Chapter Text
Chapter 1: The Belle of the Ball
The very concept of it all was like something from a fairytale that his mother used to tell him when he was very young and impressionable and she still dressed him like a little girl because boys were boring. A handsome prince calls forth all eligible bachelorettes to a ball to choose the one that he is to become betrothed to. The heroine excitedly goes to meet the prince, they fall madly in love, marry, and live happily ever after...
Except Yuuri was neither a bachelorette, nor a heroine, only nobles had been invited, and he didn’t particularly want to be there, vying for the attention of the beautiful prince that the entire kingdom knew to be a spoiled brat to be given the chance to court him.
To be fair to it all, as ludicrous as the whole thing was, at least it was more realistic than the fairytales. Imagining every eligible bachelor and bachelorette in the entire kingdom crammed into one ballroom at the castle, and then having the third prince attempt to dance with every single person there, was almost humorous.
It was, Yuuri thought as he trotted along atop his magnificent black mare, Ao, a strange thing for one such as him to be invited to an event such as this. Only nobles had been invited, and yet here he was, heading towards Blood Pledge Castle under cover of night—and a very hot, heavy brown cloak—in the hopes (though not his hopes) that he would be able to woo Prince Wolfram, the Mazoku with the visage of one of those divine creatures that the humans worshipped, and the demeanour of a Hell’s Paradise Goala knocked from its tree trunk…or so they said, but enough people said it that Yuuri was inclined to believe it to be true.
Which begged the question, if Yuuri didn’t want to be heading towards this castle on top of the hill, its front glowing orange in the light of a multitude torches, why on Shinou’s blessed soil was he doing it?
Yuuri came from a family of commoners, but they were fairly successful commoners, to be fair to them. Even though they lived in a tiny, reclusive village in the countryside of the Radford Territory, his family were a fairly well-known one, though it was not so much by choice as it was by necessity. Without the protection of the kingdom, Soukoku would not be around for long once humans caught wind of their location, and so far, Soukoku was all that their small family of blacksmiths consisted of.
Yuuri sighed at the thought of that. Only four Soukoku, all from his own little village, were known to exist, and they were famed for their supposed extraordinary beauty and rarity. That his Mazoku father had married a human had almost been a travesty, had he not produced two desirable Soukoku sons with powerful maryoku to ‘ensure the kingdom’s luck and prosperity,’ as the old legend went.
Yuuri’s appearance alone had resulted in him gaining a lot of respect from nobles and commoners alike, granting him the honour of wearing the royal colours to match the hair and eyes that he could do nothing about, and he was expected to accept and use that honour at all times. The royal family wouldn’t touch a hair on his head. The nobles wouldn’t dare to say anything against he who held a rank equal to them just by having this appearance. He had even been privy to a proper education and etiquette lessons that he rarely used. Losing him would be a great loss indeed, according to their beliefs, but Yuuri never saw sense nor logic in it. He was, after all, just Yuuri, and his life had never been a particularly lucky one.
Alas, out of the four of them, he was the only eligible bachelor. His father was too old for the prince, his brother was in a relationship—a shock to all involved, really, not in the least because she wasn’t even from their village—and his childhood friend, the Daikenja, was, if his stories were to be believed, also in a very serious relationship, even though Yuuri had a hard time imagining his mischievous friend doing anything seriously.
Beneath Yuuri, Ao tossed her head slightly, perhaps sensing her rider’s apprehension as the castle began to loom over them, and Yuuri leaned down to pat her neck, whispering soothing nonsense in a language that most of Shin Makoku would be unable to recognise. The sound of hooves trotting in tandem with Ao moved closer, and Yuuri angled his head up at the muscular man who walked by his side, his mouth suddenly becoming dry.
“Are you all right there, Yuuri?” Akiyama Daisuke, astride his beautiful chestnut mare, was peering down at Yuuri with one of his winning smiles.
Akiyama was a tall, impressively muscular man with messy reddish-brown hair that hung free just below the nape of his neck. Despite being his annoying older brother’s best friend, Akiyama was kind, friendly, incredibly smart, one of the strongest warriors in the village, dazzlingly handsome, had those warm, chocolate brown eyes that could make any man or woman melt, he was an absolute gentleman …and a lot of other adjectives that Yuuri found to be particularly attractive in a man, which was exactly why every man, woman and child in the village wanted this absolute stunner of a man.
…Which naturally begged the question of why he had called Yuuri cute not three hours ago, and did he-?
“Yuuri,” Akiyama asked, a hint of worry entering his tone and eyes as he shifted Yuuri’s hood back a little to get a good look at his face. “Are you quite all right?”
“Y-yeah…” Yuuri stammered, looking away and up at the gates of the castle as they approached. “It’s just hot under here.”
“Heh…” Akiyama chuckled in his deep, velvety voice, letting the hood fall again. “You are cute.”
Cute…
What does that even mean?!
“T-think I can take this off, now?” Yuuri’s voice squeaked as he forced the words out, tugging at the cloak he’d been under for far too long.
“You’re going to have to wait, I’m afraid. It’s not much farther to the gate,” Akiyama responded with a hint of pity to his voice. “Just a few more minutes.”
Yuuri nodded quietly, letting go of the reins with one hand to tug at the collar of the cloak, hoping to let the cooler air from outside into the sweltering space underneath. Dark eyes glanced up the steep, rocky path at the rapidly approaching gates. He could see soldiers with spears manning the entrance under the light of the burning torches, and two figures on horseback being ushered inside with bows of the soldiers’ heads.
Yuuri patted Ao again, then took up the reins with both hands and pressed onwards, watching as the guards, understandably wary of the approaching figure and his rather large companion stepped in front of the entrance to block their path, the spears crossing in front of Ao.
“State your name and purpose, sir,” a balding guard with short, scraggly brown hair and pale green eyes ordered, looking quite as nervous as Yuuri felt, if he was being honest.
“Shibuya Yuuri,” Yuuri responded quietly, reaching up to pull his hood back just enough for the soldier to see his face. Akiyama was right. There was no sense in putting himself at risk so close to the goal. “Here by invitation of the Maou.”
Something bumped into Yuuri’s arm and he turned, letting the hood fall back into place, though not before seeing the eyes of both guards go wide with curiosity at his appearance. Akiyama had come up beside him and was holding out the letter of invitation that had been sent to him, the red wax seal on the back broken.
With a muttered word of thanks, Yuuri took the envelope between trembling fingers and held it out for the guards to see. They scarcely needed to look. They had evidently already seen all they needed to just with that one look at his face. Just as they had with the group before, they stepped aside, standing to attention.
“Welcome, Your Excellency,” the guard on the left—a middle-aged man with unruly dark brown hair—said loudly with a quick bow of his head, the movement mirrored by the other soldier.
“Thank you,” Yuuri muttered, urging Ao onwards, and with a sigh of relief, he finally pulled the hood of his cloak down as he entered the castle grounds, the horse’s hooves clattering loudly on the tightly packed earth.
They came to a stop in the courtyard as Yuuri shrugged the cloak off, already aware of the many pairs of eyes on him from the nobles who still lingered in front of the doors. Swinging his right leg over Ao’s back, Yuuri waited for his bodyguard to dismount. Getting down on his own would be no easy task.
Akiyama drew up next to him, taking Yuuri’s cloak from him and hanging it over his arm. The man placed one arm behind Yuuri’s back to support him and offered him the other. Yuuri took the calloused hand in his own and prepared to slide off the horse.
“May I offer you my assistance, Your Excellency?” a deep bass voice inquired from Yuuri’s right, briefly startling him. Yuuri’s head snapped around, and although he had never met this person, the piercing blue eyes, the dark grey hair, and the wrinkles that were etched into his forehead gave his identity away all too easily.
“If that’s not too much trouble for you, Your Highness,” Yuuri replied with a grateful smile, offering Prince Gwendal his other hand, the royal’s other hand coming around to support Yuuri’s back.
“Certainly not,” Gwendal said bluntly, his voice gruff, and together, the two larger men helped Yuuri to ease himself off the horse, and after a few seconds of acclimatising himself to the sudden pressure of the ground again his left foot, he managed to hold himself up straight, letting go of the gentlemen on either side. He inclined his head at Gwendal as his guard moved to take Ao’s reins.
“It’s an honour to make your acquaintance, Your Highness,” Yuuri said, offering the prince his sunniest smile.
“It’s a pleasure,” Gwendal responded, and based on the tired tone of his voice, Yuuri could tell that he was more than done with this whole face. “I had heard that you might need aid. Forgive me if I have been presumptuous.”
“Not at all, Your Highness. I’m grateful,” Yuuri said truthfully.
“I can only apologise for my mother dragging you halfway across the country on one of her…flights of fancy. Wolfram will choose nobody tonight. That much is certain,” the prince grumbled, his wrinkles deepening exponentially, and suddenly, Yuuri understood why the people said that Gwendal was a generally grumpy person, because he certainly looked and sounded the part.
“Yes…” Yuuri mumbled sheepishly. “I must admit…I find it difficult to imagine how one could fall in love as a result of a simple dance without ever getting to know them first.”
“You are correct in that assumption,” Gwendal admitted with a long-suffering sigh. “This is one of Mother’s inconvenient whims, and a colossal waste of the taxpayer’s money…”
Ah… The mood was getting a little dour… The prince was beginning to look less grumpy, and more depressed. Yuuri couldn’t help the awkward little laugh that passed his lips.
“Well…at the very least, it’s unlikely that I shall be winning any awards for dancing tonight,” Yuuri assured him, and Gwendal began to look a little less intimidatingly grouchy.
“We have stationed Healers around the castle and ballroom. You can recognise them by their white uniforms. If you need aid for any reason, please don’t hesitate to let them, or myself, know,” Prince Gwendal informed him with a sympathetic expression and a quick glance down.
“Thank you, but there shouldn’t be any worries in that regard,” Yuuri reassured him with a smile that seemed to take the tension out of Gwendal’s face. “As long as there is somewhere to sit, I shall be perfectly fine, I assure you.”
“Yes, certainly. Mother is aware of your needs. I’m sure that she is not so clueless that she wouldn’t let you sit it out if you found yourself unable to participate any further,” Gwendal said with a barely visible smile. Yuuri nodded.
“It is my intention to do my very best and nothing less,” Yuuri told the prince, and Gwendal offered him another smile.
“I shall let you and your bodyguard be on your way, Your Excellency,” Gwendal said with a nearly imperceptible nod of his head.
“You have my gratitude, Your Highness. Thank you very much,” Yuuri replied, turning to Akiyama to beckon him over just as Gwendal stepped aside to greet the next group of people coming in through the door.
As Akiyama came up beside him, Ao’s reins handed over to a nearby soldier, Yuuri held back a sigh. He hadn’t realised how hard his heart had been hammering. Those etiquette lessons that he’d taken as a boy had been more handy than he had thought they would be, but if the evening consisted of talking like that, so different compared to his usual informal manner of speech, it was going to be exhausting.
Briefly, he wondered if switching language to talk normally to Akiyama, at the very least, would be frowned upon. He was representing his family here, after all. If he made a mess of it, Shouri would never let him hear the end of it.
Akiyama made the decision for him, speaking in the village’s language of choice.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it? You’re good at this stuff!” Akiyama exclaimed, looking just a little proud of him as they slowly climbed the front steps and entered the cool castle interior.
“Not bad…? This is exhausting, constantly thinking about what you can and can’t say, and meeting the prince right off the bat… If all goes well, I won’t even speak to Prince Wolfram,” Yuuri muttered, running a hand through his dark hair.
Akiyama grinned. “Oh, well. You’ll be heading home tomorrow at the latest. Just a little while longer. I got you here in one piece, and I’ll get you home in one piece. I swore to your brother that I would do just that. Of course, he wanted me to make sure that you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself, too, but between you and me, I think it’ll be you making sure that I don’t make a mess of it. You and your fancy education.”
“Shouri, huh…?” Yuuri mumbled, suddenly feeling just a little irritated. “Always butting in… You won’t make a fool of yourself, though. You’re smarter than I am.”
Akiyama appeared to ignore that. “Still, the castle’s pretty grand, huh? Bit empty, though. I’m surprised at that. I thought there would be more gold and stuff, but there’s just…iron and stone,” he observed as they passed an old, obsolete suit of armour. If his history education was in any way correct, this armour was obsolete, switched up for leather because it was much too heavy, and it caused some…issues for the male soldiers.
“It’s like one big museum,” Yuuri noted as, beckoned down a hallway by a soldier, they passed beneath a row of expensive paintings. “And people live here. Doesn’t feel much like anywhere I’d want to live. It’s…cold?”
“Yeah. It’s not anywhere nearly as cozy as our little houses, isn’t it? What would you even do with all this space? As well as that, it’s really…impersonal? I guess… Like nobody’s made their own personal mark on it. I think that’s important for a house,” Akiyama said with a little frown on his handsome face, reaching up to tug at a brown piece of cloth that was tied around his bicep that Yuuri hadn’t noticed before.
“What’s that?” Yuuri asked curiously, inclining his head towards the cloth. Akiyama looked down at it.
“Oh, that. They were giving them to all the personal guards. It’s to differentiate us from the guests, they said,” Akiyama explained offhandedly. “Makes sense, I guess, but we’re not dressed as fancy as you all, and we have to stand off to the side, anyway, so it’d be kind of hard to make that sort of mistake.”
“I hope Murata’s here…” Yuuri said with a quiet sigh.
“Yeah! Him and this man of his!” Akiyama said with wide, disbelieving eyes as they approached a massive set of open doors at the end of the cold stone hallway. “I couldn’t believe it when he came back crowing about it!”
“And he won’t say a thing about who it is! It could be literally anybody here.” Yuuri was quiet for a few seconds, and then a grin split his face. “Let’s make a game out of it. Guessing who his boyfriend is if he doesn’t tell us first.”
Akiyama visibly suppressed a laugh. “Absolutely. I’m curious.”
Suddenly, a wall of hot air hit them as they entered the brightly lit ballroom with its shiny floors and tables upon tables of gourmet food and drinks, the glittering golden chandelier twinkling high above them. A band was tuning their instruments atop the large stage surrounded by crimson drapes, the sounds of their instruments being drowned out by the voices of the fancy-looking people who were already indulging in the food laid out for them. Along the walls, soldiers and personal guards with the same strip of cloth tied around their arms stood to attention, watching the room and their charges intently, and a large group of soldiers seemed to be guarding a magnificent stone staircase next to the stage particularly heavily.
It was absolutely packed full of people, and the heat was sweltering. Being affiliated with the element of water, Yuuri nearly staggered as the heat hit his cooler body. He’d thought that he’d have been able to get out of the heat when he took that cloak off…
“Introducing His Excellency Shibuya Yuuri!” a soldier standing next to the door announced, barely needing to take a look at his list to guess the identity of the individual in front of him.
Just like that, every eye in the room turned in his direction, and Yuuri had to resist the urge to turn around and walk back out as fast as he dared to. He did his best to smile as Akiyama left his side to stand with the other guards who barely gave him a glance. Swallowing his nerves, Yuuri stepped into the crowd of people, trying his best to smile as he headed straight to the table covered in glasses of wine.
He felt like some sort of…rare beast, the nobility watching him through the bars of a cage at a zoo.
He hated it.
This was why he liked his village. Everybody knew him. Nobody stared. He was just Shibuya Yuuri, whether he was a Soukoku or wore black or not. He didn’t want to be here. He’d said as much to his utterly unsympathetic brother as he’d walked out the door.
As he took a sip from a glass of red wine, he had a feeling that only a few more people would be coming. Surely, there wouldn’t be any more than a handful, what with how full the room already was. A sighed as a cool breeze blew past him from one of the open balcony doors.
“Shibuya!” a cheery voice called out, and it was like the crowd split as a grinning black-haired boy wearing a pair of big, round spectacles made a beeline for him. “I thought you’d have used your powers to cut and run! Interested in the prince, eh?!”
That voice was immediately recognisable, even if he hadn’t been speaking in his village’s language. “Murata!” Then, as the boy came up beside him. “Was that an option? Can I just walk out?”
“Silly Shibuya! Not now that you’re here! Well, I mean, nobody would stop you, but they’d be talking about it for years,” Murata told him with a grin. “And you’re so painfully shy that we should definitely avoid that outcome.”
“Give me one less thing to think about, here, Murata.” Yuuri tried his best to copy Murata’s smile even under the suffocating weight of the stares that tended to occur when two Soukoku converged in public. “Give this slow brain of mine a break. Where’s this man of yours? Akiyama and I are about to play a rousing game of ‘Spot Murata’s Boyfriend,’ here.”
Murata laughed loudly and stopped short of clapping Yuuri on the back, no doubt for fear that he would end up sending Yuuri tumbling to the floor. The Daikenja was mischievous, but he wasn’t that mean.
“Come here, come here.” Murata threw his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and slowly turned him around to face the stage, his voice lowering conspiratorially even though they were speaking in a language that nobody could understand. “Do you see Prince Conrart over there?”
“You’re dating Prince Conrart?!” Yuuri hissed, his eyes locking onto the tall, brown-haired prince who stood chatting to somebody. Yuuri’s mind was racing. It was no wonder Murata had kept this a secret on his visits, or in his letters. The nobles would have a meltdown if this ever got out, and Yuuri hadn’t seen a word about it in the Shin Nichi!
“No, no!” Murata gave him an incredulous look. “He’s the redhead who’s talking to Prince Conrart!”
Yuuri’s thundering heart calmed down a little and he took a second look, slowly processing what Murata was saying. “O-oh… Who…? T-the tall guy…?”
“Mhm!” Murata chirped jovially, then more quietly, he said, “That’s Guriere Jozak. Isn’t he great?”
Yuuri took in the man’s appearance properly for the first time. Even as he stood so far across the room, Yuuri could make out his features exceptionally well. He was like a beacon amongst the room of mostly blond and brown-haired Mazoku with his red mullet, bright blue eyes, chiseled features and rippling muscles, but his clothing marked him as someone who was unlikely to be a noble, though the standard issue sword at his waist that should have marked him as a soldier seemed out of place, as well. He was…remarkably handsome, Yuuri couldn’t help but think. How did Murata get that?!
“He’s not a soldier, is he?” Yuuri asked absentmindedly, watching as Murata shook his head.
“Nope. A spy. Well, he’s the pigeon master, but mostly, he’s a spy working for Prince Gwendal,” Murata explained, his tone taking on a note of pride.
“A spy…? Are you sure you should be telling people about that, then?” Yuuri asked slowly. Perhaps he’d been given more information than he should have.
“No, it’s fine. I trust you, and nobody can understand us, anyway,” Murata told him, that cheeky grin of his widening, before turning back to face his boyfriend. “He’s brilliant. He’s strong, and handsome, and we have the same sense of humour…”
Oh, great… Yuuri thought defeatedly. He could barely keep up with one Murata, never mind a bigger and stronger version of him.
“But, never mind me! You brought Akiyama Daisuke?! How’s that going?” Murata asked excitedly.
Yuuri (quietly) exploded, his hopes and fears rushing out of him like a torrent. “I don’t know…! He called me cute more than once on the way here…! What does that even mean…?! Does he mean cute as in cute, or cute as in cute cute…?!”
“Akiyama is a mystery, Shibuya…unless you ask him, yourself.” That mischievous grin was impossibly wide, now, Murata’s glasses glittering as he pushed them up his nose.
Yuuri went bright red, his eyes wide with alarm. “What are you talking about, you idiot…?!” he hissed, his voice cracking. “I can’t ask him that…!”
“But I can!” Murata cheered, already starting to raise his hand in the older man’s direction. Yuuri nearly cried.
“Please don’t do that…!” he nearly wailed, and Murata had the decency to look troubled.
“Geez, OK, Shibuya. I won’t. It’s no fun if you look like you’re about to cry,” Murata conceded, transforming his attempt to get Akiyama’s attention into a simple wave that Akiyama stolically returned, no doubt trying not to draw too much attention to himself, even though the chattering nobles were unlikely to notice him. “There’s no time for mischief, now, anyway. The last people are trickling in, and-”
“May I have your attention, please?!” a loud voice called out, accompanied by the ringing sound of something metal tapping against a glass. The chattering quietened down and Murata gave Yuuri a quick tap on the shoulder.
“Right, I’m off. Best of luck.” He was off before Yuuri could even begin to protest, Murata had disappeared into the crowd of people, and Yuuri was forced to line up with the rest of the people, looking up towards the stairs where a buxom blonde woman in a black evening gown stood with a gentle smile on her face.
This is the Maou, Yuuri thought absentmindedly. He’d never seen her before, except in the occasional image in the tabloids. She was as beautiful as people said, and if the other rumours were true, Prince Wolfram was very similar in appearance. If that was true, he’d be a stunner.
Now that this whole farce of a thing was starting, Yuuri found himself rapidly draining his wine glass, placing it with the other dirty glasses on the table he’d taken it from. A servant was already starting to clear it up, and a maid with red hair was replacing the used glasses with fresh ones.
“Firstly,” the Queen finally began as the chatter died away entirely, “I would like to thank you all for coming here for the sake of my Wolfie!”
Yuuri suppressed a groan. Unless he was very much like Queen Cecilie, Yuuri highly doubted that ‘her Wolfie’ was very enthused about this, either.
“That being said, I would like to introduce you all to my youngest son in the hopes that he can finally start his journey to find that someone special!” the meddling mother cheered, accompanied by a few quiet claps from the nobles, some of whom seemed more enthusiastic than others.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the grand staircase, and the epitome of Mazoku beauty appeared, clad in a Bielefeld Division dress uniform. A black sash covered in hard won medals glittered almost as brightly as his dazzling blond hair, naturally messy in a sort of picturesque way, and his green eyes reminded Yuuri of the bottom of a lake.
He reminded Yuuri a bit of one of those beautiful divine entities that the humans revered so much. What did they call them…?
The term escaped him, and he didn’t have time to think about it, because the prince had now reached the bottom of the stairs and was impassively staring straight forward, not meeting the eyes of any of the people staring at him. Even though the attention was now off Yuuri and firmly on Prince Wolfram, Yuuri couldn’t really feel any better about it. He felt for him, he really did. He couldn’t imagine that Wolfram liked the stares any more than he did.
Cecilie put her hand on Wolfram’s shoulder, and Yuuri could hear her soft voice travel across the quiet ballroom. “Take a look around, dear. Does anybody catch your eye? Pick anybody.”
Yuuri heard Wolfram sigh and mutter, “Yes, Mother…” under his breath, and finally, his eyes began to scan the room, although Yuuri could tell that he wasn’t particularly interested.
Until those brilliant green eyes landed on Yuuri.
Even then, as Wolfram began that painfully slow walk towards him, Yuuri knew from the expression on his face that what was drawing Wolfram to him wasn’t attraction, but curiosity. Yuuri found himself being completely fine with that. Although his heart was hammering in his chest at the thought of standing in front of all of these people again, the idea of getting this over and done with was appealing to him, so he didn’t try to shy away.
Wolfram stopped right in front of him—they were the same height, Yuuri noticed, but Wolfram was more beautiful by far—and after a few painstakingly quiet moments in which Yuuri held his gaze steadily, Wolfram finally raised his hand for Yuuri to take. There was no ‘please’ or ‘will you do me the honour,’ but as far as Yuuri was concerned, that just wasted a few less seconds that Yuuri could be using to get home.
With a brief incline of his head, Yuuri muttered, “It would be my pleasure,” and gently placed his hand on Wolfram’s. What followed, however, was not what Yuuri had expected. Outside the door, Prince Gwendal had assured him that his needs were something that the staff had been made aware of. Indeed, even Gwendal had known about it.
Wolfram did not seem to know, because he gripped Yuuri’s calloused hand quite tightly, and then tugged him out onto the dancefloor, nearly sending Yuuri crashing to the ground as his leg failed to keep up with the sudden brisk pace that the prince was moving at. Despite the light admonishment from the Queen that Yuuri heard her aim in her youngest son’s direction, Wolfram didn’t slow down, and suddenly, they were in the middle of the dancefloor, facing each other and already in position.
Prince Wolfram’s eyes bore into Yuuri, taking in every little feature of his face, and Yuuri tried his best not to tense up in Wolfram’s firm grip. In the heat of the room, Wolfram’s body, pressed tightly against his, was like a furnace by comparison. He had heard that this man was the most powerful user of fire majutsu in the land, which was an odd thing, because the Bielefeld’s were supposedly known for their earth majutsu.
Regardless, if fire majutsu was where his skills lay, Yuuri found that he couldn’t be surprised by the sheer amount of heat radiating from the prince, warming up even the medals that were pressed into Yuuri’s chest hard enough to leave an indentation, he thought.
Looking closely, Prince Wolfram was his mother's son, as well. They certainly looked as alike as people had said they were, and as far as beauty went, he was beautiful, though although he looked like his mother, he was not the least bit feminine. His soft, golden hair, a colour that would be common and boring on anyone else, looked messy, but it seemed to be a purposeful thing, and it certainly suited him well. His eyes shone like emeralds, and his skin was pale, like he rarely spent much time in the sun at all.
Wolfram’s hands, Yuuri noticed as he adjusted his grip, we’re soft and uncalloused, unlike Yuuri’s own, which had been hardened by his work in the forge. Wolfram shifted his balance slightly, drawing Yuuri’s attention to the medals that were pressing into his chest again.
Yuuri tried to avoid showing his confusion on his face. Yuuri had thought that Wolfram was a soldier who had fought in the war around 20 years ago, and yet he had the hands of someone who had never done a day of work in their life, unlike the hand of the eldest prince that he had taken outside the castle. Even Prince Conrart bore the scars of his experiences in Arnold on his face, and yet the skin of the prince before him was remarkably clear of all blemishes.
Cecilie said something to the orchestra in a hushed voice and made a hand gesture or two, and the music started up—a slow dance that didn’t require a lot of exaggerated movements, and this seemed to catch Prince Wolfram quite by surprise, because his eyes widened, and he turned to face the orchestra for the briefest of moments before turning back to face Yuuri, giving the Soukoku his full attention.
Slow and gentle, the dance went, and Yuuri could feel the prince—he knew him now to seemingly be a rather impatient fellow—move through the steps with a tense, almost rushed air to him, like he wanted to be moving at a faster pace, though his movements were much smoother and more graceful than anything Yuuri was accomplishing any time his left side came into play.
The first time Yuuri had taken a step to the left, trying his best to keep up, Yuuri saw Wolfram’s piercing eyes study him intently, his lips briefly quirking down for the briefest of moments. The prince wasn’t impressed, Yuuri knew, but at the same time, that curiosity that came about simply from studying Yuuri’s face seemingly hadn’t left him, and he continued to do so without restraint.
It was less like being led in the dance, Yuuri noticed, and more like he was being tugged around. He supposed that the prince was simply expecting him to keep up rather than slowing down to match him. Yuuri got the impression that, unlike everyone else, Prince Wolfram somehow hadn’t gotten the memo about who he would be dancing with.
Wolfram led Yuuri into a spin that Yuuri somehow managed to pull off without a hitch, even if it was a little stiff on Yuuri’s part, drawing another negative reaction from Wolfram. Yuuri remained as impassive as he could, even managing to smile just as the song drew to a close, and Wolfram pulled them to a stop.
There was applause and cheering, and then Wolfram parted from Yuuri rather abruptly, leaving Yuuri to hastily get out of the way before he was inevitably stampeded over by someone else. Yuuri blocked out the stares—pitying ones, this time, though it was broken up from time to time by an individual with a smug expression, though these didn’t seem to be aimed at him—that had been fixed on him, and focused on the scene that faced him when he turned around.
Prince Wolfram was standing in the middle of the dance floor, aloof and looking utterly bored, staring around at the room of expectant and apprehensive faces. Queen Cecilie spared Yuuri an apologetic glance, and then fixed her gaze on her son again, but the youngest prince seemed to have no intention of making a move towards anybody.
Finally, the prince visibly rolled his eyes and marched up to the staircase, holding out his hand to the first person at the top of the row, dragged the poor girl out onto the dancefloor, and repeated what he had done with Yuuri, spinning her around to a much livelier song, both a lot more graceful than Yuuri had been, and before long, she was back in line, and a boy younger than Yuuri was pulled out to repeat the process before anybody could even begin to applaud the last girl.
The night wore on, and people were fidgeting. Yuuri got the distinct impression that nobody was very impressed, and his feelings were only confirmed when, after a slightly older gentleman was returned to the line without so much as a word from Prince Wolfram, a cough resounded throughout the quiet room and the sound of footsteps drew everyone’s attention. All eyes turned to the second prince as he stepped out onto the ballroom’s dancefloor and made quick steps towards his mother, a frown marring his handsome, yet somewhat plain features.
“Mother,” Prince Conrart said gently, though his tone sounded a bit like an admonishment, and his gaze, aimed at his mother, was sharp, “no one seems to be enjoying this, least of all Wolfram. What say we let everyone enjoy themselves? If Wolfram wants to dance with someone, he can seek them out, himself.”
Cecilie looked flustered and upset at the suggestion, but understanding, at the very least. “Yes, I suppose you’re right…” she finally said with a frustrated sigh. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
Yuuri watched as Cecilie quickly made her way over to Wolfram, gently guiding him towards the stage, just as the crowd began to talk amongst themselves, heading out onto the dancefloor and to the tables of food and drink as the band began to play again. Soon, they were no longer visible amongst the people, all of them seemingly muttering about Prince Wolfram’s manners and the state of the whole event.
Yuuri found himself craning his head, looking for anybody he knew. The heat was getting to him, though, even as he reached for a glass of chilled sparkling wine on a nearby table to cool himself off. It wasn’t his first choice of drink—in fact, he didn’t really drink at all if he could help it, but alcohol was all they seemed to have—but he desperately needed to cool off. Taking a sip of the blessedly cool drink, Yuuri looked around him again, trying to see through the partings in the groups of people…
…Only to see Prince Wolfram stampeding towards him through the crowd with an unimpressed expression. Yuuri wasn’t having any of that, and the breeze from the balcony and the solitude that he knew would exist there was beckoning him over. Purposefully looking distracted for a moment, like he hadn’t seen the approaching prince at all, he took advantage of his short stature and slight frame to slip into the crowd, his gaze on the tall glass doors to the balconies.
Minutes later, lightheaded and overheated, Yuuri finally emerged into the cool night air, breathing deeply as he attempted to cool himself off. The wine glass was still cool in his hand, and his left leg was becoming more and more irritating as the time went on. He chanced a glance behind him, and not seeing the prince any longer, he took the opportunity to sit down on one of the stone benches on the balcony.
Yuuri took another sip from his cold drink, wrinkling his nose slightly as he peered out at the twinkling lights of the castle town that he would be staying in for the next few days. He didn’t like the fizziness of it, though it was perhaps because he wasn’t used to this sort of drink as sparkling drinks weren’t readily available where he was from, but the coolness was pleasant, and the flavour wasn’t bad…and despite the chattering that flowed out onto the balcony from inside the ballroom, it was calm out here.
Maybe Murata would use that genius brain of his to find him out here later, or perhaps Akiyama would step away to follow him outside and they could spend some time alone together...
Alas, luck was not on Yuuri’s side, as usual.
“I come to speak to you directly and you run away from me. What are you? Some sort of wimp?” a haughty, but beautiful tenor voice said behind him.
Yuuri bit down what would ordinarily have been a natural response of ‘Don’t call me a wimp!’ and, trying not to grimace, he turned, plastering a false, pleasant smile on his face. He inclined his head towards the irate prince and slowly rose from his seat, still feeling a little hot and dizzy.
Yuuri was about to make up an excuse about how he certainly didn’t notice the prince and he only wanted some fresh air, unused to such events as he was. He was, however, cut off before he could even say a word when the youngest prince reached out to tilt his chin up and ran his hand through Yuuri’s hair without his permission. Yuuri’s breath hitched, his blood boiling as Wolfram came impossibly close, his stern eyes scrutinising Yuuri’s face.
“What was your name again?” Wolfram demanded, his glare deepening. “Juli?”
Taken aback by the whole situation, Yuuri could only stammer out a response. “I-it’s Yuuri, Your Highness…”
Wolfram scoffed, gripping Yuuri’s chin tighter. “Indeed, you are as rare and beautiful as they say, but don’t get ahead of yourself simply because you are beautiful. It would be a mistake for you to think that you are entitled to my hand simply because you are some sort of...rare creature.” A cruel smirk tugged at the prince’s beautiful, soft-looking lips. “You are easy on the eyes, but after dancing with you, I now understand that you are mediocre at best.”
Yuuri couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t. Despite the pact that he had made with the spirits of water, Yuuri had never been a cool-headed man, and he had never been one to hold his tongue in the face of any perceived injustice.
An injustice was happening and, emboldened by the knowledge that no member of the royal family would dare to harm a single precious hair on his head, and Yuuri would be remiss to let this pass by, or at least, that would have been his line of thought had his mouth not started to speak before his brain caught up. He saw red and sucked in a shaking breath, his gaze becoming cold as he tried to keep his voice level as he forcefully tugged his chin out of Wolfram’s grasp.
“With all due respect, Your Highness, please don’t flatter yourself.” Yuuri was satisfied to see his that stinging opening sentence had already left Wolfram looking something like an enraged, gaping fish. He forced down the satisfied smirk that would have otherwise adorned his face. “I see that the rumours about you are true. It should please you to know that I’m only here by Her Majesty’s orders. From the moment that I received the invitation to this ball, I have had no intention of courting such an entitled, ill-mannered individual as yourself.”
The prince made a noise rather like a startled paradise bird. Yuuri knew that he shouldn’t be deriving glee from this, but the expression on the spoiled prince’s face was worth the infuriating conversation that had lasted no more than a minute thus far. Yuuri got the impression that very few people had ever spoken back to this young man in his life, and as beautiful as he was, Yuuri had no intention of staying around him.
“Good evening, Your Highness. May you find happiness with literally anybody else.”
Yuuri hid the smug grin that was threatening to stretch across his face until he had passed Wolfram by, leaving him frozen as he no doubt processed what it was that Yuuri had just said to him, his face red and his expression indignant. Yuuri reluctantly stepped back into the hot ballroom and made a beeline for where Akiyama was standing against the wall, watching him intently.
“What did you say to him…?” Akiyama whispered in the common Mazoku language, leaning down to speak to Yuuri with a mischievous grin on his face. “I was about ready to run out there and get him off you.”
“He told me that I was mediocre and a ‘rare creature,’” Yuuri told him with a roll of his eyes. “I told him where he could shove his opinion.”
Akiyama looked troubled. “You sure you won’t get punished for that?”
“I’m sure of it, but at this point, I honestly don’t care. He’s as spoiled as everyone says he is, and I don’t want him thinking for even a moment that I’m interested in him,” Yuuri said bluntly, looking back in the general direction of the balcony, already hidden from view by the people standing in front of it.
“If you’re sure, I’ll trust you on that, then,” Akiyama said, grinning broadly. “Still, you did a really good job out there, all things considered.” Then, switching languages, he mischievously added, “You were cute as heck. I’d ask for a dance from you if I knew what I was doing, and that determined look on your face when you were telling the prince off was just…really cute!”
Yuuri’s heart leapt, and his eyes locked onto Akiyama’s face.
Cute… What does that even mean?!
Murata’s voice echoed mockingly in his brain. ‘Akiyama is a mystery, Shibuya…unless you ask him, yourself.’
Yuuri nervously swallowed against the lump in his throat and took a deep, shaking breath that had Akiyama tilting his head in confusion, a worried expression on his face. Yuuri licked his lips and averted his gaze.
“S-so, when you say that I’m cute… What does that mean…?” he stammered, heart hammering in his chest.
Yuuri’s gaze darted back to Akiyama’s face just in time to see Akiyama straighten up, looking up to the roof in thought. The warrior made a humming noise and crossed his arms, and then those warm, chocolate brown eyes met Yuuri’s again.
“Well…” he started, and Yuuri thought his heart was going to leap out of his chest. “I know you’re in your 80s and all, and you’re hardly a child at this point, but you’re just a really cute kid, you know? I’m an only child, but being so close to your brother for all these years… I saw you growing up, you know? You’re like a cute little brother to me!”
Yuuri tried not to cry. Calm down… Maybe you can wheedle your way in when you’re a bit taller and manlier…
“That being said, though…” Akiyama drew Yuuri’s attention back to him with the briefest glimmer of hope. “I’ve been wanting to say this for a while, now, but I’ve always been worried about him being around, so… If your brother ever breaks up with that girl Abigail, let me know, OK?”
Without ceremony, in the span of just a few seconds, Yuuri’s world (as far as matters of the heart went) crumbled, cruelly shattering into a thousand pieces.
Ah… Well…
That’s disheartening…