Kyou Kara Maou Fan Fiction ❯ My White Tiger ❯ Chapter 1

“Gwendal, who's coming?”

 

Conrart was half hanging out the window. Out of habit I pulled him back, though he was getting big enough now that it was an effort. And I should have left him to fend for himself. A fall wouldn't have killed him, and would have given him something to think about. Still, there's something about a little brother that demands looking after. I set him on the floor and repeated what my Uncle Stoffel had told me.

 

“A young man who is acquainted with Mother.” Conrart nodded. He was young, maybe, but clever, and he knew what that meant. It was a little different than a friend of Mother's, which meant we were in for the long haul, and might have to resort to putting frogs in his bed to get rid of him. But we were already planning drastic measures for that nasty Lord Evert Von Bielefeld, so this could only be a brief dalliance at most.

 

Still, I didn't like it. And Conrart didn't like it. He hated to see Mother with anyone but his father, however carefully it was explained to him that they'd gone separate ways.

 

I just hated each and every one of them. How could I protect my mother and little brother if she insisted on letting them stay? But I wasn't feeling especially rebellious, and I knew I was getting a little old for such childish resentment. I would be seventy-six my next birthday and frogs in beds had best be left to Conrart.

 

There was another fanfare. Our guest wasn't at the gate anymore, but entering the house. And unannounced. I tried not to swear, even though Conrart hung around the garrison so much he knew every word I could have said. There wasn't time for any preparation but putting on my good coat and getting Conrart into his. Raven was at the door for us before I had all the buttons done, and I had to go downstairs looking rather slovenly. There was no reason to care, just to make my appearance before some lowly soldier or third son of a great family Mother was playing with, but I was vain.

 

As vices go, there're worse.

 

Who would it be this time? A dashing captain in the Regulars who'd challenge me to a duel for my mother's honor twice a day until I was tempted to accept just to wipe the smirk off his face? Some timid scholar with a pretty face who was terrified of all of us? Another tall, rangy character who didn't shave enough and half the time reeked of spirits?

 

I was quite steeled for the worst. Best to be. As I came to stand beside Mother, I quite overlooked our guest at first glance. Then my gaze was drawn to an absolute radiance, and I couldn't have ever overlooked him again.

 

This couldn't be a tryst of Mother's. Couldn't be. He was too young. Fifty years older than I, seventy at most. That wasn't her way. His uniform was military, but the regalia was an admiral's, not any captain's. He smelled of ocean winds and sea salt, though it must have been three days' trip between a port and the manor.

 

But most I saw his hair. That was the moment I lost my vanity, happy to cede my place to someone who deserved to be admired—or I was happy when he was there. It seemed to me to flow on forever, to swallow up the mundane world around it. Silver on lilac, the colors coexisting impossibly, both stronger than I'd ever seen. His eyes were the same.

 

Only a fool believes in love at first sight, and any boy of seventy-five is a fool.

 

He bowed regally, the movement more graceful than I would have expected of anyone but a dancer. “Lady Cecilie.” He reached for her hand to kiss, and she bopped him on the forehead with the same casual cheer she would me or Conrart.

 

I felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over my head.

 

“Silly Gungun, don't use formalities with someone who's known you since you were only knee high.” She smiled and hugged him. He was tall enough that he was crushed into her shoulder, not her bosom. One envied him that. “Call me Celi.”

 

“Celi. Yes.” He reddened the slightest bit. Such pale cheeks. The least little bit of color shone on them. “It's good to see you.”

 

“You too, Gunter! You've been off being a hero so long I'd forgotten what you looked like. And you haven't even met my little treasures.”

 

Mother always introduced us as her little treasures. I generally didn't care. It was obvious to any of her toys that I and even Conrart were forces to be reckoned with. Now, I would have given anything to have the ground swallow me up then and there. It was lucky Mother and Conrart were so close, or I might have made the earth do just that. I was not a very precise spell caster. “This is Conrart. He's seven.”

 

“I'm seven and a half.” Conrart looked rather confused. He'd expected the same thing I had, after all, and was probably trying to figure out our visitor. What I should have been doing.

 

“That's right. Seven and a half. How could I forget? And Gwendal is seventy-three.”

 

If I corrected her I'd look as childish as Conrart, but if I didn't, even a few years meant a lot at my age. I must have blushed. I know I said nothing, frozen in place. And my baby brother rescued me.

 

“What's your name?” He looked a bit confrontational, standing with his hands on his hips, looking straight up at Mother's guest.

 

He smiled and the world stopped for a moment. Or spun out of control. I wasn't sure, but when I stopped reeling he was on one knee and shaking Conrart's hand. “Gunter Von Christ. You're Lord Weller's son, are you not?”

 

“That's my Papa's name, yeah.”

 

“I briefly served with him. I spend most of my time at sea, and he is less than fond of the ocean, but he is a strong soldier and an honorable man. And the only duelist I've ever lost to.”

 

“Papa's the best swordsman in Shin Makoku! I'm learning to be as great as him, though. Gwendal's helping me, but it's best when Papa comes to visit and gives me lessons.”

 

He looked up at me over Conrart's head and smiled, an indulgent little smile I was obviously meant to share. I tried. He patted Conrart's head, ruffling his hair right back into chaos. “While I'm visiting, you and I should spar. I'm considered a rather good swordsman myself.”

 

“Are you as good as Gwendal? He's the best I know after Papa.”

 

“We'll have to test that as well, won't we?” I got another smile and felt my heart drop into my stomach. Smitten, I think, is the word Mother would have used.

 

He stood. Gunter stood, and his hair tossed into the breeze. Say something. I should say something. Conrart was surpassing me in manners. “I look forward to it.” My voice cracked and it felt like the end of the world. Damn, it had mostly finished changing. Always at the worst times.

 

“Gunter, come along. Raven can show you where you're sleeping. Right across from the boys. And then we'll all settle in for a nice early supper! I wish you'd given me more warning. It'll be all I can do to get the neighbors over and have a nice summery meal put together.”

 

“That's unnecessary, Lady Celi.” Gunter looked a bit sheepish. It was very becoming. He had such a beautifully expressive face. “I'll only be able to stay a few days. I just thought it might be nice to look in on an old friend.”

 

“As well you should have! But I think a nice array of salads and sandwiches with fruit salad and wine would be perfect. The Karbelnikoffs are in their villa just on the other side of the valley, and Lord Bielefeld is staying there on some sort of business. So that's five guests, you, me, Stoffel, the boys, and Raven, if he'd like to stay. Ten is only a modest dinner party. You can't object to that no matter how humble and provincial you like to be.”

 

I couldn't believe she'd called him provincial. He was nothing of the kind, to be a commanding officer at his age. And a party couldn't be more of a misery. Anissina would tease me until the end of the world. Lord Bielefeld would flirt with mother even though he was married. The whole thing would be disgraceful.

 

“Gwendal, I don't know where Raven's gone. Probably on some errand for Stoffel. Would you show Gunter up to his room? Put him in the blue one next to yours, come to think. There's a lovely view.”

 

You could never tell with Mother. She might know how besotted I was to the drop, or she might have missed my stupid, stunned face entirely. I didn't know whether to hate her. But I nodded. I tried to be a good and dutiful son. Someone had to be good and dutiful around here.

 

“Voltaire, isn't it?” Oh, Shinou, he was talking to me. And knew my name. Maybe he'd served with my father. I nodded as casually as I could. “It's beautiful country up in the mountains, but much too cold for me. I'm from the south.”

 

“Yes. Von Christ is just south of the capital, right?” Sputtering my geography. Oh, what a conversationalist I was.

 

He looked oddly pleased. “Exactly. Scrubby forest and hills. Not nearly as lush as Spitzberg territory. Everything is green here. But there's a beauty to it.”

 

“I'm sure.” His bag looked heavy, but he was stronger than I and clearly didn't need help with it. Would I rather be polite, or dignified? “Would you like me to carry that?”

 

“Kind of you to offer.” A very gentle refusal. Everything about him seemed gentle. Everything but the sword at his waist. And knowing the grace with which he moved, I practically hungered to see it used. Walking up the stairs was like a dance for him.

 

Until his boot caught in a loose bit of carpet and he fell face-first onto the landing with a high-pitched squeak. I hurried forward to help, but he was standing back up again before I made the few steps. “Don't worry. I'm just clumsy.” As he spoke, a drop of blood slid out of his nose. He blushed. Pink on silver. The color of dawn.

 

“Here.” My hand jerked out almost mechanically. I extended my handkerchief and at once cursed the decision. It was an ugly thing, loosely and erratically knit, a wriggling little square-that-wasn't made from scraps of unmatched yarn. Anissina had had me make it when I'd just started learning.

 

“It bleeds very easily, I'm afraid. Oof, that was a nasty stair there. Thank you.” Maybe he took it for a rag. I hoped he had, though an absolutely insane part of me hoped he'd recognize it as a work of art and praise it. That malformed little scrap deserved to be bled on, though.

 

“You won't get a lot of use from it now, though.” The bleeding had stopped, but my multicolored little monstrosity was very stained. His nose did bleed easily. I couldn't imagine why that struck me as cute. “Here, there's my debt repaid.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a delicate, perfectly white square of linen folded so neatly it held the creases as he tossed it to me.

 

I was about to refuse. A pretty, dainty thing like that for my horrid practice project? But it smelled like fresh air and Gunter. I smiled and folded it into my breast pocket, probably flushed again.

 

We got up the last flight of the stairs without much incident. His nose was a bit swollen, so maybe talking would have been uncomfortable. Whatever the reason, he said nothing until I opened the door to the guest room.

 

“Lady Celi's taste is as exquisite and ostentatious as always,” he said with a sort of resigned sigh I recognized. There was a definite overabundance of gilding.

 

I didn't want him just to think about mother's tendency to overdecorate, though. I charged across the room and opened the drapes, revealing what was unquestionably a lovely view of the countryside, green fields and stands of trees. “…You can see the stars perfectly from here. Once the lights are out in town, I mean.”

 

“I look forward to it. Thank you, Gwendal.” He smiled and bowed, just a half-bob that was at once friendly and distancing. He wanted to unpack and relax. I understood. I hurried out faster than I had to, perhaps.

 

I turned the handkerchief over and over in my hands until Conrart came upstairs and I had to help him dress for dinner. He was in a chatty mood for him, apparently impressed with our visitor almost as much as I was. Conrart was mad for swords and soldiers, even more than most boys his age. It was clear enough why he'd be drawn to Gunter.

 

I wondered how Conrart would like him as a brother-in-law, blushed, berated myself fiercely, and had to pretend to drop something in the wardrobe to keep my back turned to my entirely too perceptive little brother.

 

Mother was blithe enough about planning an impromptu party that an outsider would expect the plan to be abandoned within three minutes, the whole absurd idea out the window as we sat down to a slightly expanded family meal. An outsider wouldn't know Mother. By sundown there were four or five tables out on the lawn covered in linen tablecloths, set with simple, elegant fare. The Karbelnikoffs and Lord Bielefeld had arrived in two carriages half an hour before.

 

She'd even found a few musicians. Mother had tried to convince me to play my lute for everyone, but the idea of plucking out a simple tune with my untalented fingers for the sake of showing off her boys' accomplishments made me recoil so hard she actually let it go. I was sure she had something else planned, but at least I wouldn't be trying to remember the chords to The Charge of His Majesty Shinou. It was about the most complex song I could handle.

 

Anissina pounced on me as soon as I got outside. I didn't notice for a moment that she was babbling at me. Gunter was standing near one of mother's decorative torches, and the fire made his hair shine like real silver.

 

“Gwendal! I need you to help me test Mr. Perpetual Energy after dessert. Gwendal, are you listening to me?”

 

“It's just going to blow up.” The more useful her machines sounded, the more likely they were to end with me bandaging burns and trimming the scorched parts out of my hair. When Conrart was really little he had been unable to say Anissina's name and settled on Boomgirl as an acceptable substitute. From the mouths of babes.

 

“It is not. And once I work out the kinks it'll definitely decrease work for you in the future. My calculations show a very favorable ratio of maryoku output to input.”

 

“That sounds fascinating.”

 

We both looked up. Gunter was a good head taller than either of us, after all. Anissina grinned and I paled. She whirled on him. “What about you? Are you an accomplished sorcerer?”

 

He looked confused and rather gratified. “I specialize in academic sorcery and wind-based maryoku. I wouldn't call myself especially talented, but…”

 

“It's fine. All I need for my inventions is a power source. My techniques have improved lately, too. Gwendal almost never faints now.”

 

Gunter moved back a step. Most could sense danger off Anissina the way animals knew to flee a black widow spider, but it seemed he'd been trusting enough not to flee when gut instinct would have instructed. She followed him. It was too late for him to escape.

 

So I had to spring into action. “Anissina, Arnolf was saying to me the other day how he feels women's accustomed role in society is ubiquitous enough that the only reasonable conclusion is that females are naturally subservient.”

 

“He said what?” I reminded myself to apologize to Arnolf later. The poor bastard. Anissina stormed off with that avenging harpy look on her face. At least I had until her poor brother managed to get in a word edgewise in his defense. It was hard to do while being whacked repeatedly with a broom handle.

 

“What an interesting young woman,” Gunter said faintly, and I smiled at him, forgetting for a moment how nervous he made me. He smiled back, and there was that strange fluttery sensation in my chest again. “Enjoying your mother's party?”

 

“It's about what they're usually like,” I said. Stupid. “Besides the pleasant company, I mean.” Even more stupid! Oh, I was hopeless.

 

“Agreed. This is a nice change from the gatherings I remember. Though I was younger than you when last I attended a Cecilie Soiree.” A narrow escape for me, assuming he really hadn't caught that horrid attempt at flirting and wasn't just being kind. “I'll have to get the recipe for these pastries from your cook.”

 

“I'm sure she'd be glad to give it to you.” He cooked as well? Why, domestic harmony would be assured. If only I weren't a gawky kid and he a war hero, anyway.

 

He was about to answer when Mother appeared behind him in that way she had of materializing from some sort of extra dimension only she could walk in. “Gunter, before you get too full, I was thinking we might have a little exhibition of swordsmanship. Are you game?”

 

“If it'd please you.” He bowed very politely. It didn't look to me like he wanted to do any such thing. He'd just come from the real wars. Of course it wasn't a game to him. I wanted to say all that, but didn't know how. “Though in a house that recently contained Lord Weller I'm sure my skills will pale in comparison.”

 

“Everything about you is pale, silly. So what should it be? One of your forms?”

 

“I know, Mama.” Conrart tugged at her skirt. He was usually happy enough playing with Anissina and Arnolf, who spoiled him rotten, but they were probably beating each other to pulp right now. He still got bored at the worst possible moments. “He should spar with Gwendal. I want to see who's better.”

 

“Conrart, it's going to be Gunter…” I tried to think of any way to distract mother that I could. This would be a thousand times worse than trying to get my lute to sound like anything but a sick cat. He wouldn't just be watching. He'd be humiliating me himself. But Mother was already smiling.

 

“A wonderful idea, Conrart. Nothing gets a crowd's blood flowing like a good match, and it's a pleasure to watch Gunter use that sword. Are you alright with this, Gwen?”

 

I nodded. Refusing would have been worse. Mother smiled and clapped. “An excellent segue into the main course! Go easy on my little Gwen, now, Gunter. I'm sure he'll be able to learn a lot from you.”

 

“I'm sure you'll prove a worthy opponent.” He bowed to me solemnly, eyes kind. This would be a farce, and we both knew it.

 

I was no swordsman. Had never really wanted to be. All my quickness was mental. My hands never quite did what I told them to. For my age I was competent, of course. Less would be improper. But I was a tactician. I could run a household. I won every game of chess I'd played since I was thirteen or so. Directing the swords of others was my gift.

 

A paltry gift indeed it seemed at the moment. He'd never see it. Gunter smiled again as we lined up on an impromptu dueling field, boundaries marked by shoes, coats, and one tablecloth. Raven had fetched practice swords. He handed me my usual weapon with a nod and passed a longer, rather more delicate weapon to Gunter. “Is this acceptable?” Raven struck me as rather icily polite.

 

He tended not to like it when Mother was showering someone else with attention. Raven didn't like much.

 

“Quite. It has a good balance for a training sword.” Gunter handed his own weapon to Mother and buckled on the dull sword. He tied his hair back. I ought to have done the same, but was busy watching the play of torchlight on his. It even gave his skin an ethereal glow. I didn't want to spar him. I wanted to stare. But he was already sliding into a shallow stance. I went deeper, as trained, even as I determined that someone who had been in real fights probably knew better.

 

Mother signaled us to begin with a cheerful cry and a wave. I determined I wanted it over with as quickly as possible. Might as well look like a clumsy adolescent sooner as later. I swung wildly. He sidestepped me with an easy, willowy grace, sending my sword and me flailing wide to the right. He could have finished it then, but he let me regain my footing. I tried waiting for his attack this time. Gunter was in no hurry, though. He circled me cautiously. Trying to give me an opening. Letting me win. But I wasn't lowering myself to that.

 

Or maybe I was too busy watching the way he walked, catlike and smooth, as natural as the wind on grass as he glided along the ground on the balls of his feet. Hypnotic. I could have watched forever. The breeze caught his sleeve, blowing it back over a slender wrist the color of fresh ivory. There was a twitch I saw. I was about to be attacked. I didn't try to stop it. I wanted to see him move. It was worth my sword dropping to the ground to watch him spring. Solid, impossibly delicate. A white tiger.

 

“And the match to Gunter!” I snapped back to reality and winced. Stupid. I probably would have impressed him more if I'd tried harder. I could have lasted a little while. He had a lot of reach, with those long arms and legs, and he was fast, but he'd been relying too much on those advantages. I could have at least made him regret going so easy on me.

 

He was being hugged by Mother. And then I was. “Gwen, you're going to have to practice more. But you almost had him for a minute there.” Oh, baldfaced lies. There's no one like a mother for them. I nodded and left Conrart to babble to Gunter about his prowess. I think he was demanding lessons.

 

I walked back to the table and sat next to Anissina to sulk. There was a decanter of wine on the table and, as Stoffel wasn't around to forbid me, I decided to help myself. Not that it helped much. I went from humiliated to humiliated and slightly lightheaded. Conrart had been set on a chair to recite some epic poem, forgetting half the words and losing the meter and being cooed over by all the adults anyway. It must be nice to be able to impress so easily.

 

“Your affinity is to maryoku of the earth, isn't it?”

 

How had he gotten behind me? I had been ignoring Anissina so hard I must have lost track of what was important. I looked up and nodded.

 

“I could tell from your footwork. Very solid. You could be a formidable opponent if your heart was in it.” He pulled out a chair and sat next to me.

 

I looked away. “You could tell?”

 

“If every mazoku had the same skill we'd be hopeless. And it isn't as though you're lacking.” He smiled at me. Maybe it was the wine, but his eyes looked even warmer than before, and I managed to smile back at him. “Let me know when you find where your heart does lie. I'll be interested to see.”

 

With you. “I'm not that young.”

 

“Don't rush growing up, Lord Von Voltaire. It's no fun at all.” I hadn't even known he knew my full title. Though it made sense. Father had died in a naval battle. Gunter might have been there, for all I knew. “I had to take my title at sixteen.”

 

“Oh.” That was definitely worse. I wondered what had happened to his family. Mother would know. “I'm sorry.”

 

“Don't be.” He stood. “I'd better go and pay court to your lady mother some more or she'll be coming over again. Try not to be so hard on yourself, Gwen.” Oh, Shinou, that was mother's name for me. It wasn't open for popular consumption. But I minded less than I should have. “You take everything too seriously.”

 

He took a single step. The hem of his robe had somehow gotten under the leg of a chair and it held just long enough to trip him before ripping loudly. He managed to curse hurriedly before winding up facefirst on the ground. Again.

 

Less a white tiger and perhaps more a kitten. A sweet little one that needed protecting, for all its sharp claws. I hurried to him and pulled out the handkerchief I'd been hoping to keep a lot longer, but by the time I got there he was sitting up and holding a horribly familiar, multicolored monstrosity below his nose. “I'm fine.”

 

“Oh. …I'll let you go see mother, then.” I gave him my hand to climb up on. His fingers were slim and cool. Why had he kept that nasty little rag?

 

“My thanks, Lord Von Voltaire.” He bowed low, the effect ruined a little bit by his nosebleed. But I didn't think he was teasing me. And I got to watch his feline stride as he walked away, which quite took away the urge to complain.

 

There was a loud, familiar snort behind me. I'd forgotten Anissina was there. It figured. The only time that wench could keep quiet was when she was gathering blackmail fodder. “Oh, my, Gwendal is perfectly enamored.”

 

I whirled on her, expecting to unleash the verbal abuse she deserved for happening to witness my foolish flirtation, and the explosions she'd unleash upon me be damned. Instead, I heard myself say, “Anissina, teach me to make a cat.”

 

“Are you sure, Gwendal? You just finished up that lovely snail that Conrart loves so.”

 

“…It's a turtle.”

 

“So that was a shell of some sort. Arnolf had this theory it was a hedgehog. And what sort of cat do you want to make?”

 

“A white one.”

 

“With perhaps a little tinge of lavender?” I snarled and she laughed at me. I suppose I didn't blame her. “You're a slow learner, Gwendal. It'll take a long time before you produce anything that looks remotely feline, let alone presentable.”

 

“I don't care.”

 

“Alright, I'll show you right after you help me test Mr. Perpetual Energy. Arnolf is all out of power just from this afternoon.” She smirked. I nodded. Fine, she won. She always did.

 

But at least this time it was worth it.

 

 

Click. Clickclick. …Click. Gwendal was a little thrown by the odd rhythm. He usually knitted so consistently. It was supposed to be a relaxing activity, after all. The delicate little tap of the needles, regular as clockwork, was part of what made it so restful. But if he let himself slide into that easy trance, he'd make mistakes. Small ones, but sharp eyes would pick them up. And sometimes flaws were not acceptable.

 

There was a clatter in the hallway, an embarrassed, childish laugh. Ah, the Maou was blundering again. Gwendal nodded serenely, his expression souring a bit. He approved of the boy by now, and His Majesty made Wolfram happier than his oldest brother had ever seen him. No, Gwendal had nothing against Yuuri. Just a specific effect of his on one Lord Gunter Von Christ.

 

“Gwendal.” Conrart stuck his head in the door. “If you could spare a moment.”

 

Ah, what had he done now? Gwendal nodded, carefully stowing his needles and wool in a desk drawer. White was the hardest color to work in. The least little inconsistency was glaring.

 

As he turned, he reached behind him, plucking a tiny scrap of grayed, aging linen from the desk. He only took it out when he needed to focus on something special. Otherwise it was always in the pocket nearest his heart.