Becky knocks on the door to Dean's bedchamber. Dean can always tell it's her because she always seems to knock once forcefully, as if to ensure she has your attention, and then again softly, as if to apologize for interrupting whatever it is that her betters are doing at the time. In this case, Dean had been sleeping.

"Prince Winchester, ser?"

He groans before sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His back creaks in protest and- damn it, he had fallen asleep in his boots again. Son of a bitch, he knew he shouldn't have gone for that extra couple hours of training, but he just hadn't been able to sleep. There's something about hacking away at a straw dummy that lets you forget all about-

Shit.

Today is Lisa's twentieth birthday.

"Ser?" Dean hears the door open, and soft footsteps pad into his room. "Sorry, I'm a wee bit late. I'll just get the hearth going for ye, then."

Dean violently pulls back the drapery to his bed, and he hears her squeak in fright.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." Dean slips out of bed and practically runs to the door, grabbing his jerkin on the way out. "No need for that fire today, Beck."

He strides quickly down the corridor, sidestepping a few sleepy looking servants. They glance at him strangely, as if surprised to see one of the royal family up so early. Dean hardly notices. Fear eats at his insides, dark and cold and forceful. Let her be safe, please just let her be safe.

Dean doesn't hesitate to thump urgently on the door to Lisa's bedchamber. The guards on either side of it ignore him impassively. "Lisa," he shouts, an edge of fear creeping into his voice. "Lisa, are you in there?"

She answers the door almost immediately, motioning for him to be quiet. "For the love of Sidhe, Dean, quiet down. You're going to wake the whole castle!"

A wave of relief sweeps through him, even as he examines Lisa's face. She is trying her best to look cheerful, but Dean immediately notices the dark circles under her eyes.

"You look terrible," he says, before mentally pinching himself. His brain is always too honest before coffee.

Lisa just snorts, motioning him into her room. "Even a faerie gift can only do so much. I've been too nervous to sleep." She shuts the door behind them and pads barefoot to her bed. Its covers are neat and unslept in.

A weak flame is flickering in the hearth, and the early morning light seems strained as it filters through the window. Something is out of place, and Dean stares out the window as he tries to pinpoint exactly what. When he finally grasps what is wrong, his eyes narrow. The adjacent castle courtyard is completely silent. The daily chatter of wildlife that usually greets the castle's early risers is eerily absent. It's as if even the animals are holding their breath, waiting for something awful to happen.

"You've noticed too, haven't you?" Lisa gazes at the window absently. Her fingers are clenching and unclenching in the fabric of her nightgown.

The bed dips under Dean's weight as he settles next to her. "Look at me. No, look at me. You're going to be fine. Dad's raided half the villages in Eridor to buffer the guard, and a dozen fae besides. They'll gank that bat-winged bitch before she can say uncle."

She smiles weakly, but her eyes fall to her lap. They both know he isn't quite as confident as he pretends to be.

Of course, every possible precaution had been put into place. Everyone in the kingdom loves the king's young ward, and Dean knows they'll die if needed to protect her. The castle has even been warded against dark magyk, charms and sigils drawn on each of the four parapets. Even so, Dean plans on staying by her side the entire day. You can never be too careful.

God, how can this be his life? Normal people don't have to think about curses, or fucking evil faeries. Normal people think about what they're having for dinner. Normal people can step outside their walls without an entire armed guard breathing down their necks. Normal people hadn't worried about Unseelie attacks for years, not since they were banished to the Badlands, north of Eridor.

He sighs slightly as a sudden wave of bitterness washes through him. Who the hell is he kidding? The life of a Winchester is about as far from normal as it gets.

Lisa breaks the silence. "Jeez, Dean, you smell rank. When was the last time you took a bath?" Her nose wrinkles delicately.

He lifts his arm and sniffs, for the first time really noticing his stained clothes and muddy boots. "The day before yesterday, I think?" At her frown, he hastily adds, "Look, I was gonna head to the bathhouse last night. Then I figured I should put in some more practice at the training yard. Guess I just got sidetracked."

She rolls her eyes and points toward the door. "Baths. Now." Before he can protest, she presses a finger over his mouth. It's soft and warm, doing a thorough job at shushing him. "I'll be fine for half an hour, Dean, I have my guards. You stink."

"What? It's not that bad, is it?"

"Could you please go? Dean, I can't even breathe in here!"

"You know, you never mentioned that one of your faerie gifts was bossiness. Although," Dean strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Now that I think about it that would actually explain a lot..."

She hits his shoulder, but a small smile is hovering on her lips. It's a minor victory. "Bath, Dean."

He stands slowly, turning to face her. "I'm not sure this is the best idea, Lis." She just rolls her eyes and gives him a nudge toward the door.

"I'll be back soon, alright? Stay here." He kisses her lightly on the cheek before heading out the door.

Dean turns the corner, walking down the hallway. He walks… and walks… and soon realizes he has taken a wrong turn. This is the part of the castle where the noble's children are tutored. Classrooms line both sides of the hall. Dean almost turns to retrace his steps, but suddenly stops. Why are there voices drifting out of one of the rooms? It's a Sunday. Dean almost dismisses them until he hears words that stop him in his tracks.

"Rumors… the Unseelie… too far this time…"

Backtracking, Dean presses his ear against the door.

"Your majesty, with all due respect, I think this little matter is being blown way out of proportion." Dean recognizes Alistair, the slimiest of the King's three advisors. Just his voice sends shivers down his spine. Dean trusts Alistair just about as far as he can throw him, but the creepy bastard has been his father's advisor for as long as he can remember.

"That's an absolute load of bollocks." Dean identifies this voice immediately as Balthazar, the Captain of the Royal Guard. "We have multiple reports coming in from different sources. Though nothing has been confirmed, we have strong reason to suspect that the Unseelie are violating the disarmament treaty. They are raising an army, sire."

"You think they've broken the treaty? It's been seven years of peace, Captain, and what this kingdom does not need right now is war. I can overlook mere border raids." Dean recognizes, with some surprise, the voice of his father. Whatever is happening must be serious.

"These aren't just raids, sire." Balthazar pauses. "Nightflyers were spotted on our side of the border less than a fortnight ago."

Dean's breath hitches for a second in his throat. "Nightflyers…" he breathes.

"That's impossible. Terms of our treaty state they can't hunt within a hundred miles of the border."

"These supposed "sightings" are probably nothing, my liege. Bats, maybe. They migrate around this time, I believe." Dean shivers as Alistair's voice coils around him, slick and oily. "An easy mistake made by a simple peasant."

"These must be some bloody huge bats, then. If you ever peel your bony arse off that chair of yours and come on a survey up north, you may someday be able to tell the difference between the kind that eat bugs and the kind that eat people."

"No need, dear Captain. I let laymen do my legwork."

"How dare-,"

"That is enough, gentlemen." The king sounds annoyed. "I brought you here to council me, not to argue amongst yourselves. Balthazar, continue your report."

There's a pause as he gathers himself. "Besides these sightings, we have reports that goblins have been congregating in large numbers. Three raids have been conducted on the northernmost villages in just the last fortnight. The number of dead is estimated in the hundreds. I personally believe that this is only the beginning."

Balthazar's voice lowers, becomes more urgent. "You know as well as I do that goblins never organize into groups this big. Not without help, anyway. This is serious."

Someone sighs, the sound defeated and familiar. Dean has often heard his father make that sound.

"There's nothing we can do if we want to avoid war."

"This is too important to be ignored!" Anger has infected Balthazar's voice. "People, your people, are dying as the Unseelie grow stronger, and yet we do nothing! How many more will you sacrifice?"

"And how many more will die if I do something?"

"Sire, if I may-," Alistair interjects, but the king silences him.

"Say I issue a declaration of war on Andais, what then?" The King's volume is rising, getting angrier and angrier. "Do you remember how many we lost ten years ago? Was it so long ago that you don't remember what you have lost? What I… I let my subjects down. It won't happen again. We must avoid war at all costs!"

Silence. The five kingdoms had sustained heavy casualties during the Second Faerie War, but Eridor had been the closest to the carnage. It seemed like every family in the kingdom had been touched by that brutal struggle. Balthazar himself lost his wife to a renegade nightflyer.

"Sire, if I may say something?" This voice is hesitant and unfamiliar, breaking the silence. The boy sounds young, maybe in his teens, and Dean is surprised that he would be allowed to give council.

"Right… right. Yes, go ahead."

"There have been, um, rumors of some sort of… creature, I don't know, drifting from village to village. It's not much, just a name. The Starving Ones. It's been said that Andais herself has been searching for them, though no one is sure exactly why."

What the hell are "Starving Ones"? And what did old bat-wings want with them? Dean racks his brain, going through every monster he's ever heard of. There are goblins, hellhounds, redcaps, Nightflyers, but never has he heard the name before.

Apparently no one else has, either. There are a few more minutes of murmuring, but their voices have been lowered. Dean presses his ear harder against the door, trying to make out what is being said. He is concentrating so hard that he doesn't hear the footsteps that stop behind him.

Someone yanks his jerkin hard, almost tearing the collar as Dean is dragged to his feet. "What do you think you're doing, boy," a gruff voice hisses into his ear. "You wanna get yourself into trouble?"

Dean whirls around, ready to fight before he sees who it is. "Damn it, Bobby!" he whispers angrily. "You almost gave me a goddamn heart attack!"

The old tutor just narrows his eyes. "You ain't supposed to be here."

"You know I should be in there right now! I'm not a kid anymore, Bobby. Despite what my father seems to think, I can handle some responsibility."

Bobby doesn't seem convinced. He manhandles Dean down the hall, muttering about how you-take-one-break-for-a-goddamned-piss and how the-reckless-boy-can't-keep-his-nose-where-it-doesn't-belong. Dean goes along with it, knowing there will be more trouble if he doesn't.

Bobby practically throws him out of the corridor. He sure is strong for such an old guy. Dean rubs his neck tenderly where the jerkin chafed it. He watches Bobby disappear back down the hallway, cursing under his breath.

Remembering Lisa with a sudden jolt, Dean pushes what he had heard to the back of his mind. He makes a beeline for the bathhouse and soon finds himself jumping into the nearest tub.

The water in every tub is supplied by a natural hot spring running under the castle, and usually Dean enjoys his long, relaxing soaks. Not today, though. He washes quickly and jumps out, hastily donning clothes that a servant had left for him. Uneasiness has begun to pool in his gut. He's been gone for far too long already.

Dean practically sprints through the castle, avoiding servants with proficiency stemming from years of practice. He doesn't bother to knock on Lisa's door, throwing it open with a bang.

Empty. Andais had beaten him to it.

Well, fuck.

"Lisa?" Dean croaks. He searches every inch of the room, as if Lisa would be hiding in her wardrobe or under her bedspread. The windows are all closed, locked from the inside. He rushes out to the corridor, fiercely addressing the guards. "Where is she?"

They just stare at him.

"Lisa, where's Lisa? You know, the princess I'm betrothed to? Remember her?" Dean is quickly approaching anger. Strike that, he is past anger. He has barreled past the yellow and into the red. This can't be happening. God, he shouldn't have left her alone.

The guards burst into her bedchamber. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Dean wants to shout, to rage at the guards for letting her go. But he doesn't. Deep down, he knows this is his fault. If he had just stayed with her…

Something catches Dean's eye. He turns, for the first time noticing something half hidden by shadow in the corner of the room. Weird. That definitely hadn't been there before. Dean crouches down, getting a closer look at the object.

It's a small polished spindle. Well made, but nothing special. Dean picks it up, turning it in his hands. It's unusually heavy. A drop of blood rests on the tip. It doesn't take a genius to guess whose.

If there's one thing Dean is sure of in this moment, it's that Andais needs to die.

All the emotion, all the angerguiltfurygriefblame welling up inside him is shoved deep down. Dean packs it tight into a tiny box, rams it in until the lid closes.

Dean pockets the spindle. He has a job to do.