CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
1425
Bobby was grim when he opened the Gates for Dean upon his arrival back to Ardus. He met him with a quick clap of a hug, and muttered: "you'll want to wash first, boy", before pulling back and officiously instructing one of his apprentices to take Dean's mare and water her down.
Clearly, he sent for Lydia too, for she turned up at his cottage with a black shirt laced with gold, which she said Balthazar had left for him to borrow in the event of his return. She'd cleaned and pressed it for him herself, she said, having free time now in having fallen from the Princess' good graces.
"Jo told me that she's accepted Garth's explanations for your absence, at least superficially. You should be safe to ask for an audience this afternoon."
She pressed a small box into his hands when he was dressed, before dipping her hands in water and combing his hair back, as Ruby had for him. "She'll expect you to present her with a token, before you ask, Dean."
He pulled off the top to reveal a heavily embossed haircomb, studded with deep red stones and glittering emeralds. "We didn't have time to commission anything unique. This is something of mine, though I never wear it. I doubt she'll recognise it."
Dean gave Lydia a quick hug in thanks and she returned it tighter than he'd expected, such that he almost imagined he could feel the slight swell of her belly against him – even though it was likely far too early for such a visible representation of her state. Even though Dean was unsure of Lydia's role in the whole arrangement, it seemed by the way she held him that she knew where he'd been and she was expressing regret on his behalf. The touch was enough to make resentment stir in Dean's stomach, and in response he held her tighter to force it out of him.
When they pulled apart, Lydia was blushing and avoiding his gaze for unknown reasons, and Dean bit his lip, enquiring carefully: "How's... how's the baby?"
She jolted, staring at him with an unmasked expression so uncharacteristically Lydia that he was momentarily floored before she stuttered: "Good. Very good."
"That's great."
She blushed again and reached forward to straighten his shirt beneath the coat, and tie a small white knot there – clearly a current fashion that Dean had hitherto been unaware of, smoothing down the dangling threads.
"I called ahead, and sent a runner requesting an audience. I think she'll call on you this afternoon. Be ready."
Dean nodded curtly as she stepped away, letting her fingers balance beneath her chin as she appraised him. "You know what you're doing?"
"N-not really. I guess, I kinda... I've sort of forgotten how it goes."
Lydia pursed her lips and gestured towards one of his own chairs as she invited him to sit, and she pulled another opposite him, descending with the grace of a trained courtier, but hunching slightly as she enjoyed the lesser burden of his company.
"She's just like any other Dean."
Dean jostled in his chair and pressed his lips together, in an expression that clearly betrayed his coiled disgust to Lydia, for eyebrows drooped at the edges, and she swallowed carefully, eyes watching his widely.
"It's not love. It's a seduction. You don't need to let your heart know. She never has to have it."
Dean's eyes flickered up at that, and she gave him a small smile.
"Remember how you seduced me? A married woman, in the Princess' innermost circle." Their eyes met and she let out a soft laugh as they both faded momentarily out of the conversation to remember the night that Dean looked at her the first time over his ale tankard, at the Princess' side, after a fight with her husband, and one hour later, he'd had her in the abandoned corridors of the palace, up against a wall, ravishing her mouth.
Dean laughed in return and smiled fondly as he watched his hands. "I think you were there as much as I was that night, Lydia."
She rolled her eyes and chuckled again. "I won't deny that." She brushed at her skirts, as though it might lend a ladylike air to the way they discussed their past sexual congress. Dean's eyes caught the movement and he grinned at her, and she shook her head before laughing properly. "You were a fine bedmate, Dean Winchester. I chose well."
They both laughed a little while longer, before lapsing into an uneasy silence when the topic petered out, and the promise of the afternoon returned to loom in the room. Lydia cleared her throat nervously as she looked up at Dean again, mouth stuttering as she pronounced. "I never gave you my heart though, did I Dean?"
Dean met her eyes, and sighed through his nose, before shaking his head. "You never did. Though I'm not sure you'd ever be so foolish to ever give it to anyone."
There was a flicker of a moment where a tense expression flooded Lydia's features, but she smothered it with such expert artistry that Dean didn't process it. She arched one eyebrow instead, and let an entertained expression play at the edge of her lips: "You know me well."
The joke ended as the first one had, with a fizzle in deep, wet silence. But Lydia persevered, even after the topic should have been abandoned by any polite conversationalist.
"That's what you have to do, Dean. I know that... I know it was different for us. Whatever we did not share, I do believe we are friends."
Dean nodded vigorously in assent, and the affirmation seemed to please Lydia greatly, for she adjusted herself in her seat to sit straighter and leaned forward. "Lilith is different, but perhaps you can grow to appreciate the burden that she bears. And you can trust her enough to..." she swallowed nervously around the statement, obviously entirely unconvinced, herself.
"Just think of her like any other. Any other of those women that meant nothing. Seduce her, bed her, entertain her. She'd be a fool to ask for your heart, Dean. And she knows it. Even a blind man could see it's not available for the taking."
Lydia reached forward and wrapped her hand around one of his forearms, squeezing lightly. "Love is as much of a burden as it is a blessing. Just remember that you love the city, and you can push it aside."
Dean ignored the bitterness in her words as she squeezed his arm, and failed to enquire after its origin, although he caught the momentary glower that held in her eyes for a moment as she stared out the window.
"Dou you want me to wait with you until she calls?"
Dean nodded quickly and Lydia squeezed his arm again, before leading him to his small table. "I'll draw some mead. I think it would do us both well to have a drink."
...
True to Lydia's expectations, Lilith did summon Dean that afternoon. Lydia prepped him quickly, re-styling his hair and straightening his coat before leading him halfway to the Palace. Just beyond its entrance, she peeled off and assured him that she would follow in due course, but muttering that it would not be fitting for her to be seen accompanying Dean to this particular task. He was forced to make the rest of the journey alone, under the intense stares of the City populace. A few seemed to sense his intention, although it was scarcely evident in his manner, given he had stowed the hairclip in a small pocket inside the coat. But perhaps it was the sight of him outside of his training attire, otherwise so common in his time in the City, that provoked their interest, and for the more discerning, their expectation of his quest.
The sensation was more acute inside the Palace walls, where, no doubt, the courtiers had talked of this very happening. His dress was not so out of place here, but perhaps his presence was, despite the increasing regularity of his visits to visit his sister-in-law, brother and nephew. Perhaps his gait betrayed his nervousness too, for a few ladies stared at him quizzically as he passed, and whispered behind their hands when they assumed he was out of earshot.
The Palace was still quiet, even after the City's time to mourn the Royals. The pictures in the halls that depicted Eve and her husband were hung with translucent black material, which had the effect of depriving almost every corridor of artwork at all. The curtains hovered with a phantom wind, creating the eerie sense that those depicted behind them were breathing into them, in a ghostly imitation of the lives they now no longer lived.
A few maps and landscapes were left for viewing pleasure, however they seemed to pale in light of the sombre drapings, almost embarrassed at celebrating any kind of beauty where there was such a taint of murder still surrounding. The people that were about seemed similarly hung with grief, hunching over oddly and hanging their heads when not engaged in direct conversation. All the courtiers were still wearing dark clothes, although the time for black had officially passed for all but Lilith following the funeral of her parents. Lydia had mentioned she expected it to last until the news of the marriage, at which time Lilith would hope to inspire the City by returning to a more powerful garb, and perhaps would don the purple of her mother as the mark of new leadership.
Dean, in the presence of such solemnity, felt obliged to adopt its tone, and it was in hanging his head and watching his feet that he was able to walk directly into Alastair on his quest to the throne room. When he looked up, muttering a quick sorry to the chest he had offended, he did so to a cold gaze and stoic demeanor. Alastair cracked a smile, but it scarcely made an indent into the harsh planes of his face that seemed deathly pale, even in the gold flickering candlelight that lined the Palace's halls.
"Dean... you've returned."
The words were stable and even, but beneath them ran a threatening hiss that Dean didn't fail to note. He felt his eyes widen as he watched his comrade swell before him, in a clear threat, despite the hand that Alastair offered him to shake.
Dean took it, noting its dryness even though it was almost fiercely cool to touch, and shook perfunctorily, before dropping his own arm to his side and staring directly at Alastair.
"I have."
"You had matters to attend to, in the forest?"
Dean pursed his lips and swallowed carefully, frowning at the way Alastair's eyes dropped to his mouth on the word matters, and a strange kind of smile quirked there.
"Yes."
"They must have been important."
"In service to the City."
Dean shifted on his feet as Alastair cackled lightly and nodded, eyes staying on Dean's despite the bob of his head. "No doubt. That is purportedly your aim."
Dean raised an eyebrow but didn't answer, except to keep his gaze fixed on Alastair's until the other man was forced to look away.
"I suppose you come here to offer your affections, as I have done, in service."
His tone were nonchalant, and his expression casual as he stroked at his chin mildly, staring at Dean's pocket where the hairclip was contained as though he might see through it.
"Yes."
Alastair grinned and looked back to meet Dean's eyes.
"And you think you will be accepted?"
Dean was even in his response, although, as Alastair drew closer, he was forced to break his strong posture with a slight step back to escape the path of his icy breath.
"I do."
Alastair cackled lightly again and nodded. "My well-wishes, Slayer", the name rolled off his tongue as though it were a joke. "What a fine leader you shall make."
Dean swallowed again and said nothing, until Alastair was forced to huff a breath of moderate exasperation.
"Well, don't let me keep you. I'm sure you're anxious to see her."
"I am."
Alastair laughed openly at that, and stroked his chin again once, before murmuring a soft "heh" and departing without another word. Dean watched him leave down the corridor, swaggering in his ceremonial dress as though he were headed for the same task himself and anticipated it with great pleasure. As he rounded the corner, Dean heard the light tone of his whistle, that trilled out an abstract few notes, ending flat.
He felt in his pocket nervously for the hairclip, assuring himself it was still there, as he made the final trek to the throne room. The guards opened the doors silently for him, and again, he made the slow walk down the carpeted pathway, dropping to one knee when Lilith rose before him and coughing out the endearments appropriate to thank her for her private audience. When he stood, she made little haste to make her way down the stairs, taking each step at a time as though she were already at her wedding and walking to Dean with a radiant smile. Her garb was still black, but she had removed the veil. Her shoulders still housed the wings, although Dean noted that they had been trimmed back and adjusted for her to better support them.
The effect was still alarming, but the change made the harking to Castiel's own seem less direct, and Dean was able to swallow the threat of bile in his stomach far more easily as he met Lilith's eyes. Her face was painted for the occasion – rouge at her cheeks and lips, and a dark line around her eyes. Her hair was coiled too, in a looser style than Dean was used to seeing, and she tugged at it, almost nervously, as though she genuinely did not anticipate Dean's purpose.
"A pleasure, Slayer. I was informed you had left the City."
"I had some matters to attend to, on an urgent basis."
She cast her eyes down, in a posture of endearment and sorrow, it seemed, and murmured: "You do so much for our City, Slayer. More than can ever be repaid."
She stayed that way, and Dean waited for his next cue. When none came, and with little inspiration as to how to discuss any other content when the purpose of his visit was so clear, Dean cleared his throat and stuttered out, in a stilted tone: "I would do more, my Princess."
Her eyes snapped up, though her expression coiled into a coy expression, almost leisurely, and she let her eyes widen slowly as she appraised him."What do you mean?"
Whatever confidence he'd had to hurry through the task was lost upon being forced to look Lilith in the eyes, and the sudden realization he might look at them for the rest of his life. A wave of nausea barbed his belly when his mind was overtaken with the sudden imagining of those wide eyes beneath him, staring up with blank longing, as he thrust into a limp body.
Dean forced a small smile, although only one side of his mouth seemed to respond to the order, and he felt it pull up manically to compensate for the paralysis that wracked the rest of him. Lilith's eyes tracked his hands as he reached into his pocket and withdrew the haircomb delicately, cradling it as though he would an injured bird and extending his hands to her.
"Here, I...Your Highness, I brought you a token."
It was a clumsy statement, Dean knew. Many men in the City made far better love with their mouths than he could ever hope. He swallowed nervously as Lilith's eyes narrowed at the ineptitude of the statement, but she reached forward curiously enough and he uncurled his hand. Seduce her, Lydia had said. Lilith reached forward and he almost flinched, and she paused momentarily, noticing the moment, before flickering her gaze back to him.
Dean took the opportunity when he blinked to summon Castiel's face behind his eyelids. For him, he told himself, this is for him. When he looked back to Lilith, he felt a temporary flash of warmth upon his face, in the way it heated whenever Castiel looked at him, and he grasped at it and held it there, until Lilith looked away and back down to the comb now offered to her.
Lilith reached forward with a delicate hand and traced the line of the gems, down along the prongs of the comb, and stopping just as she reached the skin of Dean's palm. A soft smile spread across her face that Dean's eyes tracked carefully, ensuring that it was one of pleasure and not of amusement, or pity, or something worse.
Slowly, she peeled her eyes from his and raised them to Dean's, letting them almost be drawn in by his, before she inclined her head away.
"Pray tell, Slayer, why did you bring me this gift?"
Her voice was high and light, as though in a basic courtly flirtation, but the unbridled severity of her gaze made clear that Dean's words were of utmost importance to her experience of the moment, and she held her breath as he stumbled over the appropriate response: "It.. it was a test, my Princess. See, when I purchased this from the jewel worker in Bazanne, she told me that it was the most beautiful piece she had ever created, and the most beautiful thing I would ever see. I... I wagered with her that I could find something more beautiful."
Lilith inhaled and held her breath, waiting for the punchline of the words that were a feeble joke in Dean's mouth.
He dropped his gaze to the comb, as though bashful, but behind his eyelids seeking to banish Castiel's face from his mind as he spoke the words that betrayed him: "I... I was right."
Lilith's mouth was smiling as he looked up at her, though her eyes were questioning as she murmured lightly: "You bring me a paltry gift, Slayer?"
Dean shook his head slowly, letting his eyes stay on hers, as he dropped his voice a register lower, and shivered in his spine as Castiel's deep and gravelly promises those nights ago echoed in his mind with increasing volume. "I bring you the most any man could offer you Empress, for there is nothing in the kingdom that could do justice to your beauty."
She exhaled shakily and looked away quickly, blinking lightly as she looked to the floor between them. When she looked back, her cheeks blushed faintly and her eyes danced as she whispered, so softly it was barely discernible. "Will you adorn me with it, Slayer?"
She didn't move, and Dean was forced to awkwardly circle around her, moving around the clipped wings to the back of her head where her hair hung loose. He kept his eyes firmly away from the wings as he did so, staring instead straight ahead of him, to the nape of Lilith's neck where the first of her vertebrae protruded lightly through the skin, making the flesh stretch across it delicately.
He stared blandly at the skin for a few moments, trying to imagine the trace of his fingers upon it, and the prospect of it being enlivened with pleasure. It was thin, and pale, and seemed so dead in the way it hung on her bones, and Dean couldn't help but wince behind Lilith as he reached for it.
He paused for a moment, breathing out carefully and gritting his teeth.
Lydia's advice to him had been clear, and he needed t take the opportunity being so beautifully presented to him. He had once chance only, and he would have to endure it. For Cas. For his friends. For the City.
For Cas.
Dean's lip trembled as he reached forward, gaze determined, and he pulled lightly on Lilith's loose hair, taking care not to graze any part of her skin as he pulled it backwards behind her ear and slowly slid the hair comb in to keep it in place. He was equally careful to straighten the hair with no other contact, letting his body drift close enough to hers that she could sense its heat, but never coming closer than that and letting her properly discern his presence
He exhaled quietly when he was done, dropping his hand slowly so that it's heat left a trail down Lilith's back. With closed eyes, and a swallow of nausea, he leaned forward, closer and closer, until his nose was parallel to Lilith's ear. She froze at the sense of his proximity behind her, but made no comment, holding her breath as he whispered: "Everything pales to you, my Princess."
Lilith inhaled lightly as Dean lowered his head and allowed the tip of his nose to ghost past Lilith's hair and down the nape of her neck. He held his breath, as she did, letting the vague sound of his movements through the air fill the silence between them, as though he expected the air to crackle with their proximity. Dean scrunched his eyes shut and pleaded with Castiel to forgive him, for all his trespasses, and his Father too, for what he might do, before he leaned forward and let the tip of his nose cross lightly at the base of Lilith's neck, so light it might have been a lock of her own hair tickling her.
Lilith gasped in earnest at the contact and her shoulders rolled backwards slightly as she leaned subconsciously into the touch, seeking it out again. Dean held his breath, refusing to allow further contact until Lilith obliged him, and she did so after a few bated breaths, whispering quietly: "Dean?"
Dean let his cheek come to rest against the farthermost strands of Lilith's hair, making the touch barely discernible, but this time controlling his breathing so that his proximity was audible. He heard the parting of Lilith's lips as she exhaled shakily and adjusted lightly on her feet, her wings jostling.
Slowly, he curled his head inward, letting his nose graze lightly along the skin beneath Lilith's jaw, before he let his lips inch closer, until they were only a hair's breadth away from Lilith's skin.
"My lady, I cannot bear to be near you."
Lilith inhaled sharply, one of her hands jerking at her sides. "Slayer?"
Dean bit his lip and let his teeth graze lightly back across Lilith's neck as he answered: "For every moment I am near you, I am struck but with one thought – to worship you."
Lilith sighed long and slow, and leaned backwards against Dean's touch, her breath stuttering as her neck stretched to the side, allowing Dean further access. He felt his lips twitch in recoil, but forced them to remain near her neck, using his reluctance as a teasing moment, that had her biting her lip in frustration.
"Since the moment I saw you, though I hid it, as was proper. I never confessed, for worry of offending you, commoner as I am."
Lilith's breathing turned musical with a light play of notes of desire, that crept over her breathing to tinge it with arousal: "What would you confess?"
"That I love you. With my heart and soul. As I could never love another, or want another, or dream of another. It has only been you, as many nights as I have known you."
She sighed softly again, this time exhaling a little moan, and twisted her head a little so that the tendon running up her neck was bared to Dean's touch. He stayed still, merely letting his breath ghost across her neck, watching her skin tremble as it came alight with goose bumps and its hairs rose, seeking out his contact.
"I have dreamed forever of holding you, my Princess. But I have kept it at bay, for none could deserve you."
The words echoed in his head, with a chorus of falsity on each repetition, so loud he felt Lilith could surely hear them.
"Mm." She sighed softy again as his words melted into her skin, and her body twisted a little across from his as he moved a little closer, so that his chest pressed just lightly against the wings she wore.
"But I have desired it most ardently, as long as I have lived. To stand at your right hand. And to adore you. For myself, the City and the kingdom." He raised a hand and let it hover at the small of her back, teasing the fabric there but still not quite touching her. In Dean's mind, Castiel's eyes flashed before him once, and he felt himself recoil inwardly, even though he retained his physical position. I'm so sorry, Cas.
"My Princess. I am weak, and I must confess. Even if you order me expelled, I can go no longer without confession."
She breathed softly through her nose, swallowing lightly for some time, before she spoke, voice far more even, in a way that might have been light and lyrical to ears not so thoroughly ruined to her words as Dean's: "Come before me, Slayer."
Dean left with a soft puff of ear against her ear, and another trace of his fingers through the material of her clothing. She stood still and statue-like as he made his way back around to her, kneeling as he appraised him.
There was a weighty silence as he descended before her, and he let his knee drop to the ground, and balance against the thin carpet and the hard stone beneath. Instead of rising after a few moments, as he normally would, he stayed down, awaiting Lilith's nervous command to do otherwise.
Her voice was higher than he'd anticipated it being when she spoke again, though the thought of his having an effect buoyed him with the confidence to stand slowly, hiding his quivering legs by staring directly into her eyes, with an expression he hoped spoke to his lovesick words:"Rise, Slayer."
Lilith smoothed her lips against one another as she surveyed him carefully, pupils wide with anticipation.
"What you say may be true, Slayer. But how can it be proved? How can I be assured?"
Dean let the shadow of a smirk hover behind his lips as he dropped his gaze to her lips and back again. The movement was but a miniscule flicker, and in truth, he did not actually look at her lips at all – for his eyes had gone out of focus as she stared beyond Lilith and willed her to disappear from before him. Still, Lilith caught it, and when he met her eyes, he watched the pupils blow.
"I offer you my heart, Princess, as would every man in the Kingdom, and I kneel before you in plea for you to accept it." He made to kneel again, but Lilith stopped him by stepping forward, and catching his gaze, murmuring: "Do not, Slayer."
He was halfway down, and Lilith had leaned over to reach for him, and their eyes met. As Dean rose, she rose with him, but slowly, enough that, in his movement, their noses were brought almost together, and when Dean finally stood, she made no move to step away.
Dean let his eyes drop to her lips again, and when he looked back at her, he thanked Castiel's Father that in such proximity she was but a blur.
"My Princess?"
She huffed a few small breaths, moving one hand to trace two fingers against his cheek. He held still beneath his touch, though his feet jerked to move away. He let his eyes stare at her as she explored him, in the hope she would see the gesture as affectionate and not blank, until she leaned closer and whispered lightly: "Kiss me."
Dean didn't let himself think about it. He couldn't, until it was done. He obliged immediately, but softly, pressing their lips together in a gentle and heartless kiss. Her lips were unfamiliar in their softness, so unlike the dry skin of Castiel's own that the Angel would never have considered required maintenance. She tasted as she smelled – of lilac and cleanliness – too sweet, too fresh, too dainty. Too soft. Too much.
The kiss was light and pursed, but Lilith sighed into it and leaned into his lips, twisting so to make the contact smooth and supple. When she dropped her head, she gasped as though he had kissed her with the love he proclaimed, and breathed lightly. "You must ask me, Slayer. You must ask me."
Dean kept his eyes on hers as he dropped to his knees below her, and extended his hands tentatively for hers. She gave him one and allowed him to envelop it between his, dropping her gaze momentarily to their joined forms, before looking back at him with a soft, elated smile.
It was almost over; the words were there. And in one heartbeat, he was gone from Castiel forever.
"My Princess. I give you my heart. Will you accept it?"
Lilith gazed at him slowly, running her eyes across his cheekbones and down his eyelashes, across his lips and down his neck, coming to rest again with his – narrow and cool.
"I will, Slayer. And I give you mine in return."
Dean felt his heart jolt, as though it had ceased beating for the entire exchange. When he spoke, it felt as though his body made to repel it up his throat and out his mouth onto the floor before her. For one foul moment, he had the image of Lilith taking it from him, and sinking her teeth into it.
"You...you have bestowed more than the world's worth, my Princess."
The disgust was ridden in his voice, but Lilith seemed scarcely to listen, reaching for him as he stood and hooking her fingers into his chest.
"I have longed for you too, my love." She let her free hand reach up to cup his cheekbone and traced her thumb along the skin, "and I have dreamed you would come to me. It feels still a dream. Please, make love to me. So that I may know it is real."
Dean attacked the moment fiercely, as though he could destroy it, with a rush of lips, teeth and tongue, and Lilith whined against him when he pulled her waist to his chest and cradled the back of her head with his other hand. In the empty hall, the sound was little, but as he attempted to ignore the unnatural taste of Lilith's tongue against his own, the sound overwhelmed him with its slick spits and vile smacks, making his stomach clench around gags and his eyes squeeze shut as though they could drown it out.
When he could take no more, he pulled away and rested his forehead against Lilith's, rasping out hoarsely: "Forgive me, my Princess. I would not befoul your purity until our wedding night."
Lilith stayed leaning against him for longer than he could bear, and he stepped backwards quickly, raising a hand to his mouth as though in horror, but using the quick opportunity to wipe her taste from him. She kept her eyes closed for a moment, and missed the movement, and when she did open them she looked to his chest first, trailing her gaze upwards until she met his eyes.
"You are sweet, my love, to worry so, even as you seduce me so well."
She stepped forward and leaned in to him, and Dean pursed his lips as she placed a soft kiss on his lips, letting her teeth graze the skin lightly as she pulled away. "Until our wedding night we must be apart," she breathed out her words against his lips, and he thought he felt the trace of her tongue there momentarily, "but I await anxiously the moment I am your wife, and I can serve you. Pray, we must not wait long."
She reached for Dean and pulled him into another kiss, careful and tentative, more of the maid she protested to be. But when she withdrew from Dean, her eyes were dark, her face flushed and her smile wide.
"We may announce it following the trial of my parents' murderer, and we must be discreet until then. But I will think of you, my love, when I am alone and at liberty. And I will think of the touch of your lips, and wait for you desperately."
Dean nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat as Castiel flickered and departed behind his eyelids, and the last taste of him was wrenched from him by the twist of Lilith's tongue. "And I you, your Highness, with more love than any other man could bear."
She smiled at him lightly and pressed their foreheads together. "Soon, Dean. Soon you will be mine."
...
Even though Lilith had wished to keep the news of their betrothal quiet, the news spread around the kingdom in less than three days. She wore the haircomb Dean had given her at every social occasion following, and when they'd seen each other in passing, she'd shared with him private, coy glances that made clear to any in the surrounding that the nature of their relationship had changed significantly.
Still, in ordinary circumstances, there might have been enough to keep the secret, except that Lilith's 'subtlety' condoned what might otherwise have been considered riotous whispers. The first night after their betrothal, Dean received instructions from Ruby to attend to his chambers in the Palace. There he found a roll of new sheets and furs for his bed, deposited at its end and wrapped neatly in twine. Ruby, with an arched eyebrow, suggested he sleep in the chambers that night, and in the morning, an attendant served him fresh breakfast, which was cold by the time Dean returned from his soldiers' training, where Alastair had been mysteriously absent. Lilith took to appearing in his vicinity – passing by training in the morning with her ladies twice, and lingering for longer than was seemly, and being present in Sam and Ruby's chambers when Dean visited with his nephew.
In front of Ruby and Sam, she still performed the part of the unattached woman, and she greeted Dean with formal curtsies and cast down eyes. Still, she let her eyes stray once or twice across the line of his shoulders and down his chest, and when she departed that evening, she suggested with a closed-lipped smile that Dean escort her back to her chambers. As Dean closed the door behind them, he saw Sam tilt his head in the silent question and Ruby freeze and purse her lips when they watched the way Lilith wrapped her arm around Dean's.
Lilith was largely silent for the trip back to her rooms, aside from rather blankly asking Dean as to his attendance at the trial. He nodded his assent, and she clutched his arm tight, although her face betrayed no hint of emotion at the investigation of her parents' murder, and she soon turned to lighter topics.
"When it is over, Dean, I hope we may bring smiles to my citizens' faces with our news."
Dean nodded mutely, though he cast her a glowing smile when she looked to him and raised her eyebrows in question.
Clicking her tongue lightly, as they turned into a narrower, darker corridor, she slid closer to him so that her side was pressed against his, and the swell of her breast was detectable against his arm.
"It pains me not to declare it, even once for my people before the trial is done – for it is all but impossible to hide my great happiness."
They continued walking and she lowered her cheek to Dean's shoulder momentarily, brushing it across the material, before raising it and returning to a normal distance from him as they turned and found themselves in a wider hallway, with guards stationed at the end.
They let she and Dean through, without a blink, and obligingly turned away when, as they reached the doorway to Lilith's chamber, she stopped and turned her face to Dean's slowly, eyes sticky as she trailed them down his body.
"It burdens me to be so near you, and not yet serve you as your wife," she whispered lightly against his ear. Dean's spine shivered infinitesimally at the way her voice hung on the word serve, and he was struck with the sudden imagining of Lilith sinking to her knees before him. Once, he thought shakily, the image might have been a desirable one, and the thought of the Princess behaving as a common whore utterly enrapturing. But the suggestion in her voice that made it seem for a moment that eventuality was possible, in the very near future, made adrenaline course through Dean's being in a tingling and electric way that indicated his very very strong refusal of the prospect.
Lilith barely noticed, and with a quick glance to the guards, she leaned forwards once and met the horrified shape of Dean's mouth with open lips, and pulled behind his head so that he was forced forward to taste her. It was only momentary, and meaningful enough – filthy in a way that a Princess' lips had no right to be, and promising in a way that made Dean shudder against her.
Lilith pulled away slowly, licking the sheen of him from her lips, with her eyes fixed on Dean's. "I shall see you at the trial tomorrow, Slayer. It shall comfort me to know you are there, when we face my parents 'murderers and bring them to justice."
Her eyes flashed in a way that Dean would have read as desire, had it not been for her words, and he peeled backwards as slowly as he could, inching from her grip. She let him go and dropped a quick curtsey, before turning and pushing open the door of her chamber, throwing him a coy glance and looking quickly at the bed, before closing the door in his face with a small smile.
Dean ignored his Palace chambers in his daze, and stumbled back to the cottage. Mercifully, it was empty of Ruby and his nephew for the evening, and he had the respite of a silent home as he curled into his bedsheets, and buried his face into the pillow – silently pleading to the Father he'd never acknowledged for his and Castiel's forgiveness, and swearing upon his life, Castiel's, his nephew's, his brother's, Bobby's, Jody's and anyone else's he could have offered, that he would do anything – anything – if his Father would grant him reprieve from this.
...
2013
Keith and Jessica left the room quietly that evening, and Bobby exited without even a word of good night when Greg left for the washroom. When he returned, he didn't even appear to have noticed their departures – eyes fixed on Castiel's as he made his way to his side at the couch and sat slowly, subconsciously, it seemed, leaning towards him so that their biceps were almost touching. Between them, the air hummed with an anticipation Castiel couldn't name. Whether it was his own nervousness that Dean were so close to him through the unwitting Greg, or a worser kind of nervousness which he had not yet had the courage to name, but had started to flash across his mind in the empty hours and made him stand and rush about as though he could force his soul from his body.
If Greg appreciated Castiel's dilemma in any small measure, he said absolutely nothing, aside from watching him unabashedly at points, before looking away and avoiding his answering gaze determinedly after. He fiddled with the amulet at his wrist constantly, and he swallowed often, which in the silence of the small motel was entirely audible. The movement attracted Castiel's gaze every single time, entirely without his willingness.
Greg eventually "flicked the late night news on" and sat silently beside Castiel. Castiel appreciated the respite it afforded, to have Greg's attention away from him for a moment, but it scarcely performed its purpose, and Greg's attention to the subject matter (a grievous war in the Middle East, no less) waned within minutes, and became immediately fixed on Castiel once more.
After an hour, Castiel could bear it no longer, and turned to Greg politely with a questioning gaze. Greg looked away immediately and made a hasty retreat to the kitchen, bustling around pointlessly in there and eventually returning with two pieces of bread – one on top of one another, with nothing in between – which he placed on the arm of the chair beside him and failed to acknowledge.
Castiel bore the silence, and the late night television for another half an hour before mildly suggesting that he might need some air. Greg's eyes flashed, but he only nodded blithely, and looked away as Castiel made his way to the door. He didn't move from the couch as Castiel made his way across the balcony and down the stairs of the motel. Not knowing the area, he didn't stray far beyond the lights of the building, moving behind it to a small patch of greenery.
The night was smoggy, by his experience – he was used to the uninhibited reign of starlight. But, since the Industrial Age, he understood from one of Greg's dvds the sky had lost some of its luminescence, as a result of collected discharges of dirty substances that formed cloudy pollution. Still, after so long inside, it was a welcome relief. In any event, the sky might have been on fire, and he would have welcomed it, for a reprieve from Greg's company.
It wasn't Greg's fault, really. His behavior in the past few days, in particular, the past day, left him in no doubt that his previous hypothesis was correct. Greg was unduly fascinated by his story, erratic in his moods and focus, and uninhibited and unabashedly interested by Castiel. While his gaze and veneer was still Greg, and there was not yet any mark of puncture, it was morphing – a smile there, two shocked blinks at a horrific turn of the story, and a shiver at the mention of Lilith's declaration to Dean following their betrothal. Dean was stirring, more and more wildly, beneath his entrapment, and he was beginning to seek purchase. Greg was unaware, filtering Dean's efforts so that Dean's attempts read into his normal behavior – his open attachment to the amulet, for instance.
And it should have been a cause of great ceremony for Castiel – particularly as his story drew to a close, at least, the part of it that he could account for – that Dean seemed willing to come forward. For the thought had plagued him many nights since Greg had first refused to see him that Dean might never be stirred – too long subject to whims of other souls that lived their lives in his image. Was Greg even the first of Dean's returns? Castiel had caused to wonder that often – Dean might have lived more than one lifetime apart from him and his memories, smothered beneath the enormity of multitudes of human experience.
It was remarkable then, that he fought as he did, bursting beneath Greg's fingers and eyeballs, and pressing out little hints to Castiel of his whereabouts. Reassurances. Declarations.
Castiel felt sick.
Angels didn't vomit. Not, at least, when their Grace was halfway to being properly restored. But after long as a human, and out of habit installed therein, Castiel raced to a mild looking bush and ducked his face towards it, preparing his mouth for the onslaught of the acid of distaste.
None came. Harsh, worried breathing did though, and he eventually knelt in the same spot, using the greenery of the thing to create privacy for the act, as he fought the frantic exertions of his lungs and forced them back into submission.
It wasn't that he didn't desire Dean's return. He did, with every atomic compound in his being – they sung for him continuously, and ached for his touch. It was never in question that it was Dean. Always Dean. Forever Dean.
But the token of that promise hung around Greg's wrist now. Castiel had given it to him for Dean, certainly, to stir him and to remind him, and to reassure him that his promise held true. But it was Greg that wore it, and that thought did not bother Castiel. He watched Greg's attention to it with interest bordering on fondness, and the thought of taking it away and denying Greg the trust Castiel had placed in him made Castiel's heart drop.
It wasn't just that Greg was made in Dean's image. When Castiel imagined denying him , Dean beside him with his hand in his, he saw Greg's face crumple in a way that Dean's never would. He saw the unique hunch of his shoulders, and heard the distinct crack of his voice as he swallowed around the swell of his throat. No tears, not for Greg. Only dull, weak despair and willing acceptance. Castiel knew Greg apart from Dean, and saw his face now in a way that only vaguely resembled Dean's own. And he saw his heart too –so close, yet so far apart. Thumping feebly as a last bastion of life force within a boy so utterly wrecked by the circumstances he had endured.
It was not guilt though that made Castiel pause. That was there of course, and Castiel had questioned from the first day what would occur to Greg were Dean to be revived. He had doubted efficacy of taking one life to restore another, and had held out in the hope that Dean's presence within this man justified the action – it was an abnormal circumstance and so would be resolved abnormally. The soul was indestructible and Greg would go forth. Castiel had encouraged himself on grounds that Greg's soul needed the rest that separation from Dean's would provide, and he was happy for it.
But there was more to the thought of abandoning Greg. Of sacrificing him in a way that might rid him prematurely of the few things he held dear. He was a person who'd lived a life, and there were others who cared about it. His sister, Charlie, for one, and Sam and Jessica and Bobby. Did Greg deserve that? To be cast aside for Dean's sake? Could Castiel do that? And face his own betrayal of their friendship?
He couldn't help but dwell on the fact that Sam and Bobby had been immune to his attentions. Certainly, he had related the story as he had done for Greg, and had made mention of their parts for their own benefit. But his focus was always too much Dean, and the information he relayed would scarcely be enough to stir them. They showed so little sign of it having affected them – Sam was occupied with Jessica, and Bobby remained stoic. There were hints of their persons, but nonetheless, they seemed content. Only a small bleed of affection for Greg now was the only sign of any major change.
If Dean were re-installed, what could be done for his friends? Could they be brought to him too? Castiel doubted he would be content to live with the visages of his brother and his mentor without their knowledge. Keith was not attached to Greg enough that they might stay together after this incident were resolved, but Dean was attached enough to Sam that he could not let him leave once they were reunited.
But could the same be done for Keith and Mike? To force them out for the sake of Bobby and Sam? What about Jessica, with her bright smiles and warm heart and sweet touches to Keith's hand? Could Castiel deprive her of the man that she loved, and was so clearly designed for? Was Sam owed more than Ruby? Could Castiel deprive him of this second opportunity? This quiet, comfortable sweetness that had even attracted a smile from Bobby when he thought he was alone?
But most of all, Greg. Castiel's thoughts turned to him the most, being cast aside and thrown away by what might have been his closest friend ever, at least, as far as he acted. His life was yet to live, and there was much seemingly had left to discover. Dean had had love, a close family, a nephew, a strong position in the kingdom, and close and unwavering friends. But Greg had been deprived of so much – his family, his friend, his livelihood, his future, his happiness. Could Castiel send him from this place before he had known the true realm of human experience. It was promising there for him in Keith and Jessica. And his work in finding Castiel's tomb, Castiel was sure, would bring him accolades. He might be restored – he might find more than he had. This would only be the beginning for him, if he were allowed to remain. But what if it were the end otherwise?
Worse still, Castiel thought blankly as he could, to sway the stir of worry in his chest, was what he would do in the event Greg remained. He had focused on Greg throughout his visitation in the hope of finding Dean. But he could not deny that he had come to enjoy his company, his touch. Even his attention, smothering as it were at the present moment, was sweet, kind and did not fill Castiel with the recoil he would have imagined.
He did not dwell on the fact that the thought of more – more time with Greg, more conversations might not fill him with disgust at all, but a kind of vague hope and complacency.
Could he leave him, and leave Dean thereby, with no promise of his being returned? When their souls eventually made it to heaven, would Dean await him? Or would he be bound with Greg forever if Castiel left him this way? Would he withdraw from Castiel, for having been so fond of Greg, or for failing to bring him forth when he had known how to?
If Castiel did leave Greg to his devices, and allow him to live out his remainder, would he do so with him, or would he hark back to the heavenly host? Would Dean want Castiel to stay with Greg? And if so, in what manner? Would Dean care for Greg too, and wish Castiel to watch over him? Or would he revile their friendship?
For his own, Castiel felt that he could not leave Greg alone following the test that he had inflicted upon him. That he owed him more attention than as Dean's vessel, and more kindness than he had shown previously. That Greg deserved kindness from someone, anyone, and Castiel would be cruel to deny it, when he was best positioned with opportunity.
The resolve came to him without an obvious conclusion, and he stood slowly, once he had regained control of his breathing, brushing himself off and making his way carefully back up the stairs. Greg was asleep, although he'd left the television playing for Castiel's benefit, the volume on low but detectable enough to his ears.
Castiel slunk through the living room slowly, and down the corridor, starting when he saw that the door to Greg's room was wide open. The light was out and Greg was breathing heavily in sleep – a relief, to Castiel's eyes, knowing that it visited him so irregularly.
He hadn't even managed to get himself under the covers before unconsciousness had taken over. He was sprawled on his stomach, arms flung wide and legs splayed, as though he had fallen there. He'd removed his breeches, although he kept on a black pair of underwear not unlike those that Sam had given Castiel, and he still wore his undershirt and the amulet around his wrist.
Castiel was quiet as he entered the room and stood in the corner, watching Greg carefully for a sign of nightmare or disturbance. It was a pointless exercise, given that he had no power to dismiss one should it arise. Still, it seemed like his presence was a comfort for Greg shifted on the bed and burrowed his face into his pillow, nuzzling it leisurely before sighing and smacking his lips and settling back into sleep.
He slept for ten hours, long past the others waking and bustling into the kitchen to make breakfast. Castiel joined them silently, and they made no mention of his absent presence upon their arrival, but he noted Jessica's small smile when Greg appeared from his bedroom half an hour later, hair ruffled and eyes glazed with sleep, scratching at the back of his neck absently.
If Castiel's decision had not already been made, it was made by that small human moment, that reminded him of the sanctity of every breath of life, as long as it could be endured. Dean would be restored to him one day, in whatever shape or form, and Castiel would take him as he was and welcome him with every part of his soul he had left to give. But, in the interim, he could bring no more destruction to the place around him. For he had destroyed much of Dean's life once, and he could not do the same for Greg, and Jessica, and Keith and Mike, without better cause than his own selfishness.
His storytelling would desist, and Greg would be allowed to remain.