well as it was withdrawn with a practice, effortless grace.

A silver serpent of highly polished steel struck home within a single step, biting deep into the belly of the man that dared to think that he was any match for Gwendal Von Voltaire. Dark blood welled from the fatal wound, pouring out of the man like wine from a punctured barrel, staining the grass, and the man crumpled, a puppet with its strings suddenly cut.

The second-in-command jerked back in startled surprise, his own blade finding its owner's hand. "You little brat!" He spat furiously. "GET HIM!"

All hell was suddenly unleashed, the two bands of men coming together in a cry for blood, and for the protection of all those they had left behind. Swords met farming implements, wood to steel with unmatched ferocity.

Gwendal's battlecry mingled with the others as he moved amongst these bandits, dealing with them effortlessly, as if they were nothing more than a few saplings that needed cutting down. Every muscle and sinew knew what to do from his years of endless practice and training. Actions and reactions that needed no contemplation for he had been very well-trained. For some brief moments here and there, Gwendal felt the touch of the familiar hands of that man upon his shoulders and arms, guiding him through each motion, his loving praises in his ears. His heart burned all the more with fury at it, his rage and hatred boiling up to obliterate it… and the bandits... until they were nothing more than lumps of bleeding, wounded flesh at his feet.

Then… there were no more enemies to fight, save one.

Gwendal stilled, his eyes taking in the carnage around him and the fact that all of the men from the village stood around him, uninjured, with their faces turned up towards the hill.

"I take it our part of the mission is done."

The sound of steel against steel was carried by the wind down the slope and Gwendal turned, his head tipping upwards to catch the flashing glints of swords in the starlight.

"Oh no," One villager breathed out to Gwendal's left, panic filling his tone. "Lord Dunheely!"

The others… every single one of the others began to speak, their words of worry and concern confusing Gwendal as they all crowded forwards, their eyes fixed upon that battle. A battle that was all but won.

"Leave him be," Gwendal snorted dismissively, turning away, already knowing the outcome. "He's certainly good enough that he doesn't need our help."

No one listened.

For between one heartbeat and the next, every man was rushing forwards up the hill and towards that man, their voices raised in support.

The noble turned sharply, confusion burning a hole within him at their strange reactions. "Don't just run off! There might be others to fight here!"

None slowed, or heeded his words of warning.

And with a snarl of his own, he charged after them, his fury pushing him onwards and upwards towards that man.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

The stillness of the morning air made every sound that much sharper and cut everyone that stood on the sidelines of the duelling field. It did remind some of them of that time when they had witnessed the Maou himself fighting Lord Wolfram quite soon after his arrival, and the unexpected proposal that Conrart had received.

The tension today was just as tangible as it had been on that day, like a heavy weight resting on everyone's shoulders.

"Love," Conrart's voice was so quiet, yet unintentionally loud in the unbearable silence as he gazed at his husband. One of his hands was curled around one of Yuuri's, his lips touching against it, keeping the Maou close. "You don't need to do this. We can stop this right now… I… I will talk to her… Please, you don't need to do this for my sake."

"I don't think she will listen," Yuuri replied honestly, a sigh falling from between his lips. "No matter how we might explain… I think too much time has passed for all of it to be contained and released through words." He could remember his own moments of despair, when his grief over the loss of Conrart had practically consumed him and the whole world had felt as if it had abandoned him. "I want to get through to her."

The Maou's fingers touched softly against Conrart's lips, stroking over them to silence his husband and the worry he saw in those brilliant eyes.

"Trust me." The Maou's eyes flickered towards Wolfram, brightening just a little as some quiet knowledge glimmered in his eyes and reflected all the thoughts that were hiding behind them. "I believe we'll reach her."

He and his love were at one end of the field, and they both looked painfully exhausted, not that anyone would dare comment on the reason for it. The night also seemed to have had another victim, for the usually well collected Wolfram was surprisingly rumpled, his hair in disarray as if his hands hadn't been able to stay away from running repeatedly through the pale, curling locks. All that knew him could see that there was something going on inside of the young demon, some internal struggle that had yet to find its solution.

The conversation between the Maou and his Consort abruptly ended the moment the elegant lady stepped into the duelling ring, her chin lifted and defiant. Her rose-hued eyes narrowing on Conrart, before fixing upon the Maou, a man who had willingly married himself to a murderer, which made him just as guilty. Her heart burned, rage, hatred… and abject misery buzzing like a hornet's nest within her chest. For when she looked, Wolfram refused to lift his eyes to hers, and Elizabeth knew they had gotten to him too.

"This will finally show you all the truth of this matter." She cried, her shoulders stiffening, back ramrod straight. "I will reveal his guilt to all here!"

The Maou's obsidian eyes, startlingly inhuman in the morning light, fixed upon her with a quiet kind of sympathy and compassion. As if with that single look, he could see right through her and to everything that was in her heart. He was so calm. Unbelievably so, yet she could see he was startlingly exhausted. Even when the Maou knew she was the better swordsman… and that she could kill him. Her first kill… especially when he looked so worn. Why would he look that way? She'd seen the blinding anger in him last night, yet now… it was gone like it had never been… like something had changed within him.

He moved soundlessly onto his end of the duelling field, polished black boots not even scuffing the sand.

"You don't have to do this, my Lady." The Maou replied steadily, that burning compassion and concern radiating out of him. "There are so many other choices you can make than this one."

"No, there isn't!" She snapped angrily, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword, feeling them trembling despite herself. "This is the only way!" The only way to make Conrart Weller hurt as much as she did, by striking straight at his heart.

A quiet, resigned sigh escaped Yuuri, his head tipped towards the soldier that was adjudicating the match, giving him a nod.

"BEGIN!"

That word was all Elizabeth needed, for without hesitation, she flew forwards in a swift, punishing attack. Her blade slipping free from her scabbard, the wickedly sharp length of it sweeping in for Yuuri's belly. Her eyes burned with her hatred, it boiled over inside her, like flaming tar in her veins.

A blade met her own, lifting up to meet hers in an expertly timed parry, and although Yuuri was the taller and broader shouldered of the two of them, he didn't use his weight against her as he should to push her back.

She was astonished to realise that the Maou, who had so many people to protect him, was actually a fair swordsman, for each wickedly sharp slash of her blade, he was there to meet her. Yet, as each second trickled by, like sand through an hourglass, Elizabeth found that the Maou was not truly fighting her at all. For each controlled, steady movement was done purely in defence. He didn't step back… and yet he didn't step forwards either, didn't push into her. There was a great deal of skill to what he was doing and it was taking its toll on him to keep it up, a fine sheen of sweat and a flush to his skin giving him away. Yet, he refused to go on the offensive.

It only enflamed her all the more. How could he make a mockery of her like this?! How could he toy with her? WHY!

"Stop playing with me!" She shrieked at him, cheeks flaming with bright, angry colour. "Fight me!"

"And if I do, then what?" Yuuri asked calmly, his body vibrating a little with the next, bone-snapping blow of her sword against his own. It took all of his strength and determination to not show just how tired this was swiftly making him. A battle like this wasn't meant to be waged in a single spot, but he had forced himself to do it, to allow her to come to him, to simply defend himself, but take the care and time to ensure she wouldn't be hurt. "What would be the result of that?"

"YOU ARE MOCKING ME! You think this is some kind of joke! You think what I'm feeling is something to laugh at!"

Her movements became all the more furious and she began truly aiming to harm him, pushing hard against his defences, trying to get him to give up this foolish pretence of calm. He had to be angry! He had to be as furious as she was!

"No." He murmured compassionately, his dark eyes serious, echoing all the discoveries he'd made the night before… not only about Conrart, but also about Yozak. He hadn't truly appreciated until last night that he'd been missing something when it came to Yozak and Conrart's relationship, and Yozak's feelings. Or someone else's. He'd allowed all of his own emotions to colour his last interactions with this woman… and he couldn't allow that to happen again. "There's nothing funny about how you feel, Elizabeth. You're feelings are just as real and valid as my own. As valid as anyone else's. But, Conrart isn't guilty of the crimes you accuse him of. He was not the one that killed your brother."

Droplets of sweat trickled down the curve of his back, his exhaustion and the toll on him from this fight growing by the moment. His breath sawed in and out of his lungs, a fine tremble developing in his arms, his muscles screaming from each new, frenzied blow as Elizabeth continued to scream out her despair and anger at the world for what had been taken from her… and what it was still taking even now.

It truly made his heart ache to see her pain.

"Stoddart Eichel died protecting this country, protecting you… and every last one of us with his life. He was a hero, Elizabeth. But Conrart isn't responsible for his death. He knew what he was doing! He walked into battle knowing that might be the outcome!" He pleaded softly with her, wanting to reach deep into her heart and show her the mistake she was making. "Don't let your anger blind you. I know you don't truly wish to hurt anyone… you just… don't know how to let your grief out… Don't let this moment define you. Please."

Her scream of raging grief was his answer.

A painfully hard blow actually finally managed to force him back a step, a fine slice appearing in the fabric of his dark jacket's just over his belly, leaving only a fine red line across the Maou's skin. If he hadn't moved, it would have possibly disembowelled him. She'd been aiming to kill. He could see it in her next movement, the way her body twisted behind the sword… the despair in her eyes… that this next blow truly would kill him.

Yuuri knew he'd failed to reach her. Failed to convince her.

He suddenly stepped back, sinking shakily to his knees in the aftermath of a duel he could not win. His head bowing as he panted for air, his side burning painfully along his scar and the knitted flesh underneath. A vulnerable target for her next swing.

However, it never reached him. For another had stepped up to protect him.

The clang of two lethal blades met just before him, a figure having entered the ring to accept Elizabeth's challenge and to protect the Maou. It wasn't Conrart.

Wolfram stood before the Maou, defiant in the face of Elizabeth's rage, ready to confront her and all that she inspired within him.

"I will fight you, Ellie, and I will hold nothing back."

50 Years Before Present, Hills Above The Nameless Village, The Great Demon Kingdom

"Quickly! Protect Lord Dunheely!" The Elder called to his fellow villagers, rallying them around their Lord, the man who had given so much to their village and to them.

Within the circle of their protection, Lord Dunheely was valiantly attempting to fight off a single opponent, his entire focus on the man. Each swing seemed to become harder and harder for their protector to deflect, his entire body heaving with his desperate bid to draw more air into his lungs as he staggered backwards, his back pressing up against the broad trunk of the massive oak.

"My Lord!" The young, half-breed child rushed forwards, a small sword clenched tightly in one fist, his eyes wide with fear that his hero would fall to the deadly blade of his opponent. "I'm coming!"

"Forget about me!" Dunheely gritted out, using the tree to support him as he blocked another sweeping slash that had been aiming to open him from chin to navel. He couldn't afford the distraction… not now!

"But… my Lord!" The boy looked upon him with troubled, disbelieving eyes.

Dunheely lunged forwards, putting all of his weight behind it, driving back the bandit until he had managed to get his sword just beneath the bandit's chin, inches from his throat. In that moment, he dared to spare a glance towards the youth, his heart aching just a little at the sight of the boy, no older than his own beloved son… knowing in the pit of his stomach he probably wouldn't see Conrart again. His heart was thrumming, a hummingbird beating its wings against the sides of his ribs… wanting to escape.

"Open your eyes," He shouted at Yozak, strengthened by the truth of his own mortality. "Can't you see I'm not the one you should be protecting?"

The boy's shocked gaze lingered upon him, lips parting at the thought provoking challenge from the knight.

His breaths came harsher, his limbs trembling with the effort to fight a battle he was no longer certain he could win at all. The boy was backing up several steps, awareness entering his eyes, before he turned and fled towards the village, towards where the bandits may already now be heading.

The instant his head turned back towards his opponent, his vision began to blur, sliding in and out of focus as he didn't seem to be able to get enough air in. Nausea rose like a sickening tide within Dunheely, burning against the inside of his throat.

The wolfskin-hooded bandit let out a sharp, short bark of laughter, blade lifting in mocking salute. "Tell me, aren't you a little too old to be doing this?"

With that, he lunged for him, like a wolf leaping upon a weakened, old stag, sword swinging down, over and over again. He pounded at Dunheely's defences, pushing him backwards with every powerful strike. It was too much… too much! His fingers clutched over his heart, feeling it ready to burst. His guard lowered for only an instant, but it would be enough… Enough to finish him. And his heart burst in another way… that he might never be able to say to Gwendal, to his adopted son… all of the things he desired to.

So much he wanted to tell the boy.

Several Hours Earlier.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

The first tentative rays of dawn had just brightened the very edge of the horizon with the first hints of gold and green when a heavy pounding sounded on the door of Yuuri and Conrart's chambers. Yuuri let out a groan, managing to find his feet, even though he wanted nothing more than to stay in bed. His husband let out an echoing groan, groggy silver eyes blinking from under a fall of wild chestnut hair, immediately beginning to droop shut all over again.

Grabbing Conrart's robe and hurriedly belting it around his waist, Yuuri managed to pull the door open before another pounding woke Conrart up properly.

Wolfram hovered on the other side, fist raised, ready to come down on the solid wood. Yet, he paused the moment he realised Yuuri was there, tired and worn out from the emotional night he'd had. It seemed Wolfram too had been through the proverbial wringer, his clothes rumpled and damp from the morning air and the relentless practicing of the night before. His hands were marked with the beginnings of blisters from it.

With a light shove against his brother-in-law's chest, Yuuri pushed the other man away enough that he could step out of their bedroom and pull the door shut behind him in order to deal with his unexpected visitor. He could feel the wild pounding of Wolfram's heart beneath his touch, the way his entire body heaved as if he had run a marathon.

"Let me do it!" Wolfram burst out, voice painfully loud in the hush of pre-dawn. "Let me…!"

"Keep your voice down." Yuuri hissed out, straightening to look into the other youth's eyes, his own revealing his exhaustion and shortened temper. "You could wake the dead the way you're carrying on. Conrart just got to sleep and so did I." Rubbing the spot between his eyes with scarred fingers, he let out a quiet groan as he then rubbed one chilled foot against his leg, definitely not liking being disturbed in such a manner. "It's been a hell of a night…"

Wolfram stood stock still, truly looking at Yuuri and paling a little a what he saw, and it was that quiet hesitation that made Yuuri rub at his eyes again and really pay attention, despite his tiredness.

"What is it, Wolfram?" Genuine concern filled his voice as he studied those troubled green eyes, before coaxing. "Tell me."

"Let me take the challenge, please, Sire," Wolfram pleaded hopefully. "Let me stand as your champion in the duel."

Yuuri's dark brows flew to near his hairline at the startlingly polite tone of his words and his respectful manner. Wolfram was usually rambunctious and rarely so formal, especially not with Yuuri. They'd always had their differences and issues over the time they had known each other. Yet, this was something wholly new for the both of them.

Stretching out a hand, he lightly rested it upon the blonde's shoulders, squeezing softly, trying to capture the look in those green eyes. He tried to understand what it was that was going on. What was it that so deeply affected Wolfram?

Wolfram's fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling so fast, he didn't seem to be able to get any air in and was choking.

"I think I love her."

Despairing green eyes lifted to meet Yuuri's startled ones.

"So please… let me do this." He beseeched the Maou, "I don't want to fail… I don't want to live my life wondering 'what if'… I've already made so many mistakes when it comes to Elizabeth… I want a chance to make it right."

He didn't want time to steal away his chance at happiness, like it had Marina's.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

"Wolfram… what is this?" She cried, utterly stunned by his interference.

"I did not intend to interfere with your duel, but I am still his Highness's bodyguard. It is my duty to protect him." Green eyes were filled with determination, his chin lifting as he stood against Elizabeth, protecting the man who had done all he could to protect the one Wolfram's heart belonged to. This should not be a load Yuuri should carry, he should have done this from the beginning. The words though… the words he wanted to say to her… wouldn't come out… even though he wanted to say them with all his heart.

Why did his nerves grip him like steel bands now? Now when it mattered the most! Why couldn't he say the words he should have offered to her years ago?

"How… how can you side with them?" She breathed out, pain dancing through her eyes as she clutched the hilt of her sword all the harder, her throat tightening up.

"Ellie." He whispered, the tip of his sword wavering as she drew back for just a moment. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to fight her… not truly. All Wolfram wanted to do was hold her… hold her until her heart stopped aching… until she felt safe again. "Please. I…"

"You're just like them! You don't understand! YOU'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND! You didn't understand what happened after he died… you don't know what it did to Father! None of you cared about how he started to fade away! Mother left him!" She raged at Wolfram, unable to hold back as she came at him again, sword lifted high and meeting Wolfram's with bruising force. Tears streaked down her face as she went after Wolfram as all the hatred and bitterness poured out of her in a dark wave. "She left him, abandoned him! Just because… just because he'd loved a human woman! Just because my brother… my brother was like yours…!"

"Stoddart… he was better than all of you…! He was a good Demon Tribesman! He poured his heart and soul into his work… and… he had such a promising future! He was going to be married! He was… he was due to come home!" Tears blurred her vision as she continued her relentless attack upon Wolfram, throwing herself into it. "But then… your uncle…"

Wolfram's heart dropped, like a stone into a deep dark well… plunging straight to the bottom. "Your uncle discovered the truth about my brother's mother. He sent a letter to Stoddart's commander. Sent a letter… that outed him. No one stood up for him as he was drummed out of his unit, as if he were nothing but mud beneath their boots. My noble, honourable brother who had served this country with distinction was cast aside like he was garbage. Then… they when he was down… when he was vulnerable… your uncle terminated his engagement to Marina, ripping out his heart and refusing to allow him to see her.

He should have come home! He should have come home! But… instead…" A wail of heartbreaking anguish slipped from her, her body shaking with it. "He went to join the Luttenberg Division. He was a soldier… loyal to the Great Demon Kingdom… and we were at war. And everything he'd worked for… was gone."

"You… you were meant to bring him home…" Elizabeth stared at Conrart Weller, her gaze accusatory… so angry. "You were meant to bring him home!" Her head whipped around to stare at Stoffel Von Spitzweg and Cecilie Von Spitzweg. "And you're the ones that ordered him out onto the battlefield! You cowards! You ordered my brother to his death because he was beneath your notice because of your damned Demon Pride!"

Her rose coloured eyes fixed upon Wolfram, lost and hurt.

"And to you… my brother… was nothing more than another… filthy human." Her eyes burned all the more as she stared at Wolfram. "And you left too."

Pain, rose like a phoenix through her soul, burning hot, her hatred rising with it. That hatred that was like fragile armour around her shattering heart. They needed to feel it. They needed to feel her pain or they would never understand. They would pay for what they had done, and then… then maybe… it wouldn't hurt as much anymore.

Heated air shimmered around her feet, making her clothes and long hair ripple and dance around her body, while the first sparks burst into life and hissed against the compacted gravel of the duelling field. Flames coiled around her body, finally reflecting all that seared her on the inside. Her eyes fixed upon Wolfram, her soul screaming of things she no longer desired to feel… but she could no longer hear its words as the fire drowned it out… drowned everything out.

And she rushed for him, a comet of grief, rage… and lethal flame.

50 Years Before Present, Hills Above The Nameless Village, The Great Demon Kingdom

With a lethal thrust of that wickedly curved blade, the bandit aimed straight for the knight's heart, only to find himself the victim of his own stupidity.

Gwendal's blade stuck home first. The razor-sharp edge slicing through flesh as if it were nothing but melted butter. A fine spray of red exploded from the bandit's lips, soaking into the fabric around his mouth as he breathed his last. He dropped to the ground face-first, nothing more than a dead weight of still quivering flesh at Gwendal's feet.

The night fell terribly silent, except for the painful, ragged gasps for breath from just behind Gwendal's back.

"No grace at all," Gwendal scoffed irritatedly, his shoulders tense, posture furious. "You shouldn't have held back."

How could Dunheely have nearly fallen to the blade of a wretch like this? The swordsman he remembered had been one of the finest he'd ever witnessed. These bandits should have been dealt with as if they were little more than vermin to crush beneath his boot. He quivered with his suppressed rage, wishing to know why he was being made a fool of by this man.

His head twisted, staring angrily back over his shoulder at Dunheely Weller, ready to angrily demand answers, only to feel as if that bandit had managed to plunge that blade squarely into Gwendal's own chest. Disbelief and utter confusion wrapped themselves around the boy's heart as he stared uncomprehendingly at the man behind him.

Hands, gnarled and wrinkled, trembled where they gripped that once deadly blade, the arms and shoulders that supported those hands were bowed with time and advanced age. The dark hair he remembered so well, now hung limply around a weathered face, ash white and scraggly. Where once had been a proud, fearless and unchanging warrior, now a trembling, sickly old man stood, eyes tired and filled with so many emotions, Gwendal had no name for any of them.

Staggering backwards, Gwendal felt his pulse stutter, breath catching hard in the back of his throat. It was impossible.

Yet, there Lord Dunheely Weller stood, a man long past his prime and not meant to be anywhere near a battlefield like this.

"Listen to me, Gwendal." Dunheely murmured, gaze fixing upon his step-son's youthful face.

A painful awareness rushed through Gwendal as recent memories flashed through his mind's eye, tearing him open and making him aware of the lie he'd been telling himself from the start. A truth he was now seeing. Ever since this man had returned with Conrart days before, passing through the castle gates… this man had appeared like this. Yet, Gwendal had refused to see it… refused to acknowledge that this man… was dying.

"I see…" He breathed out, head swimming with the long-denied truth. "The truth is before my eyes." A pain… a pain unlike any other he'd experienced swept through him, a wolf tearing him part from the inside… his heart… his heart burned with it… splintering and cracking into a thousand pieces.

Then a noise came from his right. Another bandit. Another monster in the darkness.

Gwendal turned that rage and helpless pain upon that evil creature, pouring out the agony that rose unbidden within his soul. He didn't know how many more he killed that night, all he knew was that they fell. They fell beneath his sword as he tried to empty out all the things that were stoppered up within him. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.

Enough to quiet the nameless anguish that he didn't understand.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

Wolfram gazed upon the grief-stricken woman as she charged at him, each heartbeat seeming to crawl by as he took in every ounce of her anguish and didn't turn away from it. And in that moment, staring into the deep rose-hued depths of her eyes, he could remember his mother's own pain of decades before… something he had dismissed as a childhood memory and of little consequence to him at the time. His mother had loved Dunheely Weller with all of her heart, but that love couldn't hold the man to her, no matter how much she wished it could. The Lord had not had the will to stay, knowing what Cecilie would see as those years passed as he began to fade away… but that the pain of separation was felt by both… no matter how much they denied it.

"He keeps moving forward and all I can ever do is watch him go. It's always so hard being left behind."

And he finally understood.

The ringing clatter of a blade hitting the gravel whipped Conrart's head around, his eyes fixing with abject horror upon his younger brother where the young man's sword had slipped willingly from his fingers to the ground. Wolfram's arms lifted towards Elizabeth in almost slow motion, stepping towards her even as she rushed towards him, sword raised in a killing arc. Conrart could feel the biting heat of the inferno around her from here and his reaction was immediate. He hadn't even realised he'd taken a step forwards, hand on his blade wanting to rush to meet that attack.

"WOLFRAM!" Conrart bellowed, but found himself held back on the sidelines by the tight grip of his husband's fingers around his wrist. His head turned towards his husband, desperation in his eyes. "Yuuri! He needs me!"

The Maou shook his head once, a quiet smile upon his lips… as if he'd seen something that Conrart had missed.

Just as Elizabeth's blade arced back, the hungry flames around her enveloped Wolfram within their fiery grasp. They saw Wolfram say something quietly to her, drowned out by the thundering roar of the flames as they reached critical mass.

Light, so brilliant and unbearable it temporarily blinded them all, forced each of them to turn away and shield their eyes from the eruption of magic. A shockwave of heat scorched over them, washing over them like a burning fist to the chest, knocking Yuuri almost off his shaky feet until Conrart coiled like a living shield between him and the raging nightmare that Elizabeth and Wolfram were trapped wtihin. Brilliant tendrils of roiling orange whipped around at the centre of that explosion, melting the gravel into a deep, hard baked red. Billowing waves of smoke erupted out of that fireball as it seemed to be sucked inwards by an invisible force, drawn inwards until it was extinguished.

A gentle wind swept in at Conrart's call, sweeping away the clouds of ash and smoke until it revealed a devastating scene.

Elizabeth knelt on the ground, her arms wrapped tightly around the slumped from of Wolfram, his clothing badly singed, his skin a faint, blistered red. His blond hair was blackened at the ends too, as if he'd stood far too close to an open flame. The worst part was… he wasn't moving.

"Help him!" Elizabeth was sobbing as she held tightly to Wolfram, her face buried against that blackened hair... hair which should have been a shining gold. "Please…! Help him! Oh… Gods… what have I done!"

All hell broke loose.

50 Years Before Present, Hills Above The Nameless Village, The Great Demon Kingdom

The bandits were in retreat, or the very few that remained were.

He could hear his name being called, although it sounded as if from some great distance as he sat beneath the leafless tree. His heart still pounded like a frantic, stuttering drum, and he knew with each pound that his life was coming to an end. His last battle had been too much, straining his weak body until the breaking point.

A boy's face hovered close to his own, an indistinct blur of coppery hair and blue eyes. A question.

A breathless answer. But this wasn't the boy he wanted to see. This wasn't the child he wished to speak with. Didn't they understand what it was that he wanted?

A trembling finger lifted, pointing desperately at his step-son. "I want you… to leave me alone… with that man…"

"Yes, Lord."

Shadows passed across his eyes as he focused on breathing, one breath at a time, trying to draw enough energy to him to say what it was he truly wanted to say.

And then another face came into focus, the one he wanted to see.

"Gwendal." It was a relieved sigh. "You're still… young… but… the passage of time is the same for you… as it is for me…" His head flopped forwards down upon his chest, his heart slowing, skipping a beat… dancing around within his old chest. "In this short lifetime, I have as a human I wanted to leave some proof behind, that I had lived. So… I sought out an answer. Moving forwards, never caring how it looked." He paused, cinnamon eyes lifting to fix upon Gwendal, a quiet pride filling his face, yet also a terrible guilt. "I was possessed by those terrible feelings… human desire can drive a man beyond his limits."

"Why?" Gwendal asked sharply. "Why did you choose me to accompany you on this journey? You have other sons, even Mother could have come along and you know it!"

"That's simple, because in all the people in the world, you hated me the most."

The boy stiffened, those dark blue eyes reflecting his confusion.

"Being hated by a great man such as you, is the long sought after answer I came to understand. It would be my proof of life." A soft laugh escaped him, choked up by painful coughs. His eyes, however, spoke of different words the boy had never accepted from him. Words of affection, pride… and a father's love. Even if this boy was not of his blood, it didn't make Dunheely any less proud of the young man he was growing into. He had wanted this last trip to be with Gwendal… because it was through this boy that some part of Dunheely would be carried forwards… to do a little more good in this world. A proof to himself that even though he had failed so incredibly in his life… he'd still done one little thing right.

Please… His soul whispered to this strong young man, who was everything Dunheely hoped he might be… Protect what I love, for I no longer can. You… you have always done right by them. Keep them safe… when I am gone.

"I'm so tired…" Dunheely rasped. "Let me… rest a little…"

His heart stuttered.

His chest struggled to rise.

And lashes lowered as with that last look, he beheld one of the greatest things in his life… his son, Gwendal.

He died… happy.

Covenant Castle, The Capital, The Great Demon Kingdom

"I thought I was a terrible patient." Yuuri Shibuya Weller mused as he watched Wolfram bite back another curse as his hands were rebandaged professionally by Gisela. His skin was thankfully looking far better than it had three days before… when they had resembled slightly cooked hamburgers. The Maou was currently perched in a chair beside Wolfram's bed, a sheaf of work papers currently sitting on his knee where he'd been perusing them as he kept his brother-in-law company. "I think you look ready to explode. I'm surprised you haven't already turned our ears black and blue with your swearing."

Wolfram scowled at Yuuri, green eyes narrowing, but he remained perfectly still gritting his teeth as more salve was smeared over his blistered fingers and they were covered in a layer of protective bandages. He clearly didn't like being teased very much.

"When, Miss Gisela, will I be able to leave my bed?" Wolfram managed to grit out with as much civility as he could muster, even though he was giving Yuuri the stink eye.

The Maou flashed Wolfram a small grin, before turning his attention back to his work.

"Not for at least another day." Gisela answered thoughtfully, before glancing towards the Maou and then back at Wolfram. "While His Majesty was able to heal most of your internal wounds… you still have a great deal of skin damage that requires you to remain as immobile as possible to prevent it from being even more damaged."

Wolfram bit the inside of his cheek and nodded once sharply in understanding, before offering their resident healer a word of genuine gratitude as she quietly exited, leaving Yuuri and Wolfram alone again. The young Demon Tribesman shuffled uncomfortably around beneath the sheets, his hair cropped short against his skull, fine curls all twisted up making it appear even shorter.

"Don't even think about it." The Maou remarked quietly, not even looking up from his work as he signed off on one sheet and flipped over to the next.

"But…"

"No." Yuuri commanded sharply, his dark eyes lifting to regard Wolfram for a long moment.

"But… Yuuri!"

Sighing, he rolled his eyes slightly, his head cocking as he mused over just what a mess Wolfram had made of himself. The young man had been fussed over and coddled within an inch of his life by Cecilie and practically everyone else in the Castle… Although, Conrart had done nearly the opposite and given his younger brother an earful for his 'stupidity' at getting himself practically blown up. But, Yuuri however had done none of those things, he'd simply stayed beside Wolfram in the moments everyone else was occupied, quietly giving his brother-in-law his silent support.

"She'll come." The Maou smiled reassuringly at Wolfram. "And when she does, she won't leave your side."

Bandaged fingers clenched into the fabric of the sheets covering his legs and Wolfram's face went terribly pale. "But… what if she doesn't? What if…"

"She loves you, Wolfram, as much as I dare say you love her." Dark eyes sparkled with silent amusement.

Wolfram frowned at him, pale brows coming together in a rather good imitation of Gwendal. "How could you know something like that?"

"Maybe because she's spent the last few nights in here watching over you when you're asleep." Yuuri had caught her at it only the night before, although he'd been careful not to give himself away. Elizabeth was still coming to terms with what had happened and exactly what Wolfram had told her just before he had willingly tried to draw in and contain the magic Elizabeth had loosed… ending up almost frying himself from the inside out as he'd tried to protect her from herself.

Stunned, those green eyes grew as big as saucers, Wolfram didn't know how to respond to that.

"She's working through a lot of things right now, a lot of guilt over what happened to you… and a lot of soul-searching over what happened with her brother and family." Rubbing a hand back through his long, tousled raven hair, he let out a soft sigh. "I know what that's like. To question yourself about positively everything, trying to see just where it is you went wrong. And right now, I think she is still trying to find herself without this hatred being the centre of her life." Yuuri's expression was tender and reassuring. "But I know one thing, she'll come back to you."

Wolfram fell silent at Yuuri's words, digesting the information he'd been given. "You're… probably right…"

Stretching out a hand, he lightly squeezed the other man's unburnt shoulder in reassurance. His lips curving upwards all the more. "Of course, I'm right. I'm the Maou. I'm meant to be right."

"In your dreams." Wolfram mumbled.

And that just made both of them laugh.

But Wolfram couldn't help but glance towards the doorway, with its closed door, and silently wish that someone else would walk through it… now that he realised what, or who, it was that he truly wanted in his life.

The Nameless Village, The Great Demon Kingdom

Lush green meadows spread out in all directions, tiny flowers dancing like butterflies amongst the thick waves of emerald grass. A perfect blue sky stretched out overhead, dotted by tiny fluffy clouds of white, floating lazily by. Grapes hung ripe on the vines down by the prosperous town, even though it was now only the start of the season for them. Life seemed to flow out of every corner of this open, inviting valley.

Gwendal stood silently by the grave marker, his hand lightly touching against the smooth wood of the ancient tree, which had stood like a sentinel over this village, protecting it from all evil no matter the form. Looking out over that village like Dunheely Weller might have, if he had lived to see what had become of this place in all of those years… and of its people.

"Humans grow old much faster than Demons, I understood that. I realised that from the very beginning and yet, to my eyes you never seemed to change." His gaze rested softly upon that stone marker tucked beneath the shielding roots of the tree, bearing witness to the passage of a man who hung so powerfully over Gwendal's life and his future… even though he had died so long ago.

I hated you. He whispered wordlessly to those stones, slowly sinking downwards onto one knee and laying a hand against the cool, timeworn surface of the burial marker. And yet, it was only after you were gone that I realised what it was you were trying to tell me all of that time. Why it was me and not Conrart or Mother that you asked to come with you. In his own way, that man had loved him and stood as the only father Gwendal had ever known because his own father, Nikolaus, had passed away shortly after Gwendal's birth. He had wanted for Gwendal's happiness, but also to show him what really mattered in this life.

"Would you be proud of me?" He asked softly, his head turning to gaze down at the charming village, one he'd funded like so many others over the years. Protecting those that man had asked him to protect, but also protecting those who had no way of protecting themselves from the evils of this world. "What would you think of the man I have become? Am I still… too full of that Demon Pride to truly understand all it was that you were trying to teach me?"

Shaking his head, he stroked his fingers across that smooth stone, aware in that moment that he was no longer alone.

A horse's hooves thundered against the earth, racing up the hill towards him.

He quickly stood, brushing off the fine clinging dust to his trousers and turned to face the messenger he was certain would be from Covenant Castle. Knowing his luck, his few days of absence would be enough to see the whole world collapse in upon itself with the troubles the others could get themselves into without his assistance. It shocked him to realise that it was one of his own men, clad in the green of his own household colours. He recognised the face, not one from those he'd brought with him to Covenant Castle, but from his territory of Voltaire.

"My Lord!" The man panted as he shakily dismounted, his fingers clutching at a letter. His horse's head was drooping, sides heaving as if it had been pushed to the very limits of its endurance. "My Lord… this message… from… Lady Marina…!"

The Noble stepped forwards, reaching out to accept the sealed envelope and opening it. His eyes scanned the hurriedly scrawled words, his heart sinking down into his feet as he absorbed what it said. Ice cold dread and rage boiled up within him as his fingers crushed the letter between them as he reached out to suddenly grip the soldier's uniform front, half lifting him off his feet. "You will go to the port and you will delay her." His fingers clenched tightly into the thick wool, yanking the man so that their eyes met. "I don't care what you have to do. DELAY HER! I will arrive as quickly as I am able."

It seemed the time had come to truly prove for once and for all just who he really was.

Abaita Fortress, Central Plains, Zorashia

An alarmed cry went up from the half-rebuilt castle, an old man's desperate heartbreak, echoed by a mother's gut-wrenching scream. Both heart-rending noises echoed off of the battlements, where dead soldiers lay, their throats cut so that they would forever keep their silence. Those who had done the horrendous deed having long stolen off into the night with their single, squirming prisoner.

One little princess had been stolen away from her bed.

And she might never come home again.

A/N: Sorry, couldn't help a little bit of a cliffhanger.