Chapter Text
It was early dusk, with the skies painted in steaks of violet and orange, and the soft chill of autumn breeze wafting in through the rickety wooden walls of the humble bookshop, when Sam Winchester first laid eyes upon the Prince.
The scuffle of hooves on the dirt road just outside had done little to pull Sam’s attentions away from the book clasped so tightly in his hand. He stood, feet balanced high on a step of his rickety wooden ladder, elbows rested on a dusty bookshelf while his nose was nestled between the musty-scented pages. His hazel eyes moved slowly, consuming each word, devouring the story line by written line until it was all he could see and feel and breathe; lost in a world unlike any he’d ever ventured to before. There was no telling how long he’d been like this, perched high above the floor, drowning in the painted words of storytellers long dead until the creak of the door would tear him away, and force him to climb down and tend to a customer.
There hadn’t been one for most of the night, and Sam should most certainly have not been so happy about it. Business was grave in this part of the village. No one read books anymore; there was no time. Not with the winter approaching, and crops needing to be harvested before the bitter cold choked the very life from them. Sam’s bookshop was hardly bringing in enough money to put food on the table for his family, but it was all he could do. His elder brother Dean was a simple stable boy, and his Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen ran a small Inn not down the road. Business was slow for the lot of them, and the last thing Sam wanted was to go another long winter with a growling belly.
But, Gods help him, the alone time he was receiving was a gift. So much time to breathe, to read. He was hardly ever granted such things.
Sam had just begun climbing down from the ladder when the Prince swept in, soundless, without so much as an announcement or knock on the door. His long olive green cloak billowed out behind him, its ends covered in a faint coating of dust that had been kicked up from the road outside. The Prince was smaller than Sam had ever imagined him, but in no way delicate, his body lean and strong and sturdy. He had silken hair pushed away from his face to fall in soft waves on the back of his neck, the strands glimmering gold in the fading sunlight. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense, no, but there was something about the arrogant jut of his angular jaw, the way his eyebrows quirked with mischief and the manner in which his eyes flashed like a beam of light caught on a bottle of honey, that made him downright beautiful to admire.
If Sam could recall correctly, the Prince’s name was Gabriel.
He’d brought two guards with him, massive men donned in sturdy armour fashioned out of glistening silver chainmail, forged plates of strong steel, and a quilted leather and fabric vest dyed blue and stitched with silver. They stood, still and silent on either side of the door, hard gazes set straight ahead while gloved hands clasped tightly around the hilts of long, vicious swords.
And that’s when Sam had all but stumbled down the last few ladders steps, and fell to his knees rather gracelessly before the Prince, his head bowed and eyes cast to the aged floorboards, which he couldn’t help but notice were layered with dust.
Gods help him, why hadn’t he swept?
“I’m looking for the owner of this establishment.” He heard Gabriel say in a crisp, velvet voice.
Sam felt himself tremble. He dared not look up, but instead lifted his hand. “That… would be me, my Prince.”
“You? You’re but a boy.”
Sam kept his eyes on the floor. “I became a man of nineteen in the spring, my Prince. My father owned this shop, and passed it onto me after my mother’s death.”
There was a long pause, and then the approach of footsteps, before a pair of sturdy boiled leather boots appeared in Sam’s line of vision. They were good quality, dark, and fastened with a silver buckle that was probably worth more than Sam’s entire wardrobe combined. He swallowed hard, unsure if the Prince’s sudden proximity was entirely a good thing.
“Stand,” Gabriel murmured softly.
And stand Sam did, rising up to his full height, which towered straight over the Prince, much like it did everyone else. Those shockingly golden eyes followed Sam all the way up, a slight smirk curling on Gabriel’s soft lips when their gazes finally met.
“My, my, you’re a big one.” He said.
Sam shifted his weight to his other foot, feeling entirely too tall, too lanky, and much too grubby to be in the presence of this man. He hadn’t shaved in days, his clothes were dusty from work and faded from the sun; a complete contrast from the fresh-faced Prince before him, donned in shimmering gold and luxurious fabrics from across the seas.
“You realize that it is against the law for a commoner to look down upon royalty?” Gabriel drawled up at him, amusement ringing like a bell in his voice.
“U-um…” Sam wrung his hands nervously together. “Would you rather I get back on my knees, my Prince?”
Something wicked twinkled in those eyes. “I doubt this is the time and place, but I’ll keep your offer in mind for when my guard dogs are not at my side.”
Sam caught the hidden intention in that remark, and felt the kiss of heat bloom on his cheeks. There was no word he could utter that would sound in the least bit intelligent as a response to that, so he did well to keep his mouth firmly shut. He took one step aside to allow Gabriel to pass, and watched as he moved slowly through the bookshop, fingertips skimming over the aged leather spines of books lined row by row on the shelves.
“I’m here looking for a book,” Gabriel said after a moment.
“A book, my Prince?” Sam tilted his head.
“This is a bookshop isn’t it?”
“…Yes.”
Gabriel turned gracefully on his heel and looked at him like he was a loon. “Then what else would I be here for?”
Sam did best to hold back the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course. My mistake.” He came forward, then, and gestured to the shelves surrounding them. “Is there any book you have in mind, my Prince?”
“It is for my brother Michael.” The Prince said. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
Who hasn’t? Prince Michael was the eldest brother in the royal family, and the heir to the throne. Sam only recalled ever seeing him once in his life, back when he was a boy of nine. Michael had been out for a hunt in the woods, and Sam had been perched up in an old oak tree with a book. He’d only seen Michael from afar, so dark and strikingly handsome upon his chestnut steed. With quiver upon his back and bow in his hand, he’d carried himself with pride, dignity, and strength. Michael had only been a boy of sixteen, then. Sam could only imagine what he was like now.
“My brother enjoys more complicated tales,” Gabriel stated. “He’s got a stubborn mind, and won’t delve into any book unless it causes him to think, to wonder. Have you any like that?”
Sam pondered a moment with a click of his jaw, and then moved down a narrow aisle between the shelves. He ran his hands along the book spines, murmuring their titles as he searched, eyes flitting back and forth. And then he pulled one out from its cramped little space; a thick book bound in aged red leather, its pages crackled from years of use. He came forward with it, using the sleeve of his tunic to wipe the dust from the cover.
“I would recommend this one, my Prince.”
Gabriel peered down at it. “What is it?”
“Age of Dragons by Chuck Shurley. One of my favourite writers, my Prince. This book is as complex as they come; speaking of magic and murder, slayers and slaves, with dragons from far across the nine realms.” Sam smiled fondly at the book. “It took me many weeks to finish this. Whenever I put the book down, I kept having to go back a chapter because I could hardly recall what I had read beforehand. It’s a tightly-knit web of complexities that all unravels in the end. I believe Prince Michael would enjoy it greatly.”
Gabriel still did not take the book, gazing up at Sam with a slight hint of a smile that almost looked fond. “Read me a passage. I’d like to know if you speak the truth.”
Sam wet his lips nervously, and fumbled with opening the book. He carefully turned the pages, mindful of their fragility, seeking out the best possible spot to read from. When he did, he stared down at the words, so carefully scribbled across the page; words he himself had read once before. He could feel the Prince’s honey coloured eyes on him, watching, waiting, though Sam doubted it was patiently.
Softly, clearly, he began to read. “…truth be told, dragons were perilously proud creatures, and Ecklemon the Conqueror knew not to handle one without upmost respect and caution. Legend told that once, not so long ago, in a land of ice, where the sun blazed black and the shrieks of the maimed caused the clouds in the skies to tremble with fear, a mighty warlord came toe to toe with a dragon, whose scales were that of stone, blending him into the mountainside as though he was birthed from the rock and earth. The warlord was praised throughout the realms as the finest dragon slayer, and when he came upon the mountainside where the stone dragon slept, he did not wake it. He did not bow, nor did he greet the dragon as respective opponent, as tradition stated. No, he simply took up his sword, and attempted to drive it into the dragon’s skull in one swift blow. The blade shattered upon impact, and the dragon woke, raring its head with a great icy roar, before devouring the warlord in one bite. T’was not a fair fight at all. Ecklemon took this story to heart as he grew from fragile boy to a gallant warrior, and recited the rule to himself whenever he was faced with challenge: An honourable warrior greets his opponent like friend, for in the battle of life and death, we all stand on the same level ground. We are all equal.”
When Sam finished, and lifted his eyes to look upon Gabriel once more, he couldn’t help but take note of how the Prince was regarding him, as though seeing Sam for the very first time. His eyes were thoughtful, lips still curled upward in that fond smile. Sam could feel his mouth go dry, and his heartbeat pick up in his breast.
“I’ll take it.” Gabriel finally said, reaching out and plucking the book from Sam’s hands.
Sam nodded, and moved over to the front desk. He wasn’t sure whether or not the Prince would be paying for his book. He never had royalty in his shop before. Gabriel could very well stroll right out of here with it, and there wasn’t a single thing anyone could do about it. But then Sam heard a small clatter on the wooden desk, and looked down to see three coins placed in front of him.
Three… gold coins.
Gold.
“M-my Prince!” Sam nearly fell over, gathering the coins in his large palm and holding them out. “This is too much.”
Far too much, Sam thought. The books only cost two coppers each. These coins would be enough to feed his family for nearly a month. He couldn’t possibly take them. Not from royalty. He was no cheat.
But as Gabriel swept toward the door, his clock dragging along the floorboards and book tucked snugly under the crook of his arm, he cast one last smile in Sam’s direction, and then disappeared into the darkening evening, his two guards following close behind him.
Sam stared down at the gold coins until the sounds of galloping hooves faded away into silence.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
The Prince returned the very next day, when Dean had come by the bookshop to fix the wooden sign, which had been knocked from its rusted hinges by the merciless autumn wind during the night. Sam had been outside, holding the ladder still as his older brother worked at getting the sign firmly back into place on the old iron rod, the wind whipping through his shaggy hair and woollen tunic. Gabriel had trotted in on a magnificent young stallion with a sleek coat the colour of stormy skies, speckled in whites and greys, donned in a crimson red cloak trimmed in wolf’s fur to keep him warm in the bitter morning chill. He had only one guard with him this time, and smiled down at Sam when he got close, his speckled horse snorting and shuffling restlessly.
Sam had to let go of the ladder to drop to his knees before him, which earned him a rightful yelp from his older brother when the rickety old ladder trembled unsteadily beneath him.
“Sam! What the hell!” Dean growled down at him. “You’re going to make me break my damn neck.”
Sam cleared his throat loudly, eyes cast down at the dirt. “We have company.”
“Great Gods, I don’t care!” The ladder wobbled dangerously at Sam’s side. “Get your hands back on the damn thing or I’m going to make sure to land on you when I come tumbling down.”
Sam heard the Prince snicker in amusement, and risked a brief glance upward to see him grinning over at his guard. “Charming one, isn’t he?”
“Charming is not the word I would use, my Prince.” The guard sneered, his icy eyes shooting daggers up at Dean. He snapped at him. “Get down from there, boy! And bow to your Prince!”
Dean all but scrambled down off the ladder, the damn thing tipping over and nearly taking out the front shop window in the process. A great plume of dust rose up from the ground when the weight of the ladder crashed down upon it, and Sam grunted as his older brother collapsed to his knees next to him.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was the Prince?” Dean hissed at him under his breath.
“I told you we had company. I didn’t think you needed an invitation to be respectful to someone.” Sam bit back.
“You could have hinted at least!”
“Enough!” The guard roared.
“Ease yourself, Balthazar.” The Prince clicked his tongue. “Both of you, on your feet. None of this unnecessary bowing and grovelling nonsense. I’m not Michael.”
Sam did as ordered, lifting himself off the ground, all the while wiping dust from his dark trousers. He gazed up at the Prince, and he couldn’t help but notice how much lovelier he looked in the rays of early morning light, with the deep red of his cloak making the gold of his eyes all the more brighter. His speckled stallion nicked and hoofed at the ground.
“Don’t mind my Captain of the Guard, boys. He’s a right grumpy one when he hasn’t had a romp in the brothels for a while.” Gabriel smirked, and dismounted his ride in one graceful swoop. He slipped his leather riding gloves off, all the while gazing up at Sam. “So good to see you again.”
Sam swallowed hard. “And to you as well, my Prince.”
“Again?” Dean stared between them, confusion etched deeply into his handsome features. “You’ve met before?”
“Once.” Gabriel said dismissively. “Last night.”
“You never told me you met the Prince.” Dean narrowed olive green eyes at his young brother.
“You were asleep by the time I got home.” Sam frowned.
“And you couldn’t mention it over breakfast this morning?”
Gabriel released an exasperated breath. “If we’re all done clucking about like a couple of hens, I would like to get to the reason as to why I am here.” He met Sam’s eyes. “I’ve come to purchase another book.”
“Another, my Prince?” Sam tilted his head. “Forgive my asking, but did Prince Michael not enjoy the one I recommended last night?”
“No, no, no, nothing like that.” The Prince flicked his hand. “He has his book, and he’s had his damn nose in the thing since it was placed in his hands. I’ve come to find a book for my other brother Lucifer.”
The very name sent a sharp chill coursing through Sam’s body. Prince Lucifer was certainly a man Sam knew well. He frequented the village often with a group of his most loyal entourage, visiting the brothels and the taverns in the long hours of the night, hooting and hollering and making an outright mockery of their peaceful town. Sam had witnessed him and his men bullying the poor, tricking them with false charm and twisted words, tossing a handful of gold into the mud and laughing as the villagers practically slaughtered each other in order to get to it.
Lucifer was a vile, arrogant man who despised anyone beneath him, the second born Prince in the royal family. The Silver-Tongued Viper, the people called him. Perhaps he was the way he was because he would never be King one day. Perhaps he was causing ruin to the kingdom, knowing full-well that it was Michael’s duty to clean up the mess afterward.
If there was a God, Lucifer was the devil.
The fact that Prince Gabriel was in any way related to him boggled Sam’s mind.
“Pardon me for saying so, my Prince, but your brother hardly seems the reading type.” Sam said, crossing strong arms across his broad chest.
“He can be, if it entertains him enough.” The Prince said, cool wind catching under his cloak and causing it to ripple outward. “The book needs to be short, to the point, and not too complex. He needs to be entertained, or he becomes bored and gives up.”
Sam thought a moment, and then inclined his head. “I believe I may have something.”
When he turned and strode into his bookshop, Gabriel followed without hesitation while Dean and Balthazar remained outside. The Prince leaned comfortably on the front desk, and helped himself to an autumn peach from the clay bowl there, sinking his teeth into the tender, sweet flesh. Sam disappeared into the bookshelves, searching, despite the twisting in his gut for providing Prince Lucifer with any of his precious books. He did not deserve to place his filthy hands upon any of them.
It didn’t take much searching to find a book that met all of Prince Gabriel’s requirements. Rising up on the very tips of his toes, Sam plucked it from the very top shelf, its faded black leather cover bound tightly over a short stack of crisp pages. Sam only read this book once, back when he was a mere boy.
“This should do it,” Sam announced as he returned to the front of the shop.
Gabriel was mid-bite when he leaned in and took a good look at the book Sam presented, a clear trickle of peach juice running from his soft lips and down his sharp chin. Sam followed it with his eyes as it ran a line from the Prince’s chin and down the elegant column of his pale throat. He swallowed, suddenly wondering what it would be like to reach out and brush the droplet away with the backs of his fingers, or to simply lean in and catch it with his lips, suckling away the sweetness with his tongue and tasting the flavour of the Prince’s skin along with it.
He looked away quickly.
“The King’s Fool, by Carver Edlund.” The Prince said, reading the title aloud. He glanced up at Sam, and swallowed his bite of peach. “Interesting title.”
“It’s a rather dark little story, told entirely in rhyming verse.” Sam nodded with a forced smile. “I’m… sure Prince Lucifer will enjoy it.”
Gabriel eyed him coolly. “You don’t like him much, do you?”
Sam was caught off guard. “U-um…”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, you know. Considering that he’s a complete ass, and that’s putting it pleasantly. The village people despise my brother.” Gabriel rested his elbows on the desk, and stared at the exposed pit inside his peach.
“Forgive me, my Prince. I did not mean to make it seem as though I dislike your brother.”
“I’m not a fan of him, either.” Gabriel shrugged. “But he is my blood, and he is not so bad within the castle walls. He enjoys my company more than he enjoys Michael’s, that’s for certain. He taught me many things growing up.”
Sam’s brow furrowed deeply at the thought. “You turned out nothing like him.”
“Thank the Gods, eh?” Gabriel straightened, and tapped on the book cover. “Care to read me a passage? I like to know whether I am getting my money’s worth, after all.”
Sam nodded once, and flipped to a random page in the book, eyes skimming through the words for a decent part to start on.
“The royal feast was done; the King
Sought some new sport to banish care,
And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!
Beg of me to spare your dear life,
Go on, get to it, lets hear it loud!
Or I’ll have to slice off your head,
Speak now to me, address mine crowd!”
The jester doffed his cap and bells,
And stood the mocking court before;
They could not see the bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.
He bowed his head, and bent his knee
Upon the Monarch's silken stool;
His pleading voice arose: "O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!”
Sam stopped reading and tore his eyes from the page, only to see that same soft, astonished gaze directed at him. Gabriel was smiling, brighter this time, his eyes hooded and his chin rested in the palm of his hand. The look was soft, non-threatening, and yet Sam could feel himself being peeled open bit by bit, exposing his most vulnerable secrets to this other man.
“My Prince… you’re staring…” Sam shifted.
Gabriel’s smile only grew wider. “I am, aren’t I?” He straightened, then, and reached into his trouser pocket. The Prince took the little book from Sam’s hand, only to replace it with three more gold coins.
“Dearest Gods, my Prince, this is far too much.” Sam shook his head and slid the coins across the desk toward him. “Please, I cannot accept this.”
Gabriel clicked his tongue, tucking the book under his arm. “You’ll accept, and you’ll be thankful for it. That’s a command, by the way.”
Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep back the protests that dared emerge. He nodded once, scooped up the money, and slipped them into his own pocket, where they clinked against the coins from the previous night.
The Prince turned for the door, but paused before making a move to open it, turning to look at Sam over his shoulder. “By the way… I never did catch your name.”
“It’s Sam, my Prince. Sam Winchester.”
And that was it. The Prince swept out of the shop without another word, and Sam followed him out this time, watching with one shoulder rested against the wooden doorframe. Dean was still outside, the ladder having been put away, the bookshop sign hung properly in place. He gave Sam a curious glance from the tail of his eye, but asked no questions while Gabriel mounted his stallion.
“Until next time, Sam Winchester.” The Prince said with softness, and took off at a gallop down the road, his horse kicking up great plumes of dust and dried leaves, his crimson cloak snapping in the wind like a flag.
Sam stared after him, even when his form disappeared from sight, and thought that next time could not come soon enough.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Three days passed, and Prince Gabriel made no return to the bookshop.
Sam felt foolish, of course, for expressing any amount of sadness at that fact. Of course the Prince could not frequent the village every single day. What with balls, and tournaments, and grand feasts, and festivals to attend, what good was his little bookshop, or even his company, in comparison?
Tonight, while a threatening blanket of blackened clouds tumbled across the skies and blessed their dusty little village with a thunderous rainstorm, Sam sat quietly at the small dining table in his aunt’s Inn, staring down at the six gold pieces Gabriel had given to him. They glinted and glimmered in the dancing firelight from the hearth, reminding him all-too vividly of the Prince’s warm, golden eyes.
The Inn was bustling tonight, any weary traveler out on the road seeking refuge under its roof from the relentless storm. The scent of his aunt’s spiced pumpkin soup, the buzz of chatter and laughter, the flash of lightning and rumble of thunderclaps invaded Sam’s senses. Seven rooms had been taken for the night, which was the most they’d gotten in terms of income in the past month.
Well, until now, that is.
Sam plucked one of the gold coins from the table and examined it closely, turning it over and over in his fingers, watching as it caught the light. The scraping of a chair against the wooden floor jarred his senses, and he watched as Dean planted himself in the seat next to him, olive green eyes warily eyeing their surrounding guests.
“You might not want to have those things out, Sam.” Dean warned in a lowered voice. “Not everyday that these kinds of people are in the presence of gold.”
Sam frowned, having not considered it, and discretely dragged the mound of coins closer so he could shield them with his broad hand. He handed Dean one for him to look at as well. His brother held it carefully, an almost childlike awe swimming in his eyes, while the firelight danced across his long blonde lashes and his cheeks dusted with galaxies of freckles.
“Wow…” His older brother breathed, balancing it at the center of his palm. “Do you realize how much these things can help us?”
“I do,” Sam still felt uneasy. “I just don’t feel as though I deserved them. They were just books, Dean. Old, used books. Not even my entire shop is worth one of these coins.”
“You fret over the stupidest things, sometimes.” Dean rolled the coin across the table, where it hit Sam’s hand and clattered against the wood. “So what if the Prince overpaid you? It’s not as though six gold coins mean anything to him. I bet he sleeps on a bed stuffed with coins.”
“I doubt that would be comfortable.”
“Not the point.” Dean sighed, pushing calloused fingers back through his short sandy hair. He leaned back in his seat and propped his boots on the table top. “Have you shown Uncle Bobby the coins, yet?”
Sam nodded. “He’s wary as well, but doesn’t want to question it. He believes we should never doubt any good fortune that comes our way. He wants to spend the money slowly, and only when we need it with the upcoming winter.”
Dean shrugged, his almost too-handsome face lighting up when their Aunt Ellen approached the table with two steaming bowls of her spiced pumpkin soup. She placed one before each of them, along with two cups of sweet apple wine, and tucked a stray strand of her thick hair behind her ear. She looked ragged with exhaustion, her age showing through the lines in her lovely face, but seemed happy with finally having something to do. A busy Innkeeper was a happy one, that’s what she always said.
“You boys need to eat up. Warm yourselves.” She reached over and ran slender fingers through Sam’s unkempt hair, fixing it with all the tenderness of a mother.
Sam eased at the touches. “Thank you.”
“Dean, after you finish, I need you to go to the stables and make sure all our guests’ horses are fed and watered for the night. They want them strong for their departure at morning light.”
Dean nodded, his mouth already too stuffed with pumpkin soup to voice a response.
“And put them coins away.” She warned under her breath. “Don’t want anyone catching sight of them.”
Sam slid the gold into his lap, where he could gather them up and place them back into his pocket. Just as he was about to dig into his soup, the front door swung open, harsh wind and raindrops dancing inside along with three hooded figures. All voices settled to silence, all movement stilled, as the door eased shut, and the figure in the middle lowered his hood.
Sam’s heart nearly erupted out of his chest.
“Quaint little place,” Prince Gabriel stated as he shook the rain droplets from his sleek hair.
Balthazar was at his side again, along with a guard Sam did not recognize. Dark dishevelled hair, squared shoulders, but he wore no sword, nor armour, no fine fabrics or jewels. He was young, too, and he gazed around the room warily, a spark of deep intelligence and curiosity dancing in the blue depths of his eyes. A squire, no doubt, especially from the way he would glance at Balthazar for any sort of instruction as they made their way into the Inn.
Ellen smoothed down her apron, and then bowed deeply in Gabriel’s direction. “My Prince… You honour us with your presence.”
Prince Gabriel smiled faintly at her, and then those golden eyes of his flicked over and clung to Sam in a way that made his breathing halt. He turned on his heel in that graceful, careless way of his, and addressed the group of travelers who eyed him with a mixture of awe and fear.
“If you good people would be so kind, I would like a word alone with the fine owners of this establishment. Take up your soups and your wine and venture to your rooms for the evening, and I will be sure as to slip one gold coin under each of your doors while you sleep.”
There was hardly a second of time for Ellen to protest before the scraping of chairs and shuffling of bodies leaving the room drowned out the pounding of raindrops and growl of thunder overhead. It took mere moments for the room to fully empty, save for the six of them, and Sam could no longer bring himself to turn back to his soup, hunger long forgotten.
Seemingly satisfied, Gabriel strode over to their table, pulled out the chair directly across from Sam, and took a seat.
“Some soup for the three of us, if you please.” He said up at Ellen. “Some wine as well, and any sweets you may have for dessert.”
She exchanged a wary look with Sam, before bowing and briskly heading for the kitchen. Balthazar came around, seized the back of Dean’s chair, and dragged it backwards until both Dean and his chair were well away from the table and his soup.
“Hey!”
“Oh stop your whining for once.” The guard handed Dean his bowl, and took his empty place at the table, dragging over an unoccupied chair for himself. He sat down, one gloved hand clasped around the hilt of his sword, while his squire remained standing.
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “My Prince… What are you doing here?”
Before Gabriel could respond, Ellen returned with a tray filled with soup and wine, and set them before their guests. She also laid out a plate full of honey plum tarts in the middle of the table for when they finished their meal.
“Excellent. Thank you.” Gabriel smiled up at her. “This looks marvellous.”
Ellen bowed in thanks, and moved to stand next to Sam as the squire took a seat to dine on his own soup and wine. He didn’t seem to speak much, if at all, and took no sip from his wine cup as he wordlessly enjoyed his meal. Sam also could not help but notice the way Dean was eyeing the squire curiously as he found another spot to finish his dinner.
“To answer your question…” The Prince stated after a few mouthfuls of soup. “I came to ask a favour of you, Sam.”
Sam frowned. “A favour, my Prince? Do you require a book as well?”
“Gods, no.” Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t read. I’ve no patience for it.” He took a long sip of wine, and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before speaking again, his eyes latching onto Sam’s. “I need no books. I need you.”
Sam hadn’t the faintest idea how to respond to that, or what the Prince’s words even meant, but he could feel a sudden heat bubble up within him, rising and rising until it reached every extremity and turned the flesh of his cheeks a bright rose. He cleared his throat.
“I… I don’t… understand…”
“It’s simple, really.” Gabriel reached across the table and plucked a honey plum tart from the plate. He sank his teeth into it, and made a soft sound of pleasure. “You’ve a magnificent way of storytelling, of making books come alive, even to a man who finds no pleasure in reading them. So, I have come to ask you to return to the castle with me, and live there, not as a servant, not to do my washing or fetch me things or dress me in the morning. You come as a free man, live as a free man, but only if you come to my chambers every night, and read me a book before I sleep. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Sam sat in silence, unsure of how to respond, how to think, really. Even Aunt Ellen and Dean were at a loss, so the Prince continued.
“I’m prepared to pay a generous sum of money.” He reached into his cloak, and pulled out a massively fat leather pouch. He dropped the entire thing onto the table, where it thunked heavily and clattered with the sounds of coins. “One thousand gold coins. Enough to keep your family warm, fed, and happy for a good long time. All you need to do is come with me, and it is theirs. You will never have to worry about their well-being while you live with me at the castle.”
“You speak as though I will never see them again…” Sam’s brow furrowed.
“Though you have free range of the castle and its grounds, you cannot actually leave it without me, so you cannot visit them whenever you please. But, I do frequent the village at least twice a week, so that really isn’t so bad.”
“Not so bad?” Dean growled, having found his voice. “You’d be keeping him away from us!”
“Dean. Manners.” Aunt Ellen warned.
“He can’t take Sam away.” Dean protested.
“I won’t be taking anyone away.” Gabriel said flatly. “It is entirely your brother’s decision whether or not to join me. He will not be whipped in the streets or hung or punished in any manner if he refuses. I will simply take my coins, and be on my way, no hard feelings.”
“Then take your damn coins and go!” Dean snapped.
Balthazar rose from his seat, and pulled half his sword from its sheath, the slide of steel ringing in the room. “Watch yourself, boy.”
“Balthazar, sit. I expected this reaction.” Gabriel looked over at Sam when his guard settled. “This is your decision, Sam. I promise, a life of comfort and full bellies for your family in exchange for your presence at my castle and a book read to me every night. You may think about this while I finish my meal. I expect a decision when our plates are clean.”
Sam rose slowly from his seat, his body suddenly having gone incredibly heavy, and moved without a word to the kitchen, his aunt and Dean following at his heels. He heard the swinging of the door behind him, and then felt Dean’s strong, calloused hand at his shoulder.
“You’re not agreeing to this.” His brother growled.
Sam turned to face him. “Dean… We have to think about this…”
“What is there to think about?” Dean threw his arms into the air. “You’re not going to spend your life trapped in that castle just because some Prince offers us gold. We have six coins already. That’s enough to last us—”
“Two months.” Sam cut off sharply. “Those will last us barely two months. Winter comes in three, and what will we do then? We barely had enough last year to make it through, and we’ve even less this year.”
“Our family is not splitting up!” Dean banged his fist on the wooden table, knocking over a clay bowl, where it shattered loudly against the stone floor.
There was a long, drawn out moment of silence, the three of them staring down at the shards of clay scattered about their feet. Sam released a shaky breath, and turned to face his aunt.
“Aunt Ellen…” He whispered tightly. “What should I do?”
She shook her head slowly, lips drawn into a tight line, worry furrowing at her brow. She stepped closer, and brushed Sam’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You’re a man, now. This is entirely up to you. Your uncle and I will love you no less with whatever decision you make, Sam.”
“And what decision would that be?”
The three of then turned, just as Uncle Bobby stepped into the kitchen through the back door, having returned from his recent hunt. He was soaked to the core, rivulets of water running down from his balding head to rest in his wiry beard. He heaved three rabbit carcases onto the table, their bodies seemingly unmarked, save for the small hole between their eyes where Bobby’s arrows had gone through. He set his quiver and bow against the wall, and shrugged out of his sopping wet cloak.
“Prince Gabriel decided to pay us a little visit,” Dean said bitterly. “He wants to take Sam away.”
Bobby’s brow crinkled in confusion, and he turned to Sam. “Come again?”
“He asked if I would come live there with him, so I can read him books every night. I’d have free reign of the castle and its grounds, and I can visit you all twice a week when the Prince comes into the village.” Sam shuffled his weight to his other foot. “He brought money. One thousand gold coins, in exchange for me.”
“He’s practically buying you!” Dean shouted.
“Dean.” Ellen’s voice was hard, stern. “Enough.”
Bobby scratched at his rough beard with one burly hand, his eyes contemplative, his brows furrowed deeply. He looked up at Sam. “Is this something you’re willing to do, boy?”
“If it means making sure you’re all fed and warm for the winter…”
“No!” Dean seized the back of Sam’s shirt in one angry fist. “You can’t! You can’t leave us!”
“Dean…” Sam attempted to stay calm. “I can’t see you hungry again. I can’t see you shivering and nearly blue because we don’t have enough wood for fire, or clothes on our backs, or food in our bellies. The cold already took dad from us. I won’t have it take you, too.”
He could see the tears building in Dean’s eyes, and then his brother was against him, face buried in Sam’s chest while his fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his tunic. Sam returned the embrace, and held him close while he trembled.
“Let me come with you…” Dean murmured against him.
“No,” Sam shook his head, squeezing tighter. “You stay here and take care of Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
Dean drew back after some time, wiping his tears away with the heels of his hands, and Sam swept passed him to step back into the dining hall. Prince Gabriel was finished his meal, nibbling on the very last honey plum tart, when Sam approached the table. Dean, Ellen, and Bobby remained in the kitchen doorway, watching silently.
“Do you promise to give my family enough gold to keep them alive and well?”
Gabriel swallowed his bite. “That’s what I said.”
“And I’ll be able to visit them every time you visit the village?” Sam asked.
“Every time.”
Sam felt a tightness in his throat, and casted one last glance in the direction of his family, before taking one deep, final breath.
“I’ll do it.”
___________________________________________________________________________________________
“You despise me, now, don’t you?”
Sam barely heard the Prince’s words over the patter of fat rain droplets colliding with puddles and rooftops, and looked up at him through a curtain of soaked hair. Gabriel was saddled onto his speckled stallion, his red cloak soaked an even deeper, more sinister shade.
“I’ve no reason to despise you,” he murmured, loud enough to be heard over the storm.
“Well, you hardly seem cheerful,” Gabriel frowned, his hood casting a harsh shadow over half of his face, shielding his lovely golden eyes. “It’s all right, if you dislike me, for having you do this.”
“You’re not having me do anything. This choice was mine. You made that clear.”
Gabriel’s lips quirked into that amused little smile of his, when Balthazar rode up on his restless white mare, freshly fetched by Dean from the Inn’s stables. The squire, who Sam had learned was named Castiel, rode alongside him on a young chestnut gelding.
“I’ll have someone come for your things in the morning when the storm clears,” Balthazar said down at Sam. “We’d best head back to the castle before we drown out here.”
Sam had already said his goodbyes to his family but, as he gazed up at the warmly lit Inn windows, calling him back in with the promise of warmth, a bowl of soup, and the company of loved ones while he shivered out in the rain with strangers that both intrigued him and frightened him, he couldn’t help but feel like goodbye would never be enough. Dean hardly said a word since their embrace in the kitchen, and Sam could see him now in the stable doorway, his face grim, expression hollow, too stubborn to reveal anymore sadness in the presence of others.
He would be all right. Dean had always been the strong one.
“I’m not walking, am I?” Sam asked with a frown upon realizing he was the only one without a horse. He and Dean shared a horse, a gorgeous coal black mare named Impala, who had once belonged to their father. He couldn’t possibly take her with him. She liked Dean more, anyways.
“If you want to. I’m sure those lanky legs of yours would have no trouble keeping up considering your size.” The Prince smirked. “But, if you’d rather ride…” He extended a hand.
Sam stared at the Prince’s gloved palm without a word.
“Well?” Gabriel asked.
“Am I… allowed?” Sam had never heard of a commoner sharing a saddle with royalty. The very thought seemed blasphemous.
Gabriel clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I swear, boy, it’s like my words go in one ear and out the other with you. I am not my brothers. I could care less about what is considered ‘proper’ in this kingdom. Get on the horse, or you’ll walk. Simple as that.”
Sam didn’t require an ounce more convincing. Seizing the Prince’s smaller hand, and slipping his boot into the empty stirrup, he hauled his weight up onto the stallion with ease, settling himself directly behind Gabriel. The horse nicked and shuffled with the added weight, but held incredibly strong.
“Hold on tight.” Gabriel said over his shoulder at him. “Loki is a bit of a wild runner.”
Sam smiled, feeling slight hesitation before slipping his arms around the Prince’s waist and gripping tightly. Gabriel’s body was firm, sinewy, yet comfortably soft against his. He tried not to pay too much mind to it.
Uncle Bobby was at the door of the Inn, his arm wrapped around Ellen’s waist, while his other burly hand cradled the sack of gold Gabriel had given to them, as promised. The gold that would keep them warm, and healthy, and content for this winter and many more winters to come. Sam tried to swallow down the lump of emotion building in his throat at the sight of them, and offered one final wave of farewell.
Gabriel’s horse took off at a steady gallop without warning, and Sam clung tighter, feeling the water and mud splash at his legs as they hung off each side. It was late, the world plunged into a darkness that was only amplified by the clouds blotting out the moon and stars, a thick fog rising up from the soaked earth as the rain continued to fall. Sam locked his hands together at Gabriel’s soft belly, and buried his face against the back of his shoulder, having no hood to keep the rain from hitting his face.
Beneath the rainwater, beneath the scent of earth and damp, Sam could smell Gabriel, even through his cloak. It may have just been his imagination, but the Prince smelled oddly sweet, like honey and cinnamon.
“Are you all right?” He heard the Prince say.
Sam cleared his throat, and forced himself to lift his head from Gabriel’s shoulder. “Yes, my Prince.”
“Gabriel.”
“Hm?”
“My name. It’s Gabriel.” The Prince said softly. “You may call me that when we are not in the company of others. I see no reason for formalities then.”
Sam shook his head with a soft chuckle. “You are the strangest Prince I have ever met.”
“Have you met many?” Gabriel asked, steering Loki across a long stone bridge which crossed a lake leading up to the castle. The horse’s hooves clopped and splashed loudly against the stone.
“Only you.” Sam felt heat at his cheeks. “But I have read about Prince’s in my books. I’d have to say you are nothing like any of them.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yes.” Sam could feel his grip tighten ever-so-slightly around the Prince’s waist, and felt an unusual sense of warmth rising into his chest when Gabriel relaxed into it. “Yes, I’d say so.”
The castle, dubbed Angel’s Keep, loomed high above them as they approached its massive gates. Sam lifted his head and stared up in awe, momentarily releasing his grip on Gabriel to push his soaked bangs from his eyes. Angel’s Keep was a glorious structure made up of marble-white stone perched high on a hill overlooking the villages and farmlands and orchards. Six mighty turrets rose up from the castle to challenge the might of the surrounding snow-capped mountains, their deep blue flags flapping wildly in the wind. Sam had never been this close to the castle, and he found himself overwhelmed, visions from his storybooks suddenly come to life before him.
He spotted guards skulking about the castle’s curtain wall, and Balthazar shouted things up at them that Sam didn’t pay much attention to. There was a loud rumble, too close, too metallic to be thunder, like the rustling of mighty chains, and then the bridge was slowly lowered down for them, allowing them entrance into Angel’s Keep.
They rode their horses to the castle stables, where Sam dismounted rather gracelessly and nearly stumbled into the mud. Gabriel followed suite, making it seem far easier, and led him toward one of the castle entrances.
“Michael and Lucifer will most likely have retired to their chambers at this time,” the Prince stated. “I’ll inform them of your arrival come morning. Until then, you will be staying in the room adjoined to mine.”
Sam frowned as he kept up. “You never told them I was coming, did you?”
Gabriel flashed him a wicked little grin. “My, my, Winchester, how quickly you learn.”
The castle was quiet and comfortably warm as they stepped inside, the only sound being the collision of their boots against the stone floor, and the drip of rainwater pouring off their bodies to pool at their feet. Gabriel pushed his hood off his head, and led Sam down a winding white stone corridor brightly lit by crackling iron torches. Sam was wide-eyed the entire way, gazing up at the high ceilings, at the wooden beams and tall windows decorated in coloured glass that made the light dance, at the grand tapestries depicting scenes of mighty warriors and kings long dead. It was all so beautiful, so grand.
They crept up a winding staircase that soared high into the castle, until they came upon a narrow stretch of hallway that lead to Gabriel’s bedchambers. The room was at the very end of the hall, hidden behind a heavy cherry wood door. The Prince shoved it open, and stepped inside.
“Come in, come in. Please don’t drip on anything.”
Sam shuffled in quickly, and shut the wooden door behind him. He stood in place, daring not take a step further into the room, for fear of soaking the gorgeous and intricately woven rug draped across the stone floor. Gabriel’s chambers were massive in size, warm and dark and incredibly cozy, with tall windows allowing moonlight to seep in and dance across hanging tapestries of fruit trees and winged men in battle. A fire blazed in a magnificent stone hearth that was about as big as Sam was, the light shimmering across the mounds of warm furs and blankets piled atop the biggest bed Sam had ever laid eyes upon. Gods, it could fit his entire family upon it, and there would still be enough room to stretch.
Everything was so big, so expensive, so beautiful.
He felt incredibly out of place.
Gabriel was across the room, peeling off his sopping wet garments layer by agonizing layer. First came his cloak, and then an embroidered leather vest, followed by a loosely fitting red shirt, which revealed a pale, lightly muscled back that caught the light of the flickering fire. Sam felt his throat clench, while his eyes roamed over the Prince’s shoulders, and the way his wet hair curled at the back of his neck and sent rivulets of water cascading down the curve of his spine. When he turned, Sam’s eyes immediately locked onto the cut of his hips, how deeply they plunged and disappeared behind dark trousers, and his stomach, not heavily muscled, but soft enough to grip onto, to rest against.
Gods help him, Gabriel was beautiful.
He assumed the undressing would cease there, but Sam was so very wrong. Gabriel reached for the clasp and tie of his trousers, and Sam had to immediately look away, for modesty’s sake. He stared down at his own feet while he listened to the rustle of fabric and the pounding of his own blasted heart.
“Shy, aren’t we?” He heard Gabriel say. “Not me. As you can tell.”
“U-um…” Sam was blubbering. “I… um…”
There was more fabric rustling, more silence, and then, “Sam?”
“Yes?”
“You can look at me, now.”
With some hesitation, Sam lifted his head, and was struck at what he beheld. Gabriel was covered up, now, but barely so. He was donned in a loose indigo nightshirt that fell to just above his knee, and nothing else. He had fingers running back through his hair, attempting to wring the rainwater out of it, but Sam could tell that it was already beginning to dry.
“Better?” The Prince asked, holding his arms open.
Sam could only nod.
“Good, good.” Gabriel tapped at his chin while he ran those golden eyes up Sam’s body. “Hm… You’ll need to get changed as well, if only until your things get here in the morning.” He snapped his fingers. “Ah! I may have something. Wait there.”
Gabriel swept passed Sam and out of his chambers faster than Sam could even come up with a response, and was back not two minutes later with an armful of fabrics that were far too lovely and soft for Sam to even dream of wearing.
“These should fit just fine,” Gabriel grunted while he shut the door back up using his hip. “Lucifer is close to your size.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “What… I can’t wear Prince Lucifer’s bedclothes!”
“Well, Michael is too lean and I am too… well… you’re too tall and wide for either of us.” Gabriel grinned like a proud child and held up the mound of clothes. His brow cocked. “Unless you’d like to prance about the castle as bare as they day your mother birthed you, Lucifer’s clothes are all you have.”
The very thought of having the same thing that touched The Silver-Tongued Viper’s body against his own made Sam’s flesh crawl. But, he was soaked to the bone, shivering violently, and incredibly uncomfortable. He reached blindly into the pile, and tugged out a soft nightshirt the colour of pale cream that looked just about his size.
“Good choice.” Gabriel tossed the remaining clothes into an empty chair.
Sam stared at the nightshirt, and then at the Prince. “Could I… um… have some privacy?”
“If you must.”
Prince Gabriel motioned to a wooden door next to the hearth, which led to a much smaller chamber with an average sized bed, a window, a table with some candles, and a small tapestry of an orchard. That was it. Not even a door leading out into the hallway, which meant Sam would have to walk through Gabriel’s room in order to get out. Still, it was better than the room he had at home. The blankets looked warmer, the bed look softer, and he wasn’t sharing the space with Dean, who tended to leave a mess everywhere he went.
“This’ll be your sleeping quarters.” Gabriel said as Sam stepped inside and took a look around. “You can change in here. Is there anything you’d like me to get you?”
Sam turned slowly to face him, confusion in his eyes. “You’re asking me if you can get me something?”
“Yes.”
“But, you’re a Prince…” Sam could hardly wrap his mind around all of this. “You can’t go around fetching me things like this. I’m just a commoner.”
Gabriel leaned his shoulder on the doorframe and crossed his ankles. “Like you said: I am a Prince, which means I can do whatever the seven hells I want, now doesn’t it?”
“Well… I suppose…”
Gabriel clicked his tongue. “Aha! Then there is no argument. What would you like me to get you?”
Sam was suddenly all-too aware of the emptiness in his gut. “I’m starving.”
“I’ll have the kitchen prepare you a meal, then.” Gabriel winked. “Hurry up.”
Once the Prince was gone, Sam eased the door shut, and made quick work of ridding himself of his sopping clothes. The fabric was clinging to his skin, and hanging heavy off his shoulders. He practically tore off each layer, and released a blissful sigh when he was finally bare. Moving across the room, he picked up one of the blankets and wiped himself dry, running the material through his hair until it was no longer dripping down the back of his neck.
He gave himself a few moments to gaze out the window as he held that Gods-be-damned nightshirt belonging to the one person in this castle he never wanted to run into. The rain had settled to a delicate patter, and the moon and stars were visible now that the clouds had started to move on. The kingdom, the world, looked so distant, so small and insignificant from where he stood.
Hard to believe he had been down there, been a part of that world, just an hour ago.
Sam threw Lucifer’s long nightshirt on, which was unfortunately the most comfortable thing he’d ever worn, and padded out into Gabriel’s bedchambers. The Prince hadn’t returned from the kitchen, yet, which granted Sam the opportunity to warm himself by the fire, let it drive the chill and dampness from his bones. The rug was soft under his bare feet, and when he seated himself on the very end of Gabriel’s bed, he nearly collapsed into it.
Gods, it was so soft. No doubt it was stuffed with feathers instead of straw, like his own bed at home. The furs on it were wolf, and bear, so thick and lush, Sam could hardly resist carding his fingers through them, imagining his body buried beneath them during the winter months. He’d never freeze again.
The door creaked open, and Gabriel returned, carrying a large wooden serving tray piled high with food. The scent of it wafted over to Sam’s nose, and he felt his stomach clench viciously, his hunger almost torturous.
“I hope this is enough,” The Prince said, setting the tray on the bed next to Sam. “It’s all I could scrap up from this evening’s meal.”
Sam just stared down at what was offered to him. Roasted pheasant on a bed of fresh herbs, smothered in hot blackberry sauce, a hunk of hot corn bread, roasted parsnips and potatoes with garlic, a cup of apple cider, and two lemon and cranberry moon cakes.
It was more food than he’d ever seen at one time.
“Is all of this for me?” Sam whispered in astonishment.
“Yes. Except…” Gabriel plucked up one of the moon cakes and wriggled it in front of Sam’s face. “Snatched one up for myself.” The took a massive bite of the cake and gestured to the tray with his free hand. “Go on, then. Eat up.”
Sam had no clue where to start. His stomach wanted it all, every morsel, all at once. He picked up the cup of cider, and took a long sip. It was warm, sweet, tasting of fresh apples and spices Sam had never experienced before. He placed the tray across his legs, and dove into the meal before him, swallowing down mouthful by succulent mouthful until the agony in his stomach was finally settled.
By the time his plate was clean, and he was busy sucking the last remnants of lemon cake sweetness from his fingertips, Sam lifted his head to see that Gabriel had settled in, lounging against the mound of pillows by his headboard like a lazy cat. He tried to pay no mind to the way his was seated, the way his nightshirt rode up ever so slightly, granting Sam a flash of bare thigh. He quickly looked away and buried himself in his cup of cider, drowning out the tightness in his throat.
“Now that you’re all done eating…” He heard Gabriel say in a low, velvet tone. “I suppose you should finally get to why I brought you here in the first place.”
Sam watched over the rim of his cup as Gabriel reached under one of his pillows, and pulled out a familiar book with red leather binding.
“That’s the book I sold you!” Sam exclaimed, plucking it from the Prince’s hands. He ran his fingers over the title: Age of Dragons by Chuck Shurley. “Did Michael not read it?”
“Oh, he did.” Gabriel nodded, pulling one of the furs over and draping it across his bare legs. “Took him not a day to finish it. He’s an incredibly fast reader.”
Sam nodded, feeling comfort in keeping this book in his hands. He had nothing of his own within these unfamiliar castle walls, other than the soaked heap of clothes in his room. Not even the nightshirt he wore belonged to him. Gazing at the cracked leather cover reminded him of his humble, imperfect life back in the village, back with Dean and his family.
He missed it already.
“I greatly enjoyed the excerpt you read for me the other day. I thought it would be appropriate to have it be the first book you read to me.” Gabriel smiled.
Setting his empty food tray aside and draining the contents of his apple cider cup, Sam settled comfortably at the very foot of the bed, and opened the book to the very first page. He smoothed out the wrinkles in the paper, trying to be as delicate as possible considering the sheer size of his hands. With one last glance up at Gabriel, all sprawled out over luxurious fabrics and furs like the regal creature he was, the man that Sam would be spending nearly every waking hour with, Sam turned his attention back to the book…
…and began to read.