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“More, Uncle ‘Zi’phale, more!”
Aziraphale chuckled. “You know we can’t finish the book tonight, Adam.”
“Pleeease, uncle!” Adam tugged on Aziraphale’s sleeve. “I want to know if Prince Crowley saves the egg.”
“Oh, alright,” Aziraphale said, opening the book again. To be completely honest, he was just as curious as Adam was. “One more chapter then, but after that, it’s bedtime for you, mister.”
“Yes, Uncle ‘Zi’phale.”
Aziraphale adjusted his reading glasses and cleared his throat. “Now where were we? Ah, yes.” Getting into character, he changed to the voice he used for the Prince. “ ‘Unhand the egg, Sir Sandalphon, or else!’, Prince Crowley said, pointing his sword at the deceitful nobleman.”
“Uncle, what does that word mean?”
“Deceitful?”
“Yeah.”
“It means… dishonest.”
“Why not just say so?”
Aziraphale smiled. “I don’t know. Shall we continue?”
Adam nodded eagerly.
“Right, then. ‘Or what?’ Sir Sandalphon asked, clutching the dark red dragon egg closer to his chest. ‘Do you actually think you could best me ?’ he said.” He absolutely can, Aziraphale thought to himself, remembering an earlier chapter when Prince Crowley fought against not one but two men. Sir Sandalphon didn’t stand a chance. “‘I know I can. And if I do, you’ll surrender the egg to me’, the Prince said, giving the older man a grin. Knowing that Sir Sandalphon was a prideful man, Prince Crowley hoped that he wouldn’t be able to resist the challenge.”
“Go Prince Crowley!” Adam raised one small fist into the air and huddled closer to Aziraphale. “Do you think he will win?”
“I do.” Adam was the one that had chosen this book, but over the weeks, Aziraphale had become just as invested in Prince Crowley’s heroics as Adam had. One might say he’d even become a bit smitten with the fictional man, every day looking forward to early evening when he and Adam would continue the story.
Which perhaps was why he forgot to stop after Prince Crowley disarmed Sir Sandalphon quite masterfully—only to be betrayed by Sir Gabriel, who stole the egg while the Prince was tying up the defeated Sir Sandalphon. Aziraphale was halfway through the next chapter when he noticed that Adam had fallen asleep.
“Hmm.” He was dying to know if the Prince would catch up with Sir Gabriel before he reached King Raphael’s land. After a glance at the child nestled against his side, he decided to continue a bit longer—he would have to restart the chapter the following night anyway.
Somehow, he lost himself in the story, finding himself on tenterhooks when Prince Crowley was suddenly surrounded by three henchmen of the thieving aristocrat—only to swoon when the Prince dealt with them as deftly as he had Sir Sandalphon.
Even as his eyes started drooping with fatigue, Aziraphale continued, telling himself he’d stop as soon as the Prince had caught up with the former companion that had deceived him.
Prince Crowley was halfway up a rock wall when sleep finally overtook Aziraphale, the last thing on his mind was how he’d like to feel the Prince’s nimble fingers on him…
“You’re wrong if you think the Prince will come and save you, Sir Aziraphale.”
“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale looked around, surprised—to say the least—to find himself in what appeared to be a church with his hands tied behind his back. This must be a dream. Surely this is a dream.
“Don’t play coy with me, I know you’re trying to stall, hoping that Prince Crowley will save you.” The smarmy-looking man in front of him smiled. “Just say yes to marrying me, and I’ll let you go. Father Ligur will wed us either way, but it will be less painful for you if you go along with this voluntarily.”
Aziraphale stared at the dark-haired man, trying to figure out why he seemed so familiar.
No. It couldn’t be. Could it? “…Sir Gabriel?”
“Come on, Sir Aziraphale, I didn’t hit you that hard over the head. Just do what I—”
“Sir Gabriel!”
Mouth hanging wide open, Aziraphale watched wide-eyed as a dashing man dressed in black entered the church, a sword at the ready. His hair was a shade of red he had never seen before, and even in the dim light of the countless flickering candles, he could see that the newcomer’s eyes had an unusual almost-yellow colour.
Aziraphale blinked. “…Prince Crowley?”
The man turned to look at him, throwing a roguish smile his way. “Don’t worry, fair damoiseau . We’ll be out of here in a moment.”
“This is none of your business, Prince Crowley,” Sir Gabriel interjected, bringing the Prince’s attention back to him. “This church is on King Raphael’s lands, and unless you want to lay claim on Sir Aziraphale yourself, I suggest you let us get on with the ceremony.”
“And what if I do?”
“I’d say Lady Anathema would be greatly disappointed if you do.”
Aziraphale decided that this must most definitely be a dream because the Prince was even more handsome than what he had imagined when reading the book. An unusually suspenseful dream, mayhaps, but still just a dream. Nothing else made sense.
Prince Crowley advanced on Sir Gabriel, lowering his sword with a smirk. “Oh, you haven’t heard? Lady Anathema has run away with squire Newt. I expect them to have crossed the border to my father’s land as we speak.”
Knitting his brow, Sir Gabriel drew his rapier and aimed it at the Prince. “You’re lying. You just want to get back at me for leaving you to die. I’m amazed that you survived, by the way.”
“Oh, Gabe.” Prince Crowley tutted. “Next time you try to have me killed, make sure the dragon you leave me with isn’t the one that is indebted to me for saving their egg.”
“That egg was lost!”
“No, it wasn’t. I just wanted you to believe it was.”
This was a very vivid dream, Aziraphale decided, when the Prince winked at him.
“Stop flirting with my betrothed!”
Sir Gabriel suddenly lunged towards the Prince—who avoided the attack without effort. He looked just as fearless and nonchalant as Aziraphale had imagined when reading the storybook, and it only increased his crush on the man. The fictional man, Aziraphale reminded himself.
“Tell you what, Gabe. Let’s ask Sir Aziraphale what he wants, eh?”
Sir Gabriel scoffed. “He has no say in this.”
Aziraphale watched with bated breath as the two men circled each other. Should he say something?
“I’d say he does,” Prince Crowley countered. “He’s the one who would have to marry you, the poor sod.” He glanced over his shoulder, giving Aziraphale a quick look. “Is it your wish to wed this man today, Sir Aziraphale?”
Oh. That was his cue. What would be the most appropriate thing to say if he was part of the book? “Thank you for asking, Your Highness. No, it is not.” Feeling bold—this was just a dream, after all—he added, “I’d rather marry you.”
That had Prince Crowley turning, a wide smile lighting up his already handsome face. “You would?”
“Yes.”
“I guess that’s settled, then.”
Behind the Prince, Sir Gabriel raised his sword.
“Crowley, watch out!”
With dread in his gut, Aziraphale could do nothing but watch as Crowley dodged the weapon by a hair’s breadth. Reading about Prince Crowley’s prowess was one thing—seeing it with his own eyes was quite another. It was nerve-wracking, to say the least, and he only calmed down a smidge when he realised that the Prince was toying with his captor—but Aziraphale was still afraid something might happen to him.
“Please, enough!”
“You’re right, Sir Aziraphale, I’m sorry.” Prince Crowley slightly tilted his head to the side, eyeing Sir Gabriel up and down. “He’s not worth one more moment of our time.”
Sir Gabriel sputtered but otherwise said nothing, too busy defending himself from Prince Crowley’s sudden assault to voice an objection.
The clatter of Sir Gabriel’s rapier dropping to the stone floor was loud in Aziraphale’s ears, something final in the sound. To his relief, the cowardly man took off running, leaving Aziraphale alone with his saviour.
“Thank you, Prince Crowley.”
Aziraphale felt oddly out of breath as the Prince went over to him and untied his hands; he thought he would faint when he felt strong hands help him up from the floor, wondering if Prince Crowley would catch him if he did.
“Are you alright, Sir Aziraphale? He didn’t hurt you?”
His heart was pounding so fast that Aziraphale would’ve been worried if this hadn’t been a dream. This close, he could see flecks of gold in the Prince’s eyes, and wasn’t that a peculiar detail to have in a dream? “I promise you, no harm has come to me.”
The Prince cupped his cheeks, and yes, this was probably what a heart attack felt like. “I’m so glad that you’re safe. You have no idea how worried I was when I heard that that wanker had kidnapped you.”
“You…you were?”
“Of course. And don’t worry, I won’t hold you to what you said about marrying me. I know I’m not worthy of you.”
“But I do!” Aziraphale couldn’t believe such nonsense. Who wouldn’t want to marry the courageous, dashing, clever, and competent Prince? “And you are.”
Smiling, the Prince leaned closer. “You really mean that, angel? Oh, my sweet Aziraphale, you make me so happy, you have no idea.”
This is how I die, Aziraphale thought when warm lips were suddenly claiming his in a searing kiss, but what a way to go.
“…Aziraphale…”
The dream was fading, and Prince Crowley along with it. No. No. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.
“…Aziraphale, wake up.”
Reluctantly, Aziraphale opened his eyes. He was back in Adam’s room. “I’m so sorry, Deidre, it seems I fell asleep.”
“No worries, Aziraphale. I just wanted to let you know that your date is here.”
Aziraphale blinked. “My what? Deidre, what are you on about?”
“There’s a gorgeous man downstairs, claiming you two have a date tonight.” Her smile withered. “Should I ask him to leave?”
Aziraphale had certainly no idea what she was talking about, but she had piqued his curiosity. “Thank you, but I think I’ll deal with this myself.”
Racking his brain, Aziraphale headed towards the stairs, trying to think of anyone it might be but falling short. He hadn’t met anyone new in ages, so who could possibly be waiting for him?
He was halfway down the stairs when he stopped dead in his tracks. “Prince Crowley?” It couldn’t be.
The man in the hallway turned around. “Hiya, angel.”
He looked just like him, and just like his dream-Prince, this man was dressed in nothing but black. It wasn’t the same clothes, of course, because this wasn’t Helland—and Prince Crowley wasn’t real.
Smiling, the man that looked like Prince Crowley waited until Aziraphale continued down the last steps. “There you are.”
“You…you know me?” was all Aziraphale could think of to say. “Why are you here?”
He cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, and it felt like Aziraphale was back in his dream. “I almost lost you once, and I’m sure as hell not going to lose you now.” Leaning close, Aziraphale could see specks of gold in Crowley’s eyes that looked awfully familiar. “Thy Prince hath come to take you on a date, Sir Aziraphale. But only if you wish to, of course.”
Perhaps he was still dreaming. That happened sometimes, thinking you were waking up but it was still the same dream. “I do. On one condition.”
“Name it, and it’s yours.”
“Kiss me.”
Prince Crowley laughed, and it was an even lovelier sound than Aziraphale had imagined. “Gladly. I’ll kiss you as many times as you want if it means I get to keep you.”
His lips felt just as real as they had in the church, only minutes ago. It didn’t make sense, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure he wanted it to.
“Crowley?” Is this a dream?”
The Prince searched his eyes and then smiled. “If it is, I don’t ever want to wake up.”