Story Notes: prepare yourselves for heartache…

Wolfram/Oc vs. Yuuri/OC ... YuuRam is the EndGame in mind!

...The OC's name in this story is pronounced 'Mar-Kel' or 'Mark-L' whichever rolls off the tongue easier. It is a Germanic name meaning 'of Mars' or 'God of War'.

I began this story in September 2012 and my headcanon for Mpreg has changed since then so this will be different to what I have planned for Yūri's Fears (meaning no spoilers).

WARNING: Major Character Deaths! Over 200 years have passed by and time has left its mark upon our beloved Maou's heart…NOT Yuuri, Wolfram OR Markel...and PROBLEMATIC BEHAVIORS! No one is innocent in this story, everyone behaves insensitively which I would NEVER condone in real life...This story was written for the purpose of ANGST and the worst tropes in the YuuRam fandom explored, with a plot twist or two because I don't agree with any of them either...INFIDELITY, BETRAYAL, REVENGE SEX, CHARACTER INJURY, SPITEFULNESS, PROVOKED ATTACK, DARK THEMES...

(EDITED: 30/08/2015)

'He who fears he shall suffer already suffers what he fears.' ~Michel de Montaigne

°o.O°Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ°O.o°

The Future Favors the Bold

Chapter One

Wolfram stared out of the window of his Private Bedchambers, the heavy navy blue velvet curtains left wide open, watching silently, the full moon that hung like a fond memory within clear sight but far out of reach. He was curled in on himself on the peach satin window-seat, his head resting against the cool glass-barrier keeping him apart from the autumn world outside.

His thoughts were in chaos as always, it had been many, many years since Wolfram had experienced peace of mind, and tonight his continuous migraine was at its most prominent. The cool glass pressed against his left temple and cheek, detracted him slightly from the pounding behind his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept the whole night through, his exhaustion was bone-deep and unavoidable, and still sleep would not take him this night. He was sick and tired of feeling persistently weak and lifeless but, try as he might to fight this terrible drift of emotions, at some point he knew he had truly given up.

At this moment in time, he knew his beloved Husband and King, was embracing his Official Concubine, Lady Melinda von Gyllenhaal, a distant cousin of Lord von Gyllenhaal's niece. The fair mistress had been picked out of many during the Maiden Love Festival Shin Mazoku had hosted every year for the last hundred years, a tradition Lady Cecilie had initiated through her incessant need to prove that Free Love triumphs over all. Every bachelorette would be at attendance, hoping against hope that their Monarch would choose them to sate his desires.

For two centuries every ten years, twenty times Wolfram had watched as Yūri chose maiden after maiden over him. Wolfram had offered himself in each and every one of their places, demanded, insisted to the point of begging, vowing on his last breath that he could satisfy his Love greater than any woman, Princess or Lady ever could. And still Yūri turned him away, the same excuses, the same kind words of rejection, for more than two hundred years, the same everlasting heartache. Not even Wolfram's misguided attempts to create a more feminine image for himself had done him any good. Wolfram had grown out his hair so that it fell in rivulets of golden curls down to his slim waist and he had all his clothes cut to accentuate his most effeminate features, all to no avail. Yūri simply didn't see him.

And then, Lady Melinda was chosen. Twenty five years ago, she was chosen amongst thousands to share the Maō's bed like Wolfram, the Prince Consort, never would. For twenty five years, Wolfram has watched from a distance how comfortable she had become in her role of Royal Concubine, how confident she became, knowing that she had held her position longer than any maiden before her. And she suspected, as did many others, what Wolfram feared the very most.

That Yūri had finally fallen in love with another.

Wolfram felt his eyes sting with the tears his eternal, internal agony brought him often, and like so many times before, his pain wet the sickly pale skin of his rounded cheeks; his narrow jaw; his elegant neck, like a gushing stream trickling over smooth granite rock.

The pain was so potent that there were times, much like this, when Wolfram dared to regret the day he agreed to marry Yūri. He knew, even then, when the Nobles decided to unite Yūri and him in matrimony that Yūri was not ready. At twenty-three years, Yūri was asked by the Ten Nobles to marry, to secure their Kingdom from a foreign diplomatic concord between Nations, which had the potential to disrupt their way of living, with a strong marriage alliance. And of course, Wolfram von Bielefeld, the 26th Maō's youngest son, nephew of Waltorana von Bielefeld one of the prestigious Ten Nobles and only heir to the von Bielefeld legacy, not to mention already the 27th Maō's fiancé, had been the perfect applicant.

And predictably, Wolfram jumped at the opportunity. Yūri was reluctant but resigned, and Wolfram recklessly provoked the Gods of Fate by having the audacity to assume his dream of being Yūri's one and only Love was within his reach at last. Wolfram was on cloud nine throughout the lead up to the Marriage Ceremony, floating through his daily chores and preparations of his finest hour. Even when his Grace, the Great Sage pulled him aside one afternoon after his patrol and spoke to him softly about getting his hopes too high with Yūri still naive about the trials of love and lust, Wolfram did not listen. He brushed the Wise Sage's advice aside and carried on his high. Nothing could bring him down: everything was finally going his way.

And then, reality brought him crashing back down to solid ground on his Wedding Night. Nothing had changed, he'd discovered. Yūri still refused his love, and a huge argument broke out between them, resulting in Wolfram setting fire to the bed in a fit of rage and the Maō to come out to punish him, banishing him from his new Husband's side until he had calmed himself. For three weeks afterwards, Wolfram fumed at the injustice of Yūri's continued resistance, refusing to see anyone, even when their beloved daughter, Queen Greta came to visit from her resurrected Kingdom of Zoracca: a rare visit.

Eventually, Wolfram convinced himself that all was not lost, that time was on his side as was their marriage union. And for thirty-seven years, Wolfram pushed and persuaded Yūri to stop being a wimp and experience their love, to start a family with him now that Greta was married, to Beatrice and unified their kingdoms. However, Yūri was content with his adopted daughter's happiness, even with Shōma and Miko's pleads for more grandchildren. Yūri told them firmly that Greta was enough, and Shōri's marriage to an Earth-woman and their children, and then grandchildren, seemed to only strengthen Yūri's resolve.

However, tragedy struck Yūri at his heart when Miko gave into old age at ninety-six years. Wolfram tried to be there for his Husband but Yūri pushed him away all the harder after that, clinging more and more to Conrad who was visibly mid-thirties by that point, and Wolfram began to see his last thread of hope slipping between his desperately grasping fingers. Shōma followed soon after his wife – demons rarely live long after their Mate has passed and, even though, Yūri was warned of this, it still shocked him to his core when his father died of cardiac arrest, two months after his mother's funeral.

Shōri's wife was the next to perish from something called a brain tumor, and both Shibuya brothers fell into a deep depression which still lingered to this very night, as the true meaning of immortality crashed upon them. Shōri remained as Earth's Maō, choosing to live alone, not wanting to replace his wife but clinging to life for his great-great-great-great grandson and baby brother's sake. They had both lost too much already. And Wolfram respected Shōri more and more every day he continued to survive.

When Greta died at seventy-seven years, Wolfram could see Yūri sink into a dark despair through his own haze of agony and grief where not even Conrad could reach him. When Greta died, she took Yūri's heart and the last of Wolfram's hope into the afterworld with her.

That was when Yūri became open about his affairs. Wolfram had suspected for many years and had slowly become accustomed to the nauseous feeling of betrayal but the humiliation of having the whole Kingdom, the Nation and aligning Countries know about his Husband's rejection, killed him little by little every day. Gwendal was still furious on his behalf while Conrad had been confused and disappointed by Yūri's announcement that he knew, as Maō, he could have Concubines if he so wished and he wanted one immediately. Cecilie had been the first to accept such behavior from their beloved Maō and thus the Maiden Love Festival was born, and Wolfram's worst nightmare thrown into the harsh light of day, draped in lustful red roses and satin lace gowns.

Wolfram hadn't spoken to his mother since.

Conrad blamed himself and Wolfram wanted to blame him too, but when confronted with his little big brother's aggrieved apology for not being a better guide for Yūri, for not interfering sooner, Wolfram couldn't bring himself to take his anguish out on him. Wolfram had always felt that Conrad loved Yūri more than him, that everyone must hold more affection for their King than for his poor, virgin Consort, however, once Yūri's indiscretion was revealed there was a noticeable divide in everyone's behavior from then onward.

Conrad was the most obvious difference. More and more the middle-aged, half-Mazoku began to pull away from the still young King. Yūri didn't seem to notice at first but when Conrad's increased absence from the palace, from the Kingdom, came to light, Yūri almost didn't seem to care. Wolfram had known that Conrad had been seriously considering asking Gwendal for a demotion from Head of the Maō's Personal Guard to Reconnoiter before it happened, so he could be with his secret lover and be "more of use", he had said.

So, Conrad had followed his heart and Jozak, abandoning Wolfram to his misery, although, Wolfram forgave him for it because he had seen how broken Conrad's spirit had become seeing his baby brother in so much pain and being unable to do anything about it, and it hurt him just as much to leave his baby brother behind. Wolfram would rather Conrad share his despair from afar than see it every day, reflected within his cold, kind eyes.

Gwendal now only spoke to Yūri on matters concerning the Kingdom, their friendly relationship turned to stale ash as soon as Yūri's announcement hit the air. Günter, in devotion to Gwendal, whom he had somehow swindled into marriage thirty years previously, never made any mention of the tense atmosphere that now prohibited Blood Pledge Castle, staying polite and fair towards Yūri and the entire situation.

It's such a shame that, by the time the gossiping, wagering scullery maids became emersed in shame and guilt over their past profiting from Wolfram's continued agony they became flustered and overly attentive whenever they waited on the Prince Consort, that he no longer felt anything. No joy, no anger, no hatred, no jealousy, no love for anything. He had become comfortably numb sometime between the third Concubine and the twentieth. And that's when everyone within Blood Pledge Castle felt a rise of desperation.

The Kingdom had never been more peaceful, more beautiful, all those who had opposed the vow of peace between each Country including Shimaron under the continued Rule of King Saralegui, who remains close personal friends with the most powerful Maō in history, have been silenced through many hardships which were overcome with Yūri at its heart.

However, within the high, stone walls of the Capital's fortress, home of Shin Mazoku's King, the villagers could feel the discord raging within Blood Pledge Castle. Never before had the Kingdom been more divided and still, the King remained impervious to compromise.

And Wolfram remained numb to the whole ordeal.

"My Prince?" a deep, smooth voice questioned from the vicinity of Wolfram's queen-sized, four-poster bed, and Wolfram didn't even flinch at the sudden reminder of his own indiscretion and the echoing throb between his long legs, already melding with the persistent pulse behind his eyes.

"Go back to sleep." Wolfram told his lover, his quiet voice carrying with it the tired sadness and frustrated need to not talk. The world was peaceful outside, and Wolfram would not break the illusion by turning to face what he had done. He was patiently waiting for the sun to force him back into his living nightmare. He refused to deal with anything before then.

There was the sound of crinkling sheets and the shifting of bedsprings which brought to life the tainted memory of slick golden skin, stretched tight over finely corded muscles, sliding under his palms and fingertips. Of long, dark hair, tinted blue shrouding him from harsh reality, of bottomless blue eyes pulling him in, encircling him in strong arms, embracing him, loving him like he had never experienced before, taking him in and promising to never let him go.

And it was all a lie.

"Won't you come back to bed, my Prince?" his lover asked him gently, while Wolfram determinedly stared up at the iridescent glow of the moon, his hazy green eyes as empty and lost as his heart.

"No. Go back to sleep."

There came a whispered sound of frustration. "Forgive me, my Prince, but I must speak my mind." His voice was stern, as if expecting Wolfram to refute him. Didn't he know that Wolfram had lost the will to refuse anyone anything a long time ago, and thus, what had happened between them this night had only been a result of that? Judging by the hard, possessive edge to the proclaimed "My" spoken in the smooth, beckoning voice, Wolfram doubted it. "I have waited many years for you to give into me, my Prince. And you have waited even longer for our Maō to see reason, and still he remains blind. What I don't understand, Prince Wolfram, is why you should be the one to feel shame when it is you that has been wronged."

He was right. But Wolfram no longer cared what was right; he no longer cared at all.

So, why then, did he keep defending Yūri?

"Yūri..." He breathed, too tired, too wary to speak at all. But he did, and he didn't know why anymore. "It is not Yūri's fault. He was born in a world where same gender relationships were shunned. It is not his fault that he does not understand my feelings." Did he even believe these words still? These words first spoken by Conrad, which Wolfram had clung to, had made his mantra. Words he had whispered to himself, over and over throughout the years. Words that were so familiar that he didn't need to think, he didn't need to remember, they were simply a part of him now. And it no longer mattered if they weren't true. "I have kept myself for him for those many years for my own sake, not for his. I wanted to give myself only to the one I love. I am ashamed that I was not strong enough to wait longer. Perhaps, someday soon, Yūri will see my love as a blessing in place of a curse, but even if that day never comes, I will always regret my weakness this night." He concluded curtly. He wanted no misunderstanding. He would always regret this, it didn't matter who he was with, if it wasn't Yūri...

"His Majesty is a good King, of that there is no doubt. But his treatment of you is unbecoming!" That voice, which had whispered sweet, lying words of eternal devotion hours earlier, now fumed with righteous hatred for his beloved Monarch. "He is unworthy of your unwavering devotion! Even your brothers agree! Lord von Voltaire was the one to write for me to come, for your sake! I came to the Castle because I wanted to see you again after so long, and I fell in love with you all over again as soon as I laid my eyes on you. I could make you happy." Such an impassioned speech, and he sounded so sure of his ability to fulfill his claim; to fulfill Wolfram.

It was true that Gwendal had been the one to send for this man, his lover, to fulfill him where Yūri refused to, believing that his brother deserved this much at the very least. Gwendal had been desperate enough for his baby brother's happiness he had turned to match-making in order to find a suitable substitute. And this substitute was Markel von Radford, Lord von Radford's son and old friend of Wolfram's from back when they were children, as were all the Ten Noble Families' children, and was, apparently, a proclaimed suitable match.

And fulfill Wolfram, Markel had, to the extent where Wolfram had almost forgotten his steady pain in place of the pounding pleasure he had experienced for the first time in his half life. Wolfram squeezed his eyes shut as the memory of sensation washed over him, through him... and it felt good, so good it hurt him still... It hadn't meant to, Wolfram had never meant to feel that good with anyone... no one who wasn't Yūri.

The deep voice persisted, "We could leave this Palace, this Kingdom if you wish it. You know, I'd take good care of you. We could travel across oceans together, find adventure, build a new life, a home of our own, start a family –"

Wolfram interrupted, his voice void of annoyance, he could barely remember the emotion which used to be the aptitude of his behavior long ago. "I get seasick. And I can take care of myself; I don't need you to care for me."

"Of course -"

"Didn't you hear me before?" Wolfram questioned not unkindly, lacking the fire within his somber voice. "I love Yūri. I'll always love Yūri. That will never change, I won't change and I've told him as much many times before. Now I'm telling you. I will never leave him, only death can tear me from his side. And I can do nothing but wait for that day to find me." If Wolfram had cared, he would have hated the finality his words were dealt with. Death would be his blessing, if only it would come and take him.

There was a long, intense silence that followed as Wolfram watched as the sun peeked over the distant hills and brought with it another bright day of harsh reality….

And then, "As you wish, my Prince." Markel's disappointment was dripping from his every syllable and Wolfram refused himself the will to spare him a glance. He would only feel lust if he felt anything at all, and that wasn't enough to shield him from another day of his prolonged anguish, not now that the sun had risen again.

.

.

.

°o.O°Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ°O.o°

.

.

.

Breakfast with Yūri was always a tense affair. Wolfram didn't understand why Yūri even tried to pretend they were as close as they had been when they were young. Wolfram suspected that it was Yūri's attempt to cling on to happier times, and was a spectacular failure.

Not that Yūri could see it.

"You didn't come to bed last night." Yūri murmured slightly reproachful. Wolfram didn't even lift his head from where he was staring listlessly at his full bowl of the best picked, fresh fruits. He couldn't recall the last time he felt hunger for anything other than Yūri... not counting last night's fiasco.

"Wolfram?" Yūri pressed patiently.

Wolfram grunted to show he had heard. He could feel Yūri's expectant dark scowl beside him. "Answer me, please." Yūri now voiced a warning to obey, which had become something which had long passed the stock to their relationship, lacking or not.

Wolfram sighed tiredly, closing his eyes to the sun drenched dining room. "Forgive me, your Majesty. I only did not wish to see our matrimonial bed defiled by you and mistress von Gyllenhaal. Again." Not that he would have cared, of course. No: he was beyond caring at this point in their marriage.

Yūri's scowl grew darker. "Are you sure you hadn't just lost track of time with your lover, what's his name; von Radford whatever? And what have I told you about calling me 'your Majesty'? We're married for God's sake!"

Wolfram released a short bark of forced laughter at that last part. "His name is Markel, not that I expect you to care enough to remember who your Consort is sleeping with in your place, what with you being infatuated with dear Melinda. I'm surprised that you remember you're married at all, your Majesty." He spat, raising his eyes to stare flatly into the burning black glare his love was bestowing on him.

"I really wish you wouldn't do this, Wolfram." Yūri gritted out, and Wolfram's heart used to flutter like a caged bird whenever his Husband would look at him with those intense eyes, but now the piecing gaze was blunted by Wolfram's migraine.

Wolfram shook his head, his long ringlets of spun golden hair swishing against the black of his Consort uniform and over his expensively clothed shoulder blades, the memory of Cecilie presenting the design to him a fortnight before his Wedding to Yūri, leaping to the forefront of his aching mind. Wolfram had wanted to reject the design completely since the cut was far too effeminate for his tastes, at least to wear in public. However, his mother had rightly pointed out the many reasons why it would appeal to his Husband-to-be, and Wolfram had grudgingly agreed to the plausibility of her seduction attempt. And she had been right, just as Wolfram had suspected, only it was not the clothes which hadn't been effeminate enough, it was what was underneath which couldn't appeal to their beloved Maō.

"Do what, my love? Speak the truth?" Wolfram answered blandly, putting a red, glistening fruit to his lips with no intention of eating it, he merely posed. What else was a virgin Consort to do, even if he was no longer as pure as he was rumored to be?

Yūri signed heavily and put a palm to his head as if Wolfram was causing him internal anguish. The thought wasn't as pleasing as it had once been. "You're so difficult." Yūri grumbled, and Wolfram could almost believe him.

Wolfram had had enough of this charade already. He let his warm napkin flutter onto his untouched food as he stood from the table with as much dignity as he could fake, and bowed to the Maō politely before turning towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Yūri questioned with exasperation weighing his every word. Wolfram reached the door and paused with his hand poised to make his pitiful exit.

"Somewhere I'm wanted." He uttered, disheartened and opened the door -

"- I want a family again." Yūri's rushed words stopped Wolfram in his tracks. His stomach plummeted to his frozen feet at the same time his heart lurched into his throat, choking his breath. His eyes wide and unseeing, Wolfram glanced over his shoulder with a cold feeling of dread creeping up his stiff spine. No.

"What?" He whispered in bewilderment.

Yūri leaned back into his chair, running a large hand through his long, wild black bangs in agitation. He sighed again, closing his pitch dark and childishly wide eyes. "I've been thinking about starting a family of my own. Things have never been the same since Greta... this Palace was a happier place when children's laughter was heard, and it's time that we had that again."

Wolfram slowly turned his side to Yūri, his long hair shadowing his lowered face, keeping his wide and anguished eyes completely hidden from the Maō's view.

"What?" he repeated on a whispered breath.

"I'm thinking of asking Melinda to bare me a child." Yūri explained, straightforward, oblivious to the agony he was inflicting on his silent Consort. And Wolfram had thought he had been numb to anything Yūri could possibly inflict upon him after so long.

He was wrong.

Wolfram began to shake, clenching his fists brutally at his sides, his blood pounding in his ears. The final blow to his heart: the last nail in his coffin. And precious Melinda would have everything he had ever hoped to dream of.

Wolfram died inside. This was the end.

He could take no more.

"Do what you want, as always." Wolfram spat and stormed from the room, his black boots tripping over his own footsteps in his hurry to get away. Tears blurred his sight but he would not let them fall.

He was done crying over Yūri this time his Husband had gone too far. And hate was seeping into the broken matter of his heart, his shattered soul, eating away at the last vestibules of love that lingered still, after everything, so long, inevitably.

.

.

.

°o.O°Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ°O.o°

.

.

.

Wolfram stood before Murata with a soldier's stance and more fire in his eyes than had flickered to live since the early days of his engagement to the new and strange, half-human Maō. Murata felt for the Prince Consort, Wolfram's situation had affected more people than he probably realized. In fact, he most likely hadn't noticed at all, he most definitely felt all alone in his despair.

And now, Shibuya had crossed a line he could never come back from. And the double-black King wasn't even aware he was losing Wolfram forever, and fast.

"I assume your request isn't intended for Shibuya?" Murata voiced his concern. It was, however, unfair to ask Wolfram not to punish Shibuya in any way he saw fit when the oblivious Maō had done nothing but punish his Bride for something which Wolfram had no control over. Over something which was decided before he was born.

Murata couldn't even blame Shinō for this outcome since he hadn't seen it coming either. Shinō would never have deliberately caused his once, younger brother's soul, to suffer this way, especially, after Rufus had been brutally murdered by his abusive lover in the beginning.

Shinō was as upset about this outcome as the rest of the Kingdom. And only Yūri was too blind to see the ruins surrounding him.

"His Majesty has his own means of procreation now. And, by Shinō's law, I am entitled to the same privilege. So, don't even try to deny me this one thing." Wolfram threatened with blazing green eyes, more beautiful than ever in his forgotten ire.

No, he would not deny him. How could anyone deny him anything?

Murata nodded slowly, his long, fly-away hair very much in fashion nowadays, looking regal and almost identical to his original image. It had not been easy to persuade him to take on his old persona once again, but Shinō can be very persuasive when he wanted something bad enough.

Shinō's law had been legend for many generations now, almost lost in myth, but Murata expected nothing less from Wolfram than to know of this one thing, this key moment.

Back in the Glorious Era, their race had been dangerously low in numbers because of the humans hunting them: resulting in more men than women and very few children. It was difficult for demons to procreate and there have been many theories as to why. Their prolonged life, their Maryoku, the stars alignment, even the loving earth upon which Shin Mazoku stood had been queried over. And, still, no proof of a cure or problem in the first place to be solved.

So, Shinō had offered to his people a contract with the Mother spirit of the land on which the demon race had been welcome and accepted when the rest of world had hunted and feared them. Shinō had asked the Mother to bless him with the power to save his people, and received the precious power to gift a free willing Mazoku male with the ability to bare children as only a female can, however, with the same difficulties.

A maryoku womb: which was a permanent change and only as reliable as a demon female's ability to be both fertile and able to bear a child to term safely. Meaning: there was no guarantee that the demon male would be able to conceive or either of them surviving the birth.

And yet, Murata had a feeling that Wolfram would make it happen, and for no other reason than to make Shibuya suffer, even a little.

Although, he hoped that, maybe, this tragedy could cure even a little of the beautiful Consort's loneliness. Then, perhaps, all this suffering would be worth something.

Shinō stepped down to stand beside Murata, the solid heels of his brown leather, sapphire encrusted boots tapping on the marble floor of his resident Temple, his red cape draping off one shoulder dragging against Murata's loose black sleeve flirtatiously.

Shinō smiled at Wolfram sadly, even he had matured more in the past two centuries than the thousand years before it and the three hundred he had originally lived, combined.

"Of course, I will not deny you, Prince Consort." Shinō said pleasantly, meeting Wolfram's blazing glare with a glint of appreciation sparking in his twin blue eyes. "I wish only that this gift will somehow be enough to heal all the damage my Vessel has inflicted upon you." he added softly.

Wolfram was beyond soft emotion at this point, he had grown too harsh. "I will make it enough." He assured sharply, lifting his chin arrogantly and he presented himself to his Original King, a willing sacrifice to do with what the Great One wished.

Shinō nodded firmly, and Murata nodded along with him. Whatever Wolfram would do next would be devastating to both Yūri and Shin Mazoku, but they were there to catch the Kingdom before it fell, as for Shibuya... he had made his bed.

And they both acknowledged the real possibility of Wolfram never coming back from where he was heading. However, they were both willing to ignore their instinct to protect for now.

After all, it was the least they could do after ignoring Wolfram's prays for the impossible.

Shinō reached out his palm to black and white, frill-encased abdominal muscles, and kept pushing forward. Wolfram cried out when the phantom hand grasped his insides and began to twist, mold them into new shapes while bright blue Maryoku wrapped its many arms around him in a warm, parental embrace.

And he screamed in impossible agony.

.

.

.

°o.O°Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ°O.o°

.

.

.

Wolfram was as pale as death when he stumbled down the corridor in search of the Concubine quarters. He felt weak and torn open from the inside out before being put hastily back together, but he was determined to begin immediately. He needed to become pregnant before Yūri's mistress Melinda if he was to thoroughly have his vengeance over the naïve King. And, unfortunately, that meant he would have to fetch Markel himself, not wanting to alert anyone that anything was unusual, and Wolfram freely placing himself within Melinda's presence was definitely usual.

Markel had his own set of rooms, of course, but he and Melinda shared a library, dining room and lounge between them. The 7th Maō had wisely had the Wing built with the clear intention to keep his harem far apart from his Consort and children.

Wolfram threw open the double doors to the lounge, the largest room and center of the Wing to find it empty. Wolfram had only ever visited this Wing once before, when Markel had first been assigned his lodgings by Gwendal, and Wolfram had been disgusted with the very existence of this place to begin with, especially as he had heard the rumors of Yūri's lovers staying here, had known of its reality because of this and had kept far away deliberately.

Wolfram heard voices from the open balcony doors, and he approached with ingrained caution.

"I had known, of course, that it was only a matter of time. It is obvious to everyone in the Kingdom that his Majesty, Yūri has chosen me to give his heart to, finally. And that he'd choose me to bare his children." The smugness in her girly, high-pitched voice grated on Wolfram's last nerve as he laid eyes on his husband's concubine, and soon-to-be mother of his future children.

Her long, crinkled blonde hair mocked him, as did her clinging turquoise, ruffle and lace gown, and her large hazel eyes that gleamed amber when the light hit them dead on. She wasn't as curvaceous as Wolfram's mother was. However, she possessed the same, slim, feminine curves which Wolfram could only imitate with precisely cut clothing intended to soften his more masculine angles. Those curves of a woman's body which so appealed to his husband and King.

She looked the same as all the rest to Wolfram. He had given up trying to find the 'spark' in each maiden to inhabit these rooms which ignited Yuri's desire for them. His final conclusion was simple and impossible for him to compete with. The only thing all of Yūri's mistresses had in common was their gender.

Wolfram had always loved being male, however, there had been a point, a peak, when he would have done anything as well as journeyed the world by sea, in order to switch his gender in exchange for his husband's love and devotion.

But it had passed, and Wolfram was no longer looking back.

He cleared his throat politely, his green eyes sharp on Lady Melinda as she startled and turned to him with a fleeting jolt of fear in her now seemingly brown eyes. Wolfram hated how her eyes changed so rapidly, as did her expression as she smirked at him coyly, knowing he hated her with a passion which had withered and died sometime before her arrival into Yūri's bed. However, Wolfram was beginning to feel hatred more potent than he had ever known in his young demon life.

The wrench had no idea what was coming.

"My Prince?" The surprise in the deep voice of his lover was a balm to his frayed nerves and Wolfram tore his murderous gaze from the King's whore to look upon Markel, already on his feet with obvious yearning to reach out to the Prince Consort, but also respectful to his status. Wolfram had always admired Markel's regard for their positions in society, never embarrassing Wolfram and at all times attentive with upholding the highest opinions of him.

And standing tall with the low climbing sun at his back in a loose fitting white shirt and brown lounging trousers, his dark blue hair tied at his strong nape with white ribbon, unveiling his angular jaw and slightly pointed nose, with fuller lips than Melinda and Wolfram both, and slanted eyes of drowning blue framed by charmingly long bangs fallen loose from the rest… Wolfram couldn't help but admire him thoroughly.

The father of his soon-to-be-conceived child.

Wolfram smiled softly at the man, his internal assurance in his plan soothing his battered and blistered inner self. He wasn't dead yet, and things were far from over.

"Come." Wolfram commanded gently, reaching out his hand to his astonished lover. "I need you."

Markel was stunned immobile for only a moment before he leapt forward to grasp Wolfram's outstretched hand, holding on almost too hard as if he expected Wolfram to flicker into non-existence at any passing second.

Wolfram didn't spare Melinda another glance whilst he lead Markel out of the Wing and away her wretched presence, not even when Melinda called after them.

"So, you truly have given up at last, your Highness? Perhaps now you will relinquish your marriage to His Majesty? I'm sure Yūri would rather have the mother of his children as his Consort, anyway! Don't you agree?" she called with a tinkling laugh before Wolfram slammed the door behind them.

She had no idea how near to the truth she was, but she would know soon enough.

.

.

.

°o.O°Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ°O.o°

.

.

.

"My Prince... What has gotten into you?" Markel gasped and threw his head back as Wolfram bit into his jugular with sharp teeth, almost spitefully. The Prince Consort was hurriedly disrobing them simultaneously while straddling his panting lover on the bed where they had consummated their union for the first time the night previously. After which, Wolfram had proclaimed resolutely that it would never be repeated and that he had felt ashamed of himself for the long nights discretions.

So, understandably, Markel was a little lost at this sudden turnabout in his favor. Of course, he was also ecstatic and pleased as punch. However, with his father as a politician, he had grown up with teachings telling him when something was amiss, and thus, he knew to be cautious with 'too good to be true' offers.

"I want you." Wolfram breathed against his lips whilst his hands ripped at the shirt covering Markel's chest and arms, and the delicate material gave without a fight causing Markel's heart to jump and his mouth to go dry. "Isn't that enough?"

Actually, Markel rather thought it was more than enough.

"Well, whatever it may be, I like it." He whispered with a seductive grin which Wolfram immediately kissed from his lips. And Markel wrapped his arms around the beautiful man glowing above him and rolled them over to take his rightful place between the Prince Consort's strong and elegant legs.

Lust singed his skin as his collided with Wolfram's tinted red with heat and passion. And the noises he pulled from the man beneath him were intoxicating, empowering, as he dragged his body against Wolfram's smaller, slimmer figure molding their bodies together, hoping and longing for them to fit.

There was no greater love than this.

.

.

.

°o.O°Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ°O.o°

.

.

.

Markel groaned as Wolfram rode him at a gallop. The slick sound of their sex filling the room as the very air simmered from the fervor they made together. Wolfram was a fallen angel above him, bare and flushed, his glowing pale skin shimmering with sweat as his rolled and his cock bounced, slapping hard against his soft belly.

Wolfram held him down forcefully, his blushing biceps tightening while his delicate hands pressed hard into Markel's golden pictorials, his long nails biting into his moist skin for purchase. Markel could only gasp and buck upwards in and out of the sweltering heat holding him tight. Wolfram had his golden head thrown back in ecstasy, his intent thrumming through his whole being to reach his peek. Again.

And again.

Markel shouted out when Wolfram's body convulsed around him, squeezing his rigid cock in a death grip as Wolfram mewled and spurted his passion over Markel's heaving chest. Markel pressed his blunt fingertips into Wolfram's round and bruised hips until Wolfram hissed and rocked hard upon him again, and Markel felt another pool of wetness gush from Wolfram into his quaking pelvis.

"How?" Markel breathed, losing time between erupting inside his love and drifting in and out of a world filled with molten lava.

"Shhh." Wolfram silenced him with his mouth and tongue and sharp nipping teeth. Markel felt his lips swell while his ears buzzed.

Wolfram rocked his hips gently, circling his pelvis in between short, rippling thrusts. Markel groaned again in agonized pleasure as his sensitive cock was stimulated just enough to keep him hard. Markel couldn't understand Wolfram expression in the moment, not with the powerful endorphins pulsing throughout his body.

When Wolfram leaned down again to bite hard on his jaw, he thought his Wolfram looked feral.

Finally, his feral Wolf.

.

.

.

°o.O°Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ°O.o°

.

.

.

Wolfram had missed lunch with Gwendal, Günter and Gisela again. Anissina no longer worked in the Palace, although, technically she still had residence within her quarters and lab which remained full of her failed inventions. She had left to 'Travel' fifteen years previously and had written many letters and books of her 'adventures' throughout that time. Unofficially, she, like Conrad and Cecilie, had chosen to remove herself from the oppressive atmosphere which now engulfed their home, feeling useless and responsible, unable to handle it and, seeing no end, had fled from it.

Wolfram was beginning to think they were the smart ones, and the ones who had stayed behind were the real cowards.

It had been five months since Wolfram put his vengeance into action. Five months of sexual activity, which Wolfram now looked back on with burning skin and prickling excitement.

Yūri had even taken notice of Wolfram's change in behavior, specifically, his new found appreciation for his lover, Markel von Radford. The two were obvious about their increased time together locked in Wolfram's bedchamber for hours during the day and again at night, Wolfram never returning to their married bed, choosing instead the company of his lover over his cheating spouse. And Wolfram's clear dismissal of his husband and King was really starting to aggravate Yūri all of a sudden.

Such disrespect Wolfram was showing him, and publically. However, Yūri had allowed it thus far because he knew this was Wolfram's way of sulking about Yūri's decision to start a family of his own, and Yūri wasn't so heartless that he could disregard Wolfram's possible feelings. He was fully aware of the hurt he had inflicted upon his consort.

However, it was no excuse to treat the King so coldly, since Yūri was Wolfram's King first and foremost.

What Yūri hadn't realized was that Wolfram only thought of him as his King now, and no longer acknowledged him as his husband at all.

And suddenly, miraculously, after five months of hoping, wishing and praying, Wolfram became mysteriously sick.

Wolfram allowed Markel to hold his hair as he puked last night's dinner into the chamber pot. He had dropped to his knees beside the bed to drag it out from underneath quickly, when his pleasant dream of young voices calling out to him in the hazy distance had abruptly ended with his stomach twisting in knots, for the eighth morning in a row.

"I think it's time for you to inform Gisela of your illness." Markel murmured with concern as he held his love trembling in his arms while he gagged and drooled, hunched over on the floor worryingly. "You've delayed long enough, it's obviously something serious, and I'm not taking no for an answer this time."

Wolfram chocked on a manic giggle as he swiped at his sickly moist forehead, his hooded eyes glancing amusedly over his shoulder at his fretful lover. "You don't have the authority to make me." he gloated, already exhausted.

Markel smirked and raised a trim eyebrow playfully. "True. But there is nothing stopping me from toddling off to tell Gwendal about your inability to take care of yourself."

Wolfram glared at him. "You wouldn't dare. He'd blame you too."

Markel softened his smile and leaned forward to kiss Wolfram's pale and moist cheek. "My only concern is your wellbeing, My Prince. I care not what happens to me."

Wolfram snorted and slumped heavily into the familiar strong arms and chest encircling him. "Romantic fool." he accused quietly.

Markel chuckled, a deep and soothing bubble of laughter. "Only for you, My Prince. Only for you."

.

.

.

°o.O°Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ°O.o°

.

.

.

"It is confirmed. Your Royal Highness, Prince Consort is pregnant. Congratulations." Gisela told him with a crooked smile, seeming not to know if her diagnosis would be well received. And Wolfram understood the reason was because she knew for a fact what everyone else would too, that the Prince Consort's pregnancy had nothing to do with the Maō.

Wolfram smiled, relief flooding through him and over him with the strength of a tidal wave. He had done it. Stage two of his revenge was complete.

The next part would be the tricky bit.

"Is the Maō's Concubine pregnant yet?" Wolfram asked casually, although, the answer he hoped for was obvious.

Gisela, gratefully, shook her head in the negative. "There is no sign of a pregnancy so far." She paused awkwardly, her eyes intent and searching. Wolfram allowed her scrutiny, he could guess her thoughts. "Wolfram, please, don't get your hopes up with his Majesty again? He may reject this child and you, this may change nothing."

Wolfram smiled at her kindly, warmed by her distress for his feelings as well as his health. "You need not worry about me anymore, Gisela." he assured in a tender voice, his hands caressing the flat muscles of his stomach, tenderly. "I'm no longer doing this for Yūri's sake."

Gisela looked confused and maybe even more anxious, but she smiled and placed her hand over his, squeezing to show her love and support. "Are you going to tell his Majesty?" she queried in a hushed voice.

Wolfram smirked triumphantly, unable to help himself.

"Yes, of course."

°o.O°Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ°O.o°

...To Be Continued...

°o.O°Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ°O.o°

The first chapter of 1st Sequel in this series is also NOW POSTED!

Responses to Reviews: (Good questions! Thank you for asking!)

YuuRam is the endgame, HOWEVER, the whole point of this part of the series is for Yuuri to suffer the consequences of his decisions, I'm not about to redeem him without making him fight for it and neither is Wolfram. Wolfram is going to make Yuuri regret his actions and then break him before Wolfram will even consider forgiveness as an option. Like I said, Yuuri's gone too far now and there's no easy fix for how bad its gotten.

And right now, forgiveness isn't even on the table for YuuRam. And Wolfram's lover is very much in the Prince Consort's favor right now. I just have a plan on how to get YuuRam on more even ground. Not all is exactly as it seems either. This isn't going to be a short fic nor will it happen within a single year. I hope you'll bare with me for now.

(30/08/2015 EDIT:) I want to make it clear that I really, really DON'T believe that Yuuri has or will EVER act this way. I love YuuRam so much and what I love most about them is that their love is so innocent and pure and good, and I don't care how the anime twisted that for whatever reason. The TRUTH is that YuuRam is a beautiful love between two young boys who'd do anything for each other and will love one another no matter what. I just wanted to make that clear. The whole reason for this series from the Dry Wind future perspective is for me to take the views I see reoccurring in KKM! fandom on the YuuRam relationship, write them at their worst and then LATER change it to fit better with how I see them. This story is ALL the most angst-ridden tropes I've come across in the YuuRam fandom (infidelity being THE major one), but I DON'T believe in it being true to canon. My other YuuRam fics won't be anything like this and I'll be able to be more true to myself once I get this series off my chest. With that said, I hope everyone does enjoy the angst and suffering I pile on in this part of the story arc.

(And)

The two Sequels are alternative stories following the end of THE DRY WIND FUTURE. I hope that clears up everything. ^_^

Let me know if anyone has anymore questions!