Chapter Text
Winchesters were lucky, or so Dean had been led to believe. The story went that all Winchester men were born under a shooting star, which was why their sigil was a star surrounded in flames. He didn’t know if it was actually true or just something the midwives kept going, but whatever the case, fortune seemed to follow them like a shadow. Dean’s father, John, was legend among other knights, the slayer of the yellow dragon, Azazel, which had led to his marriage to a noble lady. Because of that heritage, Dean’s younger brother Sam was allowed more knowledgeable pursuits and eventually went off to university when he came of age. Dean was happy for him, that he didn’t have to dedicate his life to the sword and would be far from any danger. He, however, loved the life of a knight and it loved him. Whether it was in tourneys or training skirmishes, he was not easily beaten. Having proven himself on the battlefield more than once led to an easy knighthood under the same king that John had sworn himself to. It was all he’d ever wanted; all he’d ever known.
So, yes, Dean was lucky. Until the day the swans flew overhead. And everything changed.
---
Dean and Benny on their horses trotted near the back of the hunting party, their bows and quivers slung on their backs, not really looking for game so much as just accompanying their king while he did so. They kept their eyes on the surrounding forest, mindful of anything that moved, though they highly doubted an ambush of any kind. This was the king’s forest and it was well-patrolled by the gamekeepers.
“Let’s hope he doesn’t find another wife today,” Dean joked in an undertone, making Benny chuckle.
It was the only time they’d come across a trespasser, on a day much like this one on the far end of the forest. The king had been tracking a deer when they’d stumbled upon a young woman picking nettles, her wavy auburn hair shining in the sun that dappled through the trees.
“Shall I arrest her, your majesty?” Dean’s father had asked.
Her blue eyes had gone wide as she’d backed up against a tree, clearly afraid though she didn’t beg for mercy.
“Stand down,” said King Theseus to John, dismounting from his horse. Removing his gloves, he’d approached the woman slowly, showing her his empty hands. “It’s alright,” he said, gently. “I’m not going to hurt you. No one will hurt you.”
She’d hesitated, but placed her hand in his after a long moment. They were rough and red from the nettles.
“What’s your name?” he’d asked, but she could only shake her head. “You won’t tell me?”
She then placed a hand over her mouth and shook her head again. For whatever reason, though she could obviously hear and understand them, the poor girl couldn’t or wouldn’t speak. She could answer yes or no questions by moving her head, but that was all. Perhaps for that reason, besides being utterly smitten by her simple, unadorned beauty, the king took her back to the castle with an offer to take care of her.
Everyone in the castle had been perplexed. Once washed and dressed in finery, the girl was certainly lovely, but she was so odd. The only things she had brought with her to the castle were five tunics knitted from hand-woven nettle fibers. And the only thing she did when she wasn’t sleeping or otherwise engaged was pick nettles, weave nettles, and knit nettles. Nettles, always and only nettles. She wouldn’t allow any of the other ladies in court assist her either, though they’d merely done so out of curiosity or obligation.
The king didn’t seem to care. He would spend hours at a time at her side, attending to his own duties while she went about her obsession, occasionally commenting to her and looking to see her smile and nod or frown. Six months of this and, without even learning her name, Theseus shocked the entire court by asking if she would marry him. And whether it was born out of gratitude or genuine feeling, the girl agreed. The royal advisors had been vehemently against it, of course, but they could not keep the king from his heart’s desire, though they might wish it otherwise. With the king’s parents both deceased, there was no one that could really pressure him into marrying for political gain.
Now it had been nearly a year since that fateful day and with the silent queen heavily pregnant, they were out on another hunt to take the king’s mind off the impending birth.
“I doubt lightning could strike twice, brother,” Benny commented.
“There!” the gamekeeper cried, pointing to the sky beyond the top of the forest. “A flock of swans, your majesty!”
Dean looked up but the birds were past them before he could even think to collect his bow, heading back the way they’d come. “I’ve never seen swans fly that fast!”
“After them!” called the king.
Reigning their horses around, Dean and Benny led the charge, being now at the front of the pack. Their trumpeting calls filling the air, the swans streaked across the sky which was just beginning to turn rosy at the horizon with the first signs of dusk. Something was wrong, but the exhilaration of the chase kept Dean from examining that gut feeling.
“They’re heading for the castle!” someone shouted from behind him.
That also struck him as strange, but they kept on in pursuit. It wasn’t until they were on the castle grounds that Dean noticed the smoke, the swans circling and diving through it, directly over the main courtyard. Once through the gate, the sight that met them had Dean and Benny freeze in horror.
Around the edges of the yard were the people who lived in the castle, crowded around in clumps, watching what was happening as if they couldn’t quite believe it but not daring to put a stop to it. In the center of the yard was a wagon, surrounded by smoldering brush and timber, with flames beginning to lick up the sides. Inside the wagon stood the mute queen, clutching her precious tunics, choking on smoke, her face full of fear as she cast her eyes desperately to the sky. And around this terrifying display stood the royal advisors in their black robes, one of them holding a torch.
“What is the meaning of this?” shouted the king, fighting his way through the crowd on horseback. His royal charger reared back, afraid of the fire. When he dismounted, Dean shook himself out of his shock and hurriedly did the same, calling to Benny for help. They grabbed the king by the arms when he would have thrown himself at the wagon to rescue his wife. “Let me go!” he demanded.
“It’s not safe, your majesty!” said Benny.
“Put out the fire!” King Theseus commanded and Dean ran to obey the order.
The advisors crowded around, blocking the way. “She’s a witch, your majesty!” they insisted.
“She’s put a spell on your heart!”
“Let the fire cleanse us of her evil!”
The other members of the hunting party, John included, began fighting the advisors while Benny kept the king from trying to run into the fire. Running to his horse, Dean uncinched the saddle, letting it crash to the ground. Grabbing the thick saddle blanket, he dashed back to the wagon that was nearly engulfed and began trying to smother the flames, hitting them with the blanket again and again.
“Don’t panic, your majesty!” he said to the queen, coughing as smoke filled his lungs. “I’ll get you out of there!”
She didn’t reply, but he didn’t expect her to. Rather than cowering in fright, however, her eyes were still on the sky. Though she was coughing and clutching her round belly protectively with one hand, with the other she was waving a tunic like a flag, suddenly throwing it up overhead at the same moment one of the swans dived through the air, flying right through it and landing on the ground.
A bright light flashed, catching everyone’s attention, and with a burst of white feathers and smoke, a man lay where the swan had once been, wearing nothing but the handmade green tunic. An ashy shadow of two large wings was spread out on either side of him, like they’d been burnt into the stones. He eased himself up on his knees and looked at his hands like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
Another flash. Everyone looked to see the queen throwing each shirt in the air and a swan flying into every single one, seven times in succession, the same thing happening each time. Just as the last tunic found its owner, Dean managed to clear the burning timber from the backside of the wagon, scattering it across the courtyard, making others scramble to get out of the way. Kicking the bolt, the back of the wagon opened in a riot of sparks and flame. Dean threw down the blanket. It was already singed and would burn up soon, but it gave him a few precious seconds to climb over and grab the queen, getting her out of there just as the last swan disappeared in a burst of feathers.
The action stopped as quickly as it had accelerated. The wagon collapsed as the wheels gave out. Dean stomped on the hem of the queen’s dress, putting out the fire that had started to catch. That caught the attention of the seven men in the green shirts.
“Anna!” one of them cried. Six of them converged on the queen, folding her in their many arms, all talking at once.
“You did it!” said another.
“You saved us!”
She sobbed, tears streaming down her soot-blackened face, but she was smiling brighter than she ever had before. She beamed at each one of them, touching their faces, then she stopped, concerned, looking around the circle, searching.
“Castiel?”
Pushing away from the men, she hurried to the one who had transformed last, still kneeling on the paving stones, curled up in a ball with his forehead on the ground. She knelt before him, pressing her hands to her mouth, tears still falling from her eyes.
“Oh, Cas… Cassie, I’m so sorry…”
Slowly, the dark-haired man eased himself up, wincing like it was painful. She grasped his right shoulder to help him, but seemed reluctant to touch the left. A closer look revealed why.
His left arm wasn’t an arm at all. It remained a swan’s wing. On the ground, the burnt shape of the other wing. The queen, Anna, sobbed, her whole body shaking. The man, Castiel, pulled her close to his chest with his one human arm.
“It’s alright,” he murmured, his voice rough and tender. “You didn’t have time to finish it.”
His tunic, the last, only had one sleeve.
After a long moment, someone cleared their throat. The crowd parted.
“Could someone kindly explain to me just what is going on?” asked King Theseus.
“My love,” the queen cried, gaining her feet and running to him.
He met her in the middle, wrapping her carefully in his arms. “You speak!”
“Finally,” she said. “And I have a lot to say.”
It was going to be a long night. The advisors were thrown into the dungeon to await trial for treason and the fire in the courtyard had to be dealt with. The seven swans-turned-men needed pants. The people who had borne witness to it all were understandably confused. Though they knew magic was a thing that existed, the distant threat of dragons was enough to tell them that, this was the first time something supernatural had happened right at their door. For this reason, anyone who wanted to hear the queen’s explanation was welcome to stay.
Everyone gathered in the massive banquet hall. The seven men, all handsome, well-formed, and now adequately dressed, stood to one side as Anna introduced them all as her brothers – Michael and Lucifer, twins with straight dark blond hair and blue eyes stood the tallest, though Raphael with intense bronze eyes and short black hair appeared the most imposing. Next was Gabriel with wavy golden hair and matching eyes, he was the shortest among them with an easy smile. Then Akobel with flowing blond curls and kind blue eyes, followed by Gadreel with his square jaw, short sandy brown hair, and blue eyes, and finally, Castiel with dark, messy hair and sad blue eyes… and the left wing of a swan. He lingered toward the back of his pack of brothers, uncomfortably trying to hide his deformity and avoiding everyone’s gaze.
“We are the royal family of the kingdom of Eden,” Anna explained.
“Eden!” exclaimed Theseus. “But no one’s heard from you in years!”
“It was stolen from our father by the witch, Lilith,” she said, gravely. “With his dying breath, he wove a protection spell. A parent’s love is very powerful, it made her unable to kill us.”
“So, she transformed us into swans instead,” said Michael.
“I escaped before she could do anything to me,” Anna went on. “I searched for someone, anyone, who could undo her spell. At long last, I found another witch who took me in and told me what I had to do. In seven years, I had to weave each of my brothers a tunic of nettles and in that time, I could not say a single word. I would have had time to finish… but the advisors forced my hand.”
The brothers all voiced their support, even Castiel, that she had done more than anyone would have expected of her. She gave them a small smile in return, clearly still upset but grateful.
The king kissed her fingers. “You indicated to me that you would explain some day, my dearest love. I’m glad that day has finally come, though I wish it hadn’t been under such dire circumstances. I knew the advisors were against our marriage, but I didn’t think it would go beyond mere gossip amongst superstitious old men. I am so sorry I did not protect you.”
“They had their reasons for being suspicious,” she said, generously. “After all, I couldn’t explain my strange behavior.” She smiled again at her brothers. “I’m just so happy to have my family returned to me.”
“And our little one?” asked the king, anxiously, at the reminder of family. “He is not harmed?”
Anna ran a hand over her stomach. “It is strong and kicking me yet.” She touched the king’s nose with the tip of a finger as she would sometimes do. “You’ve always been so certain it’s a ‘he.’”
“All the same, I should like the doctor to look over you. We’ll send for a midwife as well, just in case.”
She nodded her acquiescence. “What about my brothers?”
The king looked at his sudden extended family, momentarily at a loss, but then he offered a somewhat awkward smile. “Well… you are all welcome here, of course,” he said. “But a great in justice has been done to you all. Tonight, we shall prepare rooms for you to rest in and tomorrow morning, I should like to speak with all of you again, with my knights in the war room. I’ll make certain you’re all provided some… proper clothes.”
He cast a somewhat apologetic glance in his wife’s direction at his implication over her handmade tunics. Anna just smiled. They weren’t built for style, but for breaking a curse. Of course they wouldn’t be all that pleasing to the eye.
Dean spent the rest of that night trading watch shifts in the wing of the castle where the swan princes were bedded down. The full extent of Lilith’s powers was unknown and Anna wanted her brothers protected, just in case she somehow found out that the curse had been broken. The king would assess the threat with them in the morning.
While awake, Dean could only overturn the events of the day in his mind again and again. It had just been so bizarre. He still didn’t fully understand the particulars of why the queen had needed to keep silent for seven years as she’d worked to undo the spell, but he figured he didn’t really need to know. Magic, though exacting in nature, didn’t come with handy explanations, magic just was .
He found his eyes returning to the door where the seventh prince lay beyond. Dean wondered how he felt about his particular situation. Was he glad to be mostly back to normal? Or would he have preferred not to transform back at all if he’d known this was to be his fate? They were questions he didn’t dare ask, even if he had the chance, which he seriously doubted.
---
The next day in the war room, the princes proved themselves able tacticians, though they didn’t all see eye to eye. Michael and Lucifer, the two eldest, preferred a more direct assault, while Gabriel thought stealth would be more to their advantage. They argued amongst themselves along with Sir John and King Theseus, Dean was happy to hang back and let the older men do the talking.
He glanced to the corner of the room where Prince Castiel stood, awkwardly shifting his weight from side to side. His left arm was swathed in a red shawl which was tied around his neck like a sling. It kept his wing entirely hidden from view and Dean could almost forget that it was there at all, the man seemed so quiet and unassuming.
“Castiel,” said Raphael, suddenly.
The prince looked up, startled. He really had the most beautiful blue eyes, Dean thought, though it was common among them, of everyone in the family only two of them had dark eyes, but Castiel’s were just piercing.
“You always had a brilliant mind for battle,” Raphael went on. “What are your thoughts?”
Castiel hesitated. “It seems to me,” he ventured at last, “if we are going up against a witch, then we require a witch to help us.”
It made so much sense, yet was so simple it was a wonder no one else had thought of it. The air in the room lifted as the idea took root.
“We need Rowena,” said Gadreel.
“Who is Rowena?” asked King Theseus.
“The witch who taught our sister the cure for our curse. Anna lived with her until the day you found her.”
“Is she powerful? Enough to defeat Lilith?”
The princes looked at one another and shrugged.
“Then we must go speak with her,” said Theseus.
“Anna should come with us,” said Akobel. “It should be she who asks.”
But Theseus shook his head. “My wife is not in any condition to be traveling. I will ask Rowena myself.”
“Witches are loyal to themselves,” warned Lucifer. “They may not follow the order of a king. And the price of their help doesn’t often come cheap.”
“Then we shall see what she wants in return.”
---
They arrived in the late afternoon as it was a long journey to the other end of the forest where Rowena’s sprawling hut was situated. A single column of smoke curled up from the center of the bark-slat roof, the walls comprised of cedar boughs and dense vines, all green and alive. It was a peculiar place, the beams growing right out of the ground, as if she’d coaxed the very trees into becoming her house and weaving their branches together on their own. Though it was obvious it contained many rooms, it was still nowhere near large enough to fit the king and the princes as well as the small cabal of knights that had accompanied them for protection, so the witch provided them with herbal tea out in her extensive garden. No one was brave enough to drink it, but she didn’t appear surprised by that.
Rowena herself didn’t look like any witch Dean had ever pictured, which tended toward the old crones dressed in black with long hooked noses variety. But then, he supposed if he had magical powers, wouldn’t he choose to look beautiful? Because she certainly was, with a slight figure contained by a deep blue gown, pale and unblemished skin, dark almond-shaped eyes, and lots of wavy red hair to her waist. Her hands were long and elegant, moving like water as she gestured.
“You certainly are in quite the pickle,” she commented when the king had finished his explanation for their visit. Her voice had a light accent that Dean couldn’t place, but it was almost like music to his ear. Perhaps another aspect of her craft. Everything about her seemed designed to draw a person in, to trust her.
“Can you help us?” he asked.
“Lilith’s powers are more extensive than my own,” she said, darkly, her lips pinched as she said it. She gave the king an assessing glance and her expression smoothed. “But… I do think I can provide some assistance.”
“Some is better than none,” said Theseus. “Let us discuss terms—”
“Wait,” said Castiel before the king could speak further. “She said ‘can.’ But will you?”
Her eyes flashed and she smiled. “Ah, you’re a clever one, aren’t you?”
Dean was impressed, but then if Anna had been around this woman for years, it stood to reason that the princes in their cursed form would have spent time here as well. They would have learned to listen closely to a witch’s words. It was surprising that they remembered their time as swans, or at least they appeared to.
“What’s your price?” asked Theseus.
Rowena tapped her lips, her eyes straying to the princes. “You’re doing this to restore the birthright taken from all of you,” she said before turning back to the king. “And you have a duty to them as your new family and so must lead the charge.” Folding her hands, she sat back in her seat. “Should you be successful, I want a place in this new court. An advisory position, if you please, I don’t merely want comfort, I’m far too valuable to be treated as an ornament, but this is quite generous on my part, as you must first win the battle.”
King Theseus looked to his in-laws. “This falls to you, then,” he said. “As I said before, you are all welcome in my kingdom - as guests, as advisors, as knights, whichever of these roles you feel you are best suited. To attempt this assault carries a great risk. And the price would be yours to pay. But I will stand at your side if this is the path you choose. Is it worth it to you?”
“Of course, it is!” declared Lucifer. “That is our home! Our kingdom to rule!”
“The crown would fall to Michael,” Raphael reminded him. “He’s the eldest.”
“By mere minutes,” Lucifer grumbled, but though it obviously irritated him, he didn’t deny it. As the older twin, Michael would have been the one groomed to take the throne after their father.
“Calm yourself, brother,” said Michael. “I agree with you. Regaining our kingdom is worth any risk.” He looked to Rowena and offered her a charming smile. “And I think someone with such vast wisdom would be a useful advisor.” He extended his hand to the king. “If we can count on you for aid, then tomorrow we march on Castle Eden.”
They clasped their forearms, sealing the deal. Rowena clapped her hands, excitedly.
“I’ll prepare my luggage!”
---
“Hey, now,” said Dean as Impa, his all-black mare, nuzzled the pouch tied to his belt with her mouth. She’d found the treat he’d brought with him. “You know that comes later. First you have to be a good girl while I brush you, then you get your apple.” She whickered impatiently. “Uh-uh, that doesn’t sound like my good girl.” She stomped the hay-strewn floor of the stable with one hoof and snorted, but then went back to standing still. Dean chuckled. “That’s my baby,” he said with great affection, petting her velvety nose.
“You spoil that horse,” said Dean father, John, from across the stable where he was finishing up with his own chestnut gelding, Hunter. It was early in the morning and they hadn’t yet donned their armor, wanting to take care of their horses and eat before doing so.
“Of course,” said Dean. “I take care of her; she takes care of me.” He paused, looking across at his father as John whistled a cheerful tune, appearing completely at ease. “Aren’t you worried about today?”
“I don’t worry about the future; I live moment to moment.” It was something he’d said before to Dean and his brother. “You would do well to do the same. Worrying means suffering twice.”
“Sure, but I think an impending fight against a powerful sorceress merits a little worry,” said Dean, almost to himself. Reluctantly, he admitted, “I had a nightmare last night. You fell in battle.”
“Ah,” said John, knowingly. “So that’s what’s got you all wound up.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know.” John chuckled and exited Hunter’s stall. “Don’t burden yourself with fear before we’re even on the battlefield. Be sure of yourself and your fellow knights and believe in your king. We’ll win. And don’t be too long, or you won’t get any breakfast,” he warned on his way out of the stable.
“Yes, sir.”
Dean enjoyed these times with his father. They didn’t speak all that much; it was more about just being together and having the company. The chore was more suited to the stable boys, but John had taught Dean to enjoy looking after his own horse, particularly before a battle. The relationship between a knight and his mount was an important one, they had to rely on and trust one another.
Suddenly, other horses in the stable began whinnying in fear, making Impa dance in agitation. Dean shushed her, putting an arm around her neck and stroking her face until she calmed. Curious, he stepped out of the stall to see what had caused the uproar.
To his continued surprise, he found Prince Castiel standing in the middle of the stable. He was cautiously going up to each stall with his hand outstretched, but anytime he got close, the horses would shriek and try to get away from him or jump and kick. His expression of frustration made Dean’s heart go out to him, he looked so unhappy.
“Good morning, your highness,” he said, closing the stall door behind him.
“Oh,” said the prince, blinking as if startled. “Good morning, Sir…”
“Winchester. But you can call me Dean, if you like.” He came closer, propping a hand on his hip. “Can I help you with something?”
He frowned, looking into the nearest stall. “I’m trying to find a horse that doesn’t hate me,” he said. “It seems I make them all nervous. I think they can sense than I’m—well, that I have…”
His gaze slipped to the floor as he rubbed the shoulder covered in the red shawl, uncomfortably. He didn’t finish his sentence, but Dean believed he understood. Birds tended to make most horses jumpy and it seemed that they could tell that the prince was at least part bird. Maybe they could smell the feathers.
“I had to ride double with Gadreel yesterday,” Castiel went on, having recovered himself. “That’s fine when I’m not wearing armor, but I don’t want to do that today.”
“Well, that makes sense,” said Dean. “Riding double into battle would definitely be uncomfortable, lots of clanking, not great for stealth.” He offered a little smile to let the prince know he was joking. Castiel just blinked those fathomless blue eyes at him, as if stunned that someone would even attempt to make a joke with him. Dean cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Luckily,” he continued, going over to the wall where a sack hung from a nail, “I know just the horse for you. He’s easy to win over, if you know the trick to doing it.”
“Oh?” Castiel followed with undisguised interest.
Dean rummaged around until he found what he was looking for then led the prince down to the stall next to Impa’s where a tan stallion danced from side to side, whickering as he eyed Castiel warily. “This is Trencher,” said Dean.
The prince squinted. “Why would you name him after a dinner plate?”
“You know how most horses like oats or carrots or apples for a treat?” He waited for Castiel to nod. “Well, this guy… he likes bread.” He held up what he’d retrieved from the sack – a used trencher. “He was named after getting caught digging these out of the pig troughs.”
“Huh.” It was almost a laugh.
Dean offered him the piece of bread. “Here, give it a try.”
Doubtfully, Castiel took it from him and cautiously approached the horse. Trencher reared back his head a bit, but then his nostrils flared as the prince waved the bread under his nose. Snorting, he came closer, sticking his head out of the stall and flapping his lips as he tried to nab the bread from his hand.
“Good, now get closer to him so he gets used to your smell while he eats,” Dean prompted. “And give him a nice scratch behind the ears.”
Once the horse had the bread in his mouth, Castiel reached up and scratched him as Dean said he should. Trencher made some encouraging sounds and nudged the prince with his head once he’d finished his treat.
“He wants another,” said Dean, going to the sack of various food items and fishing around. He brought a second trencher over to Castiel and handed it to him then petted the horse’s face. “Now he’ll recognize you and your scent as the person with the bread and he won’t mind if you get near or want to ride him.”
“I didn’t think it would be that easy,” said the prince. “Thank you, Sir Winchester.”
He smiled and it transformed his whole face, changing his somewhat sad, downturned eyes into bright ones that crinkled at the corners. Dean could feel his face heating up and he ducked partially behind the horse’s head to hide it.
“It’s, ah, it’s nothing,” he mumbled.
When Castiel reached up to stroke Trencher’s nose, their hands brushed and a spark leapt between them. Dean snapped his hand away, shaking it.
“Ouch!”
From the expression on his face, it seemed to have surprised Castiel as much as it had him. “You felt that, too?”
“I think that should be obvious from the ‘ouch,’” said Dean, before bowing his head and adding with respect a touch late, “your highness.”
“It’s fine,” said Castiel, distractedly looking over the horse. He didn’t seem to mind Dean’s lapse in etiquette, or perhaps he hadn’t noticed. “Trencher seems alright, that’s the important thing. To gain his trust only to deliver a nasty shock would have undone all the goodwill I’ve earned. I appreciate you showing me how.”
“Horses are easy once you figure out what they want,” he said, turning back to his horse and getting her apple out of his pouch. “Like this one. Only green apples will do for Impa.”
Castiel kept petting Trencher, who seemed to be enjoying it. “Maybe they remind her of your eyes.”
“Heh, maybe. I wonder.”
“Ah!” They looked up to see Rowena coming into the stable wearing a black outfit featuring tight trousers beneath a shapely leather cuirass. “There you are, my wee duck, if I might have word,” she said in her lilting accent. Both men stared at her legs. “Eyes up here, lads,” she said, wiggling two fingers at her face.
Blinking, Dean and Castiel recovered themselves quickly. Castiel went over to Rowena while Dean went back into Impa’s stall to finish brushing her. He couldn’t help looking over the horse’s back to see what the witch wanted, telling himself it was his duty as a knight to ensure the prince’s protection.
“In preparation of the impending battle,” Rowena was saying, “I am readying my arsenal. It would greatly help me if I had something touched by Lilith’s magic.”
Castiel nodded and waited for her to continue, which she did after an awkward pause.
“Your brothers told me I should talk to you about it,” she said. Everything about her tone and facial expression said that she expected the prince to know what she was talking about without her having to say it outright, but apparently, the implications sailed right past him.
“Why?” he asked.
She goggled at him. “Really? Sure you haven’t got those feathers in your head as well?”
His face reddened. “Oh,” he said, quietly. “Of course.”
Dean thought he saw Castiel glance in his direction for a moment as he reached into the shawl he had tied around his left arm in a sling. He withdrew a feather of pure white and offered it to Rowena who smiled.
“Lovely,” she said, taking it. “See you later!”
She left the stable, her red curls bouncing behind her. The prince rubbed his concealed wing, his brow furrowed, his eyes on the ground. Something about his expression made Dean think that perhaps Castiel was wishing he hadn’t been there to witness the exchange. Dean was torn. Guilt ate at his gut for having watched something so personal, Castiel probably didn’t want anyone to see him in a vulnerable moment like this, it felt like spying. At the same time, Dean wanted to offer support, a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, whatever he needed. He just looked so alone.
Clearing his throat noisily to remind the prince of his presence, Dean exited the stall and laid the body brush he’d been using on Impa on a shelf. “Man, am I hungry,” he said, purposely not looking Castiel’s way. “Have you had breakfast yet? Can’t go into battle on an empty stomach, that’s what my father always says.”
Castiel’s expression lifted somewhat, he seemed grateful that Dean hadn’t mentioned anything more serious. “I haven’t.”
Resisting the urge to put an arm around his back the way he might with a fellow knight to show camaraderie, Dean escorted the prince back up to the castle. Remembering his station had never been difficult for him before. He didn’t know why it suddenly became an issue around this particular royal.