Once upon a time in a village far, far away, there lived a young man named Samuel Singer. He was called Sam or sometimes Sammy, but he hated that nickname. Anyway, Sam lived with his father, Bobby, in a small village called Lawrence. It was just him and his father because Sam's mother had died in childbirth.

Bobby was a good man, a handyman. He fixed anything from broken carriage wheels to bar stools. He loved his son and Sam loved him. Unfortunately Sam didn't fit in in the village of Lawrence.

The people of Lawrence were simple, farmers, bakers, and butchers. But Sam was different. Sam was in love with books. That was bad enough. The townspeople thought that Sam was too absent-minded with his head in the clouds. They thought that he was uppity, acting better than them, acting above his life's station. Sam could never be formally educated, he hadn't been born into the right social class.

But that wasn't the only reason the townspeople talked behind Sam's back, laughed in his face, tripped him in the street. It was Sam's choice of reading material. Since he was a child, Sam had loved stories of the supernatural, stories of ghosts, poltergeists, wendigos, and demons. Things the rational, hard-working people of Lawrence didn't believe in, things that were seen as just a childish dream and a waste of time.

Bobby loved his son and wanted Sam to have a good, easy life; to work hard, get married, and have a family. He only wanted what was best for Sam and tried to discourage Sam's love of these books, but Sam was stubborn. Sam was always using the money he got from helping his father's work to buy more books whenever the seller was in town.

In the end, though, it would be Sam's love of books about the supernatural that would change his life forever.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

It all began when Bobby had to travel through the forest to pick up supplies in Wichita. It was supposed to be routine. He was supposed to stick to a well-traveled path. That was before the ghost though.

He was determined to make the trip in one day and so it was becoming dark as he was returning home. Bobby had a horse, a stallion named Rumsfeld. The horse had been with him for years and was getting a little long in the tooth and so Bobby dismounted as he reached the edge of town, knowing that Rumsfeld already had a heavy load on him.

They walked past a graveyard. Bobby had walked past the same site many a time, but that night, he heard strange noises from inside. He stopped to listen and the noise became a woman's screaming.

Startled at the unexpected, high-pitched sound, Rumsfeld bucked and ran off. But Bobby wasn't the type of man to leave a woman in distress and so he cautiously entered the graveyard, searching for the source of the sounds.

There he was in the dark of night, creeping around the tall family tombs and the low headstones with only his lantern to see by. And what he saw shocked him. Someone was digging a grave…A graverobber! Though Bobby could only see the shovel as it tossed dirt out of the coffin-sized hole, lit by the lanterns that were placed on either side of the headstone.

He moved closer, only to be suddenly thrown away like a rag doll, landing hard on his backside some feet away, his lantern flying even further and presumably going out since Bobby couldn't see it any longer. But the light from the two other lanterns was more than enough to see what approached him. A woman, pale and completely grey, and she was flickering, one second there and the next second gone.

Terrified, Bobby couldn't move, only raised his arm to cover his face as she approached, her face horrible, scowling with a murderous look in her grey eyes, her arm outstretched towards him…

Bobby squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the assault, waiting for death…but the blow never came. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. The woman had turned away, was facing now another man dressed in light armor, a helmet on his head. The knight swung a heavy-looking broadsword, but it never connected. The woman disappeared, disappeared, the sword swinging through air and then the woman reappeared behind the knight.

The knight turned quickly, but not quick enough. The woman threw him away just as easily as Bobby had been thrown, the knight landing with a heavy thunk of metal on his side. In that armor, Bobby knew that the knight would never be able to get back up in time, never be able to get to his sword before the woman got to him.

But just as the woman got near, the knight reached into a pouch hanging from his waist, throwing some sort of dust at the woman. Much to Bobby's surprise, the woman dissipated with another shriek. The knight then pushed himself to his feet, running back to the open grave. He grabbed one of the lanterns and threw it in just as the woman materialized behind him again. She then went up in a blaze, screaming as she disappeared for the last time while flames licked the open edges of the hole in the ground.

Bobby could hear his own breathing, loud in the sudden silence, harsh from the fear of his near-death experience. He couldn't think, had no idea what he had seen. It couldn't be possible, but he would swear that he had been attacked by a ghost.

He was shocked out of his own semi-hysterical thoughts by the knight moving towards him where he still sat on the ground. By the light of the last lantern that the knight was now carrying, Bobby noticed the type of the man's armor, the color of the plumes coming out of the helmet. It was the Prince's colors. Bobby was certain.

Bobby scrambled to his feet. The man's face was obscured by the nosepiece of the helmet that the knight still wore. But nobody knew what the prince looked like nowadays. He hadn't been seen since he was a child, a beautiful blonde-haired child with big green eyes just like the Queen had had.

The man didn't remove his helmet now. Bobby attempted a slight bow, uttering a stuttered, "P-prince?"

The knight was standing stock still before him, but the helmeted-head slightly inclined in answer to Bobby's question.

What was the Prince doing in a graveyard in the middle of the night? A graveyard with a ghost?! But that wasn't what came out of Bobby's mouth. He had been a peasant in the Winchester's kingdom all his life and he well-understood the respect that he should show the Prince.

So what Bobby said was, "M-milord, you saved my life."

Again that slight inclination of the head was all the answer that was given.

"How can I repay you, sir?"

For a long moment, Bobby didn't think that the Prince would speak. Then, with a low gravelly voice like he was unused to speaking, the man said, "You have a son."

The Prince paused. Bobby waited for a moment wondering if that was all that the man would say, but as the silence continued, he choked out an answer though the Prince's reply hadn't sounded like a question, "Yes, I do."

"I require his services. As the price for saving your life, I want him at the palace by noon tomorrow."

Bobby was stunned. He wanted to argue, he wanted to ask why, but you didn't question the will of the Prince. The man didn't wait for an answer either. Simply assuming that his wishes would be carried out, the Prince sheathed his sword and retrieved the shovel. Then he was striding away to a black horse tied to a tree that Bobby had not even noticed until that moment. The horse had not made a sound despite the commotion that had just occurred.

Bobby walked the rest of the way to his small house in a daze. He still couldn't believe what had happened, couldn't believe that he had seen either the Prince or the ghost. What if it wasn't really the Prince? Why would the real Prince be hunting ghosts in the graveyard? Because that was what Bobby knew now had happened. That man had known that the ghost would be there and had purposefully gone there to destroy it.

But if it wasn't really the Prince then Bobby didn't have to send his only son away. Didn't even have to tell Sam about it. It would just give the boy ideas anyway. How was he supposed to obey an order that was given by a man who gave no proof of his identity? The man had had none of his revenue with him, did not show the royal seal, did not even show his face.

He had forgotten that Rumsfeld had run away, ran straight back home, but he was quickly reminded when Sam came running out to meet him. Sam threw himself at his father, wrapping the shorter man up in long, muscular arms. Bobby often forgot how big his little boy had gotten, how grown-up Sam was, but at that moment, he was forcibly reminded.

Sam pulled back, but didn't release his strong grip on his father's shoulders as questions poured out of his mouth. "Where were you? What happened? Rumseld has been here for an age…He ran like he was escaping something? Did something happen?"

"Sam, calm down. Nothing happened. I'm fine as you can see."

Sam's eyes darkened. He knew that his father was hiding something. It was in the way that Bobby tipped his head, didn't meet his eyes. He didn't understand why Bobby was always keeping secrets, saying that it was for his own good, when Sam thought that he was old enough to decide for himself.

"It was nothing. A noise frightened the horse."

Sam pulled his hands away. "I know you're lying. Rumsfeld is used to all kinds of noises. He's been around bar brawls and dog fights. What are you hiding?"

Bobby ran his hand over his head, wondering how much he should say and how much he could get away with hiding. "There was a grave robber, that cemetery just outside of town, that I got in the middle of."

Sam's expressive face clearly showed his shock, almond-shaped eyes going wide, his huge hands clutching again his father's shoulders as his mind immediately went to the worst scenario. "W-wha…How did you get away?"

Bobby sighed. "A man…a man was there who saved me."

"Oh, what luck." Sam sagged with relief, before looking up again as a thought occurred to him. "Well, I hope you offered to repay the man. You didn't have anything with you with the horse gone…should I make something? Are we going to see him tomorrow?"

It was moments like this that Bobby thought that Sam's quick mind was actually not the blessing he sometimes told Sam it was.

"He, uh…he didn't ask for anything. Said he was happy to be of service…" Bobby attempted to move past Sam into the house then, but Sam's hands held him fast. Sam's strength was starting to look like a disadvantage too at that moment.

"It wasn't…surely it couldn't have been. It's ridiculous," Bobby babbled.

"Dad, what?"

"It was…he was in the Prince's colors, the Prince's armor. I never saw his face…"

Sam was again surprised by the words coming out of his father's mouth. "What did he ask for?"

"You," Bobby breathed out, looking into his son's hazel eyes. "He said that my son should be at the palace by noon tomorrow."

Sam couldn't even breathe, didn't know what to say or think about that. But suddenly Bobby couldn't stop talking.

"Sam, look at me. You're not going. There's no way to know for certain that it really was the Prince, we can't be expected to…"

"No." No one else would wear the Prince's colors, no one would dare. To impersonate a member of the royal household would mean a quick death. Most palace servants were born into that life, but the Prince could ask for whatever he wanted. And if he wanted Sam, then Sam would go.

"No. He saved your life. I have to go."

Bobby grabbed his son's shoulders then. But Sam didn't let him speak. "Dad, I'm going."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Sam lay in his bed that night unable to sleep. His mind raced over all the possibilities, all the things that he had ever heard about the Prince and the palace.

The Prince was the only child of King John and Queen Mary. As a child, he had often been seen out and about, was shown off at all manner of dinners and celebrations, but then the Queen had died. An accident it was said, a fire in a servant's room. That was when everything changed.

There were few servants left in the palace. Most had been sent away, given homes and positions elsewhere. The King had only been seen occasionally after that, mostly at important functions, never at celebrations. He was obviously mourning the Queen's death.

Now though, the King had not been seen for many months. It was said that the functions of the kingdom were conducted entirely by correspondence. Only messengers went in or out of the palace. Except, there were rumors that a knight on a black horse had been seen riding out of the castle at night. By the slim build, it was assumed to be the Prince.

There were more rumors. It was rumored that the Prince was a monster. That he had been horribly transfigured in the fire that had killed his mother. He rode out of the castle like a soul escaping the fires of hell itself. It was said that he showed up in full armor at the scene of disasters, deaths, and murders. Some blamed the Prince for the mayhem.

Sam had no idea what he would find when he reached the palace gates. Would he find a terrible master, a horrifying, spiteful man who took out the pain of his life's tragedies on others? Would he even be allowed in the gate? It was a small possibility that it hadn't been the Prince who had saved his father. It could also have simply been a test of his father's loyalty.

Sam also thought getting the opportunity to leave Lawrence. As a peasant, he was tied to the land, unable to move away from the village in which he was born. He was excited at the prospect of being someplace new. It wasn't like he would be missed anyway. Sam knew that everyone thought that he was worthless, even his father.

His father was always chastising him for reading, was always disappointed in Sam because Sam wasn't as interested in the village's activities, wasn't as good at his father's woodwork. Sam thought his father should be proud of his unique talents, proud that he had taught himself to read. Sam was tired of being the outcast, being the freak. He wondered, hoped that he would fit in better at the palace.

Morning eventually came though Sam had slept only a few hours. He had to rise early and get started if he were to make it to the palace by noon. Soberly, Sam got dressed and gathered the things that he would take with him. He had no idea how long he would be at the palace, but he had to assume that he wouldn't be coming back to his father's house any time soon.

Sam joined his father at the table for breakfast after. Neither man had any idea what to say to the other. Bobby knew that Sam was stubborn, that he would not be persuaded to stay.

Finally, Sam stood up from the table, waiting as his disgruntled father huffed and stood as well. The hug was quick, hands slapping shoulders roughly before they separated again. Bobby gave Sam a small packet of food for the journey and then Sam was off, walking as he was unwilling to take his father's only horse.

Sam arrived at the palace early, at least half an hour before noon. The palace was surrounded by a dense forest and a huge stone wall. Sam made his way around the wall to the gate, thinking that even in the bright sunshine the palace seemed foreboding, a dark stone blemish on the landscape. He wondered what it would have been like to grow up in. He wondered what it was like before.

Just as he approached the gate, the huge wooden doors swung inwards, opening to show Sam a view of the well-cared for inner courtyard and a fully-armored knight astride a black horse. A knight wearing the Prince's colors. Without any indication that he had seen the younger man waiting outside, the knight rode out, indeed riding fast like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

Sam stared after the disappearing figure for a long moment, before he heard a shout from behind him.

"Hey kid!" Sam turned to see a well-built, bald, black man dressed in servant's garb holding open the gate. "Hurry up and get inside if you're coming."

Chastised, Sam ducked his head as he hurried inside, the man closing first one great door and then the other. The doors were then locked.

Finished with the doors, the man neither looked nor spoke to him, but began striding towards the castle immediately. Sam had no choice but to follow after, almost tripping over his own giant feet in his haste.

They entered by a small wooden door that had both men stooping to get through. Looking around, Sam saw that they were in the kitchen. He spun around, taking in the large surroundings and he didn't notice that a woman had entered the room until she spoke.

"Sam? That's your name, ain't it?"

Spinning around to face the voice, Sam saw it was a woman who was older but still attractive with brown hair and eyes. She had her hands on her hips, her posture as no-nonsense as her words.

Flustered, Sam hesitated. He had just opened his mouth to speak when the black man huffed, and then, grumbling under his breath something about 'overly anxious puppies', left the room swiftly.

The woman's eyes became softer then. "Don't mind him none. Come on, honey, have a seat at the table here."

Sam's wide lips tilted up in a grateful smile and the woman smiled back, taking her own seat at the table as Sam joined her.

"Well, I'm Ellen."

"I-I'm Sam, but I guess you knew that already."

Her smile was comforting, motherly and Sam found himself relaxing in her presence. "Well I'm the cook here. I also do most of the cleaning and washing. As you might guess, most of the rooms here aren't in use. And my daughter…"

As if on cue, Sam heard a high-pitched, irritated voice calling for 'Mom' right before the door to the kitchen was opening again. The swinging door revealed a young woman, probably just out of her teens, blonde, blue-eyed, and pretty.

"Mom, why did you put…"

"Jo," Ellen's tone held a note of command that Sam suspected was the only thing that had a hope of cutting off her daughter's complaints. "Meet our new arrival."

Sam was surprised that they had known of his arrival, knew him by name. He hadn't thought that he would warrant such care.

Jo looked over the young man with ill-concealed interest, a smile tugging at the corners of her pink lips as she plopped herself down in the seat between Sam and her mother. "So this is Sam."

"Yes, this is Sam," Ellen parroted, the words containing an obvious censure of her daughter's flirtations.

Jo's smile only became wider at her mother's displeasure. "Well, welcome to the palace. Probably not what you were expecting, but it's ok."

Ellen took up the conversation as soon as her daughter finished speaking. "Yes, well, this is my daughter Jo. She, occasionally, helps me. And you've already met Henderson, he can be a little snide but…"

"You'll get used to him," Jo interjected.

Sam nodded, taking in the information, finally having a name to go with the man's face. It took him a minute to realize that Ellen was apparently done with the introductions. "That's it. Just the three of you?"

"Yep, just us. As I said, most of the castle isn't in use, and Dean doesn't like a lot of people knowing his business."

"Dean?" Sam queried.

"The Prince," Jo chimed in. "He's great. Did you see him on his horse as you came in?" The girl's voice held a tad of worship in it.

Ellen scowled again. "Don't mind her. She's been carrying a torch for the boy since she was knee high to a grasshopper. Now don't get the wrong idea, Dean's a sweet boy, he just…he's had to take on a lot of responsibility at too young an age."

Sam supposed that that made sense, being the Prince and all, Dean must have all kinds of responsibilities that Sam could never dream of. But he didn't miss the maternal note to Ellen's voice when she spoke about the other man.

"You call him by his first name?"

Ellen's smile became a smirk, "Depends on what kind of mood he's in. I wouldn't try it if I were you, not at first."

Sam nodded to himself.

"Anyway, I'm sure he'll be back in a bit to go over your responsibilities. Until then, Jo can show you to your room and lunch should be ready by the time that you two get back."

She stood then, effectively dismissing them. Sam grabbed his pack and followed the girl out into the front room. It was beautiful with a high-ceiling and a chandelier that caught the light, shining like a small sun in its own right. The fabrics, the furniture, the wallpaper…it was all beautiful.

Sam followed Jo up a wooden staircase, stopping when she did at the top. She pointed to the wing to the left of the staircase, saying, "Those are the unused rooms. Dean doesn't want us to go over there. He's a little secretive about some things…"

"How so?"

"Well, just that he goes in that wing so there must be something over there. And he won't tell anyone where he goes when he leaves, won't go out at all without wearing his armor."

Sam gulped, thinking that this was what he was worried about. He needed to know more even though he wasn't sure that he wanted to know more. "Is the Prince a good master?"

Turning incredulous eyes on him, Jo scoffed. "He's not exactly a master at all. Dean doesn't order us to do anything, except for Henderson to get his horse ready. He takes care of the horse himself mostly, cleans his weapons and armor himself too. Momma just makes sure he doesn't wander around in dirty clothes or starve to death."

"Oh." Sam didn't know what to say, the women's words making a confused picture in his head of the Prince, Dean. Sam wondered how the man himself would seem. It was certain that the Prince was hiding things, but what was the nature of these secrets? Were they horrible or harmless?

Jo led Sam to an enormous bedroom. He couldn't believe his eyes. It was as big as his father's whole house! And richly decorated in blues and yellows making the room feel warm and bright. He turned back to the girl.

"This can't be the servants' quarters?"

She shrugged. "Dean says we may as well use these rooms since nobody else is going to."

Sam set his tiny bundle on the huge, plush four-poster bed, feeling self-conscious amidst the splendor.

"Come on. I'm hungry."

Still dazed, Sam trailed behind Jo's disappearing form. He idly thought that it was a good thing that the other wing was closed off, less passages to get lost in.

Lunch was a hearty stew with brown bread and cheese. It was delicious and Sam made sure to tell Ellen so. It wasn't that his father had been a bad cook, but they hadn't often had the money to purchase ingredients like this, fresh vegetables and choice cuts of meat.

Henderson joined them for the meal as well. The man was brusque, short when he thought you were being simple, but he also had a good sense of humor.

"I guess we haven't scared you too bad." Henderson said after sitting down to eat. "You no longer look like a lost puppy, at least. Which is good, because Dean won't tolerate that."

Sam nodded, noting that the other man called the Prince by his first name as well. Curioser and curioser.

They chatted politely while finishing their lunch. It wasn't until after Sam's stomach had been filled that a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Where is the king?" Sam asked. He had thought the rumors said that the King was holed up in the palace, still running the kingdom. At his question though, the faces of the other people at the table became hard, even Jo averted her eyes to her empty bowl.

Trying to seem casual, Ellen said firmly, "He's not here."

She seemed to think that that was the end but to Sam it didn't explain anything. "But then where is he? How can he be running the kingdom if…"

"Sam," Ellen's sharp voice cut off Sam's words. She looked him in the eyes, trying to convey the importance of her next words. "You can't go around questioning the Prince or spreading rumors. The Prince does what needs to be done."

Sam nodded, chastised and looking down at his own empty bowl. He noticed that she had suddenly called Dean by his title, emphasizing his royal position and their subservient one. It wasn't Sam's place to question the Prince, but he had to wonder what had happened. Had the King died or disappeared? Why would the Prince keep it secret, secretly fulfill the King's duties? What would people think if they knew?

The ringing of a bell outside interrupted Sam's thoughts. Immediately, Henderson got up from the table hurrying outside. Sam looked questioningly over at Ellen, saw her motioning him to follow the other man.

"The Prince is here," she said.

Sam hurried to catch up with Henderson, grateful for his long legs. Henderson unlocked the gate and then Sam helped by pulling open one of the doors. On the other side, the Prince indeed waited, still astride his horse with his helmet on.

Regally, horse and rider entered the castle's courtyard, waiting as the doors were shut behind. Henderson then walked up to the horse, grabbing the reins. The Prince nodded, dismounting in a fluid show of grace that had Sam feeling very awkward and gangly. Henderson led the horse away.

Finally, Sam was face to…well, helmet with the Prince. They just looked at each other for a long moment. Sam noted that the man was shorter than himself but still tall, slim but obviously strong underneath the heavy armor. He couldn't really see the Prince's eyes, only enough to know that the other man had eyes. Really the only thing of the Prince's features that were visible was the man's mouth and chin.

Those features were quite the opposite of hideous or disfigured. The Prince had a strong chin with a cleft in it, and plump pink lips that Sam couldn't help but think looked kissable. Sam was as attracted to guys as girls, though he had never even kissed either. Nobody in the village of Lawrence had wanted to kiss him.

After a long look, the Prince inclined his head toward the castle, indicating that Sam should follow him inside. The fact that the helmet was still not removed had Sam wondering again if the man had been burned as a child.

The Prince entered through the kitchen, inclining his head in greeting to the women but striding onward through the front room and into what was, on further inspection, a library. A huge glorious library. But it was the Prince who still occupied Sam's attention, for now at least.

Gesturing with an elegant, long-fingered hand for Sam to take a seat, the Prince turned away and then…removed his helmet. Sam's first glimpse was from the back and he saw that the Prince had dark blonde hair, cut short to reveal a slim vulnerable neck. And then the man turned.

Sam was stunned, sitting on the couch with an astonished expression on his face, openly staring at the man unveiled before him. The Prince was beautiful.

The man wasn't disfigured in the least, there was not a trace of scarring to be seen. Instead, the man had big green eyes surrounded by a thick fringe of long, dark lashes, a pert nose, and high cheekbones to add to the lips and chin from before.

Eventually Sam realized that his staring was making the other man uncomfortable, the Prince shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked down at the rug before raising a hand to run through the short hairs at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. It was interesting to see a man with such power self-conscious before him, Sam, a nobody peasant.

With difficulty, Sam closed his mouth and averted his own gaze. "Sir…" he began.

The Prince's voice cut off whatever Sam was going to say. The voice was just as stunning as the physical appearance, low and deep, authoritative but compassionate. "Sam, is it?"

Sam nodded as well as said, "Yes, sir."

The Prince made a dismissive gesture with his right hand, waving away the respectful honorific. "I trust you've gotten properly settled?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good because I need you to get to work immediately."

"What is it that you would like me to do?"

The Prince looked at him then, straight in the eye and Sam was transfixed by all the emotion that he saw there, grief, fear, determination, strength. The words that were spoken were colored with those emotions as well. "I have some research that I need for you to help me with. I had heard that you were literate, that you enjoyed research and books."

Sam noted that the Prince said the word 'books' with a slight distaste but he ignored it in favor of other questions. He wondered why the Prince hadn't just gotten someone from the University, someone with a degree to help him. Why, in fact, did the Prince not just do it himself since the Prince was no doubt literate himself? "What would you like for me to research?"

The Prince must have noticed Sam's eyes scanning the hundreds of books in the shelves that surrounded them. "Not those books. Other books, I will bring to you in here. Supernatural books."

Sam's interest was undeniably peaked. He listened carefully as the man continued. "I am looking for references to a demon named Azazel, in particular how to kill the thing."

Sam's interested was peaked but his mood was subdued at the Prince's request. He wanted to ask why, why would a man like the Prince, who apparently was in charge of running a kingdom care about any references to a demon? Sam had a sneaking suspicion that it was really just busy work.

The Prince had saved a bumbling man in the forest and without anything else to ask for in return for his service, had asked for another servant only to realize that he had no actual duties for the young man to attend to. At least that's what went through Sam's mind.

Still there was only one answer. "Absolutely, sir. I'll get right to work."

Dean smiled then, almost in relief. It made the Prince who was a couple of years older than Sam himself seem years younger.

"Alright, then. Good. I'll get out of this…," Dean thumped a fist against his breastplate casually, as if armor were simply a fashion statement. "And then I'll bring you some books."

The Prince turned to go, Sam following him to the door that was left open. Ellen was there in the front room and the Prince spoke to her as he passed on his way up the stairs. "I'll just scrounge up something for lunch when I come back."

"Oh no!" Ellen yelled back at the retreating form. "I'm not letting you loose in my kitchen. There won't be any food left!"

Sam imagined that he could just hear the sound of deep laughter as the Prince disappeared. Ellen turned back towards the kitchen, which just left Sam with Jo.

"So he lives in one of those rooms with us?"

Jo nodded. "Yeah, the one on the very end, it's the biggest of course."

"Of course," Sam mumbled. They watched as the Prince, now dressed in tan leggings and an off-white tunic hurried into the wing to the left, the wing they weren't supposed to go in.

"I see what you mean," Sam said.

"Yep, it's not exactly a secret, but he's very adamant about us not going over there."

And then the Prince was back in view, carrying a small stack of books and acting like he hadn't done anything strange at all. Sam followed the smaller man back into the library, watching with avid eyes as the Prince bent over the desk to put down the heavy old tomes, or to be specific, Sam watched the Prince's backside, his perfectly rounded ass and the flex of back muscles that Sam could see underneath the loose cotton shirt.

The Prince then turned back to Sam with an expectant gaze. Sam sat in the desk chair with a resigned smile. The Prince's expression then turned serious, anxious and even beseeching.

"Please, hurry."

Sam was confused, the Prince seemed so sincere, like he really was relying on Sam to find an important answer.

"I will."

The Prince was back to smiling then. "Well I suppose Ellen's already filled you in on how things run around here. If you need anything like clothes or what not, she'll get them for you. But the most important rule is that you are strictly forbidden from entering the west wing, for any reason."

The Prince waited expectantly for Sam's nod before leaving the room. He presumably then entered the kitchen as Sam could hear loud voices from that direction. With a sigh, he turned to the books, pulling the first one across the desk to him, blinking at the dust that came with it.

He still didn't know why he was doing this, but at the very least, he was planning to enjoy himself. These were the kinds of books that a poor peasant like himself never would have gotten his hands on. It was almost like a dream come true. Sam had a comfortable bed, delicious food, interesting company and work…and a beautiful man to look at even if he couldn't touch.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Sam couldn't say how the rest of the household spent their day as he quickly became engrossed in the text he was reading. He barely even looked up until Jo came to collect him for dinner.

The table was set in the kitchen again, and just as Sam was wondering if the Prince ate in the dining room by himself, the man himself entered. The Prince sat down at the head of the table opposite the cooking fires, smiling as Ellen put the food on the table. Sam sat beside Jo who had made sure to sit nearest the Prince, Henderson sat on the other side and Ellen at the head of the table nearest the cooking fire.

Jo seemed to completely forget Sam's existence with the Prince in the room. As soon as the food was served, she was telling the Prince about a new style of dress she had seen last time that she had been to the market with her mother. Sam figured that the Prince couldn't possibly care about such things, but the Prince surprised him, flirting back.

"Well then, I suppose you'll have to find the pattern for this dress next time y'all go. And buy some pretty material."

Jo smiled like she had been expecting nothing less even as her mother scowled.

"She doesn't need any more dresses. There's no reason to spend more money…"

But the Prince just cut her off with a smile that set Sam's britches tightening even though it wasn't aimed at him. "Nonsense. Pretty girls need pretty things."

Sam was fairly certain that Jo's smile was an attempt to be coy but it came off smug more than anything else. Then Ellen was trying to divert the conversation by talking about the meat that she had bought and the exotic fruits that she had seen at the market.

The whole thing was surreal. Sam was away from home for the first time in his life, living in the castle, eating dinner with the Prince at the servants' table, talking about the wares at the market. The Prince seemed like just a regular guy, but there were also subtle things that demonstrated that that was not in fact the case. Nobody at the table mentioned where Dean had gone that morning in full armor, nor did they ask about why the books Sam was going through had been brought from the 'forbidden' wing. They didn't say anything about the reason for Sam's presence amongst them.

The Prince almost seemed to accentuate his persona as one of them. The man was obviously a slob, eating a huge amount and talking with food in his mouth. It was as if the Prince had forgotten the manners he had most certainly had as a child, or maybe as if the Prince didn't want to remember those years, those happy times when his mother had still been living.

Sam ate his more modest portion with quiet care, concentrating more on observing his dinner companions than joining in their conversations yet. As they finished the meal and stood, the Prince turned to Sam once more. "If you're tired, I understand. I just…as much time as you can spend on those books…"

The sentence was left open-ended but Sam got the picture, even though it was still a confused one in his head. Wouldn't the more Sam worked the sooner that the books would run out? Was he to be sent back when this imaginary task was finished? But again he didn't voice any of those questions, just nodded his acquiescence.

Sam wondered what the Prince did with his evenings. Did he read a book in the library, have a smoke and a drink? Sam couldn't help leaning out the kitchen door to watch the other man as that lithe body climbed the stairs and then disappeared into the west wing.

"Sam," Ellen called him back in. "I just want to let you know about some things. I'll have Henderson light the fire in your room, you can go to bed whenever you are so inclined. Breakfast is a casual affair. I normally just leave some bread, fruit, and cheese out and you can heat water for a bath any time you'd like. Ok?
Sam smiled and nodded. He ended up back in the library, lighting the candles from the fire in that room and settling with a book on the couch this time.

He didn't see anyone when he went to bed that night, but there were lights visible underneath the Prince's door, more light than could be accounted for by just the fire. Sam laid down on the soft bed, a bed so huge that he was able to spread his limbs as wide as he wanted, and pulled the lavish feather bedspread over himself. He would admit that he missed his father, but he was certainly not homesick.