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Prince Anthony Centary was many things: a lover of fast carriages, younger half-brother to Lord Beatrus, and purveyor of fine clothes.
He was also a four-foot red-bellied serpent currently snagged under a rose bush.
He wriggled and squirmed, finally popping free, but not without leaving behind a patch of glittering, obsidian scales tangled in the roots of the shrub. He winced at the feel of it, like ripping off a hangnail, but the pain dulled quickly enough and he was off once again towards his pre-arranged rendezvous point.
Near the center of the hedge labyrinth that was the pride and joy of the garden, stood Aziraphale Eastgate, youngest son of Queen Grace Eastgate. The blond prince ran his hands over the soft, baby-blue fabric of the lengthy coat in his hands.
Aziraphale flinched as he felt something tap his shoe and a serpentine voice hiss, “Angel! Down here!”
He smiled at the snake coiled in the grass by his feet. “Oh! Anthony! There you are! I was worried you were going to be late.”
Anthony reared up on his tail. “I wouldn’t miss our date for the world.”
“You sentimental serpent,” Aziraphale giggled, draping the coat over his love. Then he said, “Wait! Don’t shift just yet! I’ve always wanted to do this…”
He bent down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of a scaly head and with a poof! Anthony was once more human, the coat clutched tightly around himself to cover his nudity.
“You cheeky thing!” the redhead cackled. “Been getting into the Faerie Tales again, I see.”
Aziraphale fluttered his long eyelashes, the picture of cherubic innocence. “Hard not to when I’m living a Faerie Ta…” his words trailed off when he caught sight of a trickle of blood winding its way down the side of Anthony’s index finger to drip to the grass. “Darling! You’re hurt!”
Anthony inspected the injury, turning it over in front of his face. “Ah. Just lost a few scales is all. I’ll be fine.”
“Nonsense!” Aziraphale declared, ripping away a strip of cloth from the hem of his sleeve. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
While it wasn’t as good as a proper washing and poultice, a crude bandage would suffice for the time being. He asked Anthony to hold out his injured hand while he began winding the linen around the length of his index finger from palm to tip. Aziraphale tied it off with a flourish and a cheerful “tadaa!”
Anthony flexed his hand experimentally.
“You’re just a genuine Guardian Angel, aren’t ya?” he said, grinning.
“Only for you, my dear,”
With the hand not currently keeping his borrowed coat shut, Anthony seized the front of Aziraphale’s shirt and spun him until the shorter prince was pinned against a dense hedge. Anthony brought his face close until their lips just barely brushed when he spoke. “I think angels who perform helpful healing miracles are deserving of a little reward…”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Aziraphale playfully snarled.
Anthony’s eyes slipped shut and he closed the distance between them.
*~*~*~*~*
Queen Grace strolled down the halls of the palace, arm-in-arm with her companion, King Lucifer. It was no secret that their once-famous friendship had taken a massive hit. In the past few months since arriving at his kingdom, however, Grace felt the two of them had made great strides towards repairing the damage that was done.
“I was thinking…” Lucifer began, his rich baritone voice echoing off the stone walls of the corridor. “...perhaps we could host a festival for this autumn’s grape harvest? My son Anthony keeps insisting that we do something to celebrate it.”
He began expounding on the ways that the suggested festival could potentially bring in outside tourism from the neighboring kingdoms, but Grace heard none of it.
She was too busy staring down directly into the garden where her youngest son looked well on his way to committing an act of public indecency with his “secret boyfriend”.[1]
Grace sighed inwardly. She was half-tempted just to give them the key to her quarters so that they didn’t feel the need to sneak off to the garden when they wanted some privacy.
She then noticed that Lucifer had been directly addressing her for a few seconds and she quickly snapped back to attention.
“Yes! Absolutely! Wonderful!” she babbled, a bit louder than was strictly necessary.
Lucifer looked aghast.
“You think that the increased bandit raids on merchant caravans are ‘wonderful’?!” he gasped. Grace winced.
“No, no! I just… was distracted for a moment,” she replied.
Lucifer tried to peer over her shoulder. “Why? Is there something going on outside?”
Before he could catch his son in a “compromising” position with hers, Grace yanked on her friend’s wrist, dragging him away from the window. A light pink color was high on her cheeks.
“Ohmygosh look at the time! I just remembered that I need to meet Gabriel in the library! Would you be so kind as to escort me? I seem to have forgotten where it is!” she said, her one good eye blown wide behind her glasses.
Lucifer frowned in momentary confusion, but it was gone as soon as it came. He offered Grace his arm for her to re-take. “Certainly, old friend. While we’re on the subject of our children, perhaps we could discuss Uriel and Michel’s courtship attempts? Anthony doesn’t seem to be spending much time with them, and I worry the suit could fall through because of it.”
“Hm. I wonder why that is…” Grace mumbled, soft enough to where Lucifer didn’t hear it; Or, if he did, simply brushed it off as an idle comment.
As they continued their walk to the library, Grace allowed herself a small, ineffable smile.
*~*~*~*~*
1Well, secret to everyone apart from her and Lord Beatrus.[return to text]