Without Gabriel's laughter and constant teasing filling its halls, the castle felt hollow and empty. Even Anna's childish giggles had disappeared, because she had friends now. Despite all the extra responsibilities, now that he was in charge, yet he found himself more bored than ever before. Following the attempted attack a cycle ago, Zachariah had pretty much forced two guards on him at all times.

Ever since he could confidently ride horses, Castiel managed to almost lose track of days on the back of Talundonveh. He'd owned Tal ever since his twelfth birthday. Back then, his golden stallion was just one summer old, sent by an old ally in Moondoor, the furthest kingdom in the known west. He couldn't ride him for a few seasons, but the first time he had was definitely a far cry from learning to ride on an old mare.

Alas, it seemed he could no longer ride Tal like that. The rush of the wind in his face and galloping so fast it felt like flying? Apparently that was too reckless in such a dire situation. It meant his alone time didn't feel so alone. It was disconcerting, always having two figures behind you out of the corner of your eye. He'd also been 'advised' (also known as made) to avoid the forest, so he was just riding along the tree line. His slow pace allowed him to gaze at the newly bloomed green leaves. All it did was remind him of the man who had saved his life – Dean Winchester.

Castiel had known, by the way he'd shifted and paused, that 'Singer' wasn't his real name. That, and his own memories. Dean had looked so different then, just a bloody and broken Purgatory boy. That was what he'd really meant when he'd told him that he was glad they got to meet under better circumstances. Castiel felt a phantom pain in his own eye, briefly remembering one of the guards kick the young squire in the face until Gabriel finally yelled enough. He shifted uncomfortably on his horse, but that didn't stop him from rehearing the broken 'please' directed straight at him.

"Your Highness!" The guard's voice startled Castiel. "We've ridden quite far, and it's getting dark."

He sighed. "Bartholomew, I haven't had a bedtime since I was ten summers old."

Castiel didn't look at him, but was pretty sure the guard pulled a face. "I mean no disrespect, sire, but Zachariah said we need to be on high alert, and the night is full of dangers."

"Isn't your job not to avoid those dangers but to defeat them?" Still, Castiel gave a soft pull on his reigns in order to command Tal to turn around. The sooner Gabriel returned, the better. Castiel frowned to himself. His older brother hadn't sent a crow for two cycles, not even to tell him that they had a safe journey. It wasn't unlike Gabriel to be forgetful, even slightly irresponsible at times, but never truly inconsiderate. Perhaps Castiel was worrying too much. He couldn't help it, though. He'd never gone to battle, every time one seemed to happen he'd been called too young, though he knew people much younger than he was were fighting, so with no reason to venture more than half a day's ride away from the secure walls of the city Castiel simply hadn't seen anything else. The only different land he'd seen was Purgatory when he was just seven summers old. He'd read books, of course, and gazed at maps, but in truth he had no idea what lay beyond Eden. He would feel more secure if he was able to picture where Gabriel was.

If Castiel had been alone, the ride back to the castle would have been completed before the sun even completely set. At this forced slow pace, the moon was shining in the sky by the time he'd made it up the stairs to his rooms, still followed closely by guards. By all means he should be tired, as he had been constantly for a whole moon cycle. His boredom, though, had turned itself into energy. Castiel lay on his bed, tossing and turning and unable to sink comfortably into sleep. He eventually ended up sprawled diagonally across the sheets, staring at the ceiling. Assuming he was nervous about the tournament, he ran through every plan he'd had to make in his head, just in case he'd missed something. Of course he hadn't.

Giving up seemed like the best option. Castiel slid up and walked towards his bookshelf. He only kept his favourite books there; the rest went in the more than substantial library. Running his fingers across the carefully crafted spines, he chose a book he hadn't read for summers and winters both. It was the one exception to his 'no fiction' rule, for Naomi had once confirmed it was just a story, whereas legends could be true. For my youngest son, said the symbols in loose translation. Castiel traced over the immaculate handwriting, Enochian made into art. There was a portrait in one of the corridors, along with others of the Aegra line, painted as a gift just a cycle after Anna was born and presented to Eden. It wasn't as if Castiel couldn't ever see his mother's face, not that he had much desire to, anyway. They'd had a professional relationship, from what he could remember. They had been as close as a mother and son needed to be – expected to be - and no closer. Still, it saddened him that he could barely picture her actual face.

It was actually harder than one would have thought to trace Naomi's history back before she married into House Aegra. Still, Castiel had been interested and stubborn before he had to learn any actual responsibilities. As it turned out, Naomi had come from a family nearly as old and powerful as the Aegras. Just after she arrived, there was an all out rebellion in the West, which led to Moondoor eventually becoming the Capitol and main power. He wasn't there and so couldn't be the best judge, but Castiel guessed Naomi's coldness may have been because his father had mostly ignored the war instead of lending support.

Castiel remembered, just after the last royal pregnancy had been announced, how Naomi had given him the book. It is very old, she had warned, my father gave it to me as a wedding present before I came here. At six summers old he was still learning to read properly, and so struggled to make out what the message actually said. It was one of the few moments Naomi, his mother, had smiled at him and read the message aloud.

"But mama? How do you know it won't be a little boy?" Castiel all but whispered outside his memory world.

I can feel it when I place my hand over her. I have always wanted a daughter. I never imagined I would get the chance after birthing you. She will be called Anael. Naomi had smiled down at her swollen stomach. I think she will be a spirited one already. You were much easier to carry, Castiel. She mumbled something in her mother tongue, something he'd never heard her speak before.

Castiel closed his eyes and held the book against his chest. The last time he'd read it was when he was thirteen summers old and that was only to translate the words into Enochian, not to appreciate the story. It seemed almost pointless, his last candle had almost burnt out and he needed his rest. Still, he couldn't resist turning the pages.

It was a story about three young adventures; Balata (Justice), Teloah Congamphlgh (Pride) and Zylna Noco (Greed). Justice was notably older than the other two in both body and soul, though did not demand complete leadership. Instead, he let Pride and Greed do as they wished and speak up whenever he tried to make a decision. The worst thing about the story, Castiel thought, was how there was no reason behind this adventure, the book started halfway in and didn't explain much of what had happened before it. On their journey, Justice, Pride and Greed met their fair share of troubles, including their ship getting attacked by the Pirate Queen and a nasty encounter with a pack of werewolves. Every time an obstacle was passed, Greed disappeared for a night and a day. Justice finally brought up the issue after he discovered the central fangs of the vampire they'd just killed were missing.

Greed wasn't as smart as he was selfish. He immediately admitted to using the monsters and his companions as a way to get ingredients for one of his most ambitious spells yet. Pride insisted he was lying, but Justice could see the truth in his eyes. Because he was kind, Greed was released alone with a small piece of flatbread and a half full water skin. Pride began to blame Justice for every misfortune they'd come across during the journey, even when it was blatantly his own fault. Justice grew very tired of this but was a strong believer in freedom of speech and did not dismiss Pride. Eventually the other man left anyway, calling Justice an unworthy partner. Summers later Greed and Pride both returned in an alliance together. Justice was good and fair and wise and calmly tried to reason with them both, but they simply ignored him and transformed his body to reflect his soul, so he had the frail body of an elderly man. Justice was left to the sands of the desert, but was unable to find his way home and so faded away into nothing.

The moral of the story was an easy one: life isn't fair and justice doesn't overcome the evils of other men. It was actually an incredibly sinister bedtime story, but Castiel understood why it was a wedding present, and the last lesson Naomi ever had the chance to teach him. Not that it particularly stuck with him, he was rather fond of Justice as a character. Castiel closed the book after taking one last glance at the colourful illustrations.

When he next opened his eyes, the birds were singing their dawn song. He longed to close his eyes again. Apparently his sleep had been restless. The old book was still pressed closed against his chest. There were preparations to approve and guests to greet and a brutally early tournament to oversee. It wouldn't get interesting till the last few rounds; the first few were just the best fighters knocking out the amateurs. Not that Castiel found any of it that entertaining; violence for sport with a war going on seemed pointless. Gabriel himself only kept it running for the women the event brought into the city with it.

Castiel dressed himself in the finest (also the scratchiest) clothes he could find that would still allow for the summer heat. His cloak was beige and blue, the Aegra colours, and his obligatory coronet, which was a simple silver ring – minimal decoration at his own choosing. He was just splashing his face with water when a knock echoed around the room.

"We're here to escort you and The Princess Anael to the Fighting Arena, Sire."

He felt not so different from a prisoner. It was definitely a relief to see Anna, her radiance overshadowing Castiel's misery. His heart ached, she looked more like a woman than the sweet child he'd known for thirteen summers. She smiled at him moments into their escorted walk and took his hand.

"Are you alright, Castiel? You've been so busy recently." She paused. "This day will be good for you."

"I hope so," Castiel admitted. "The conversation will probably tire me further." He disliked this; their interaction was so stiff and formal. It was unnatural.

Anna walked with her head held high. "I'm hoping the winner gives me his favour."

He felt his face relax. "I have no doubt, but there are some seasoned knights competing, and few are what you would call handsome, I promise."

The Fighting Arena would not be so well maintained if it wasn't used as an unofficial extension of the Barracks. Tournaments were rare because of the war, and were therefore sparse other than when in use for training. It, like most of the original city, was ancient looking. When slavery was around, many generations ago, there were fights to the death every quarter cycle. It was open to all in those days, gold only for securing seats with a good view. It, therefore, had to be a very large structure to accommodate so many people. Although the arena wasn't exactly close to the castle, sometimes the noise still travelled there.

Castiel smiled through the mandatory greetings. There could have been one hundred polite handshakes, all faceless men with faceless women on their arm, some young enough to be their daughters. The sun was piercing and scalding on the crowd, where there was no shade. Castiel was incredibly thankful for his position in the box for once.

The tournament was introduced. It was a boring affair really, just the same old gushing about kingdom and community and whatever else. He was itching to just clap his hands and start the fighting. Deep down, Castiel understood the importance of the tournament. Whilst Eden was rich, they were in the middle of a long war and they'd had to cut their spending wherever they could. Castiel vaguely remembered a time where not only fights but theatre and music used to take place in the arena, rather than military training. Eden needed this for moral, and since spectating was free half the kingdom had shown up in excitement. After all, it was only an event that happened once a summer.

It was largely the same as the summer before, and the summer before that too. So many people entered (as they did not need to be high born) that the heats alone took two or three days. The competition only became slightly interesting around the semi-finals, and because he was Regent, Castiel had to spectate the entire thing.

It was a mystery how he managed to get through it to be honest, considering his nights were restless. After the pleasantries of the first day, Castiel found himself with little company at all. Anna had run off somewhere, presumably to socialise or even to avoid the competition all together. He found himself falling asleep, especially without the cold to keep him alert, his general boredom and the fact he hadn't been sleeping well.

"My lord!" He heard Zachariah bark.

"Yes?" He mumbled, eyes still closed.

"Sire," a voice he wasn't all the familiar with said, "I came to ask for the competitor I should promote."

Oh yes, the betting. Castiel failed to find the fun in handing over hard owned money that may or may not bring you success. He had no interest in who would actually win. "May I hear the names?"

The bet collector cleared his throat. "Last year's winner; Lord Gordon of House Walker, Sir Tamiel of House Bialo, Sir Jeremiah of House Iasa and-" he paused, "a commoner, sire."

Castiel sat up in his chair. "Does he have a name?"

He swallowed. "Singer's boy, your Highness, Dean Singer."

His eyes widened at the name. Dean actually did it? And got this far? Castiel felt a rush of second hand pride, which was ridiculous considering he'd only actually met the man once. Of course, Castiel had seen Dean fight and he'd done it well, but he hadn't been the best or most refined fighter Castiel had ever seen, though Dean did mention he'd been a squire many years ago. Going by what he could grasp from the man's personality, Castiel wasn't truly that shocked. Dean Singer (Winchester?) had a heart of determination and wore it with pride.

"I choose Dean."

"Are you sure, my lord? Statistically Sir Gordon has been performing the best."

Zachariah waved him off. "Everybody likes an underdog, for now. Keep their interest for this round and whether he is knocked out or not, turn their attention to Sir Gordon for the finale."

To Castiel's slight pleasure, the collector looked at him. "My lord?"

"Zachariah knows more than I, listen to his suggestion."

The collector bowed his head and walked away, presumably into the stands. Castiel made sure to force his eyes open, with hope that Dean might actually win. He swallowed, thinking over that eventuality. He'd almost actually promised that he'd get Dean a position in the army. Overruling Uriel wouldn't be a huge issue, he was Regent, but there could be a problem with his treatment, considering he was technically a prisoner.

Dean's first fight was boring and over pretty quickly. Castiel found himself leaning forward and paying extra attention. Just trying to get a grasp of his fighting technique. Dean was unrefined, rough around the edges, and had the wrong stance and grip. By Edenish standards, on paper, he'd be terrible. He did, however, make up for it in force and cunning. He fought with the intention of putting on a show. In fact, Dean had disarmed Sir Tamiel in mere moments in comparison to the other fights.

Castiel worried. Gordon, too, played dirty. He found himself wincing the whole way during his semi-final, more so when he saw the injury Sir Jerimiah bore. They were in the middle of a war, they couldn't waste metal on blunted blades for entertainment. That, and apparently the danger made the event all the more entertaining. Sir Jeremiah didn't appear to be injured terribly, but he'd be out of commission for a few days at the least.

Both Dean and Gordon knelt down in front of Castiel, swords laid on the ground, as was standard procedure. Castiel didn't need to say anything, though Gabriel usually did. Instead, he opted to simply nod his head once instead, commencing the fight. He felt his chest flutter when Dean bent down to pick up his sword, showing off his muscles. Castiel was unfamiliar with the sensation, and could only compare it with nerves.

The fight began with Gordon attacking first, Dean on the defence. If anything, Dean had more than decent footwork, able to block and dodge with ease. There was a lot of repetition of jabbing and blocking until Gordon took a risk and took a swing at Dean's knees. He appeared to have anticipated the move, and jumped clean over the sword.

Taking an opportunity, Dean hit Gordon's chest with the flat of his blade, knocking him back a few steps. This angered Gordon, giving him the adrenaline to hit and jab and thrust more frequently. It was only when Dean visibly taunted him that Castiel realised Dean was playing with him, barely even attempting to disarm, even though he'd had a few opportunities. Although Castiel had a strong dislike for Lord Gordon, his swordsmanship skills were unquestionable. All it took was for Dean to get too cocky before Gordon managed to slice him clean across the shoulder before taking hold of it from behind and, Castiel closed his eyes at the sound, dislocated it.

The air was tense for a moment and it was obvious that Gordon was the victor, until Dean came to his senses and elbowed Gordon in the throat. Swapping sword arms, Dean began to all-out attack, which to his credit was over quickly. Gordon had been off guard and his sword was out of his hand before he really had a chance to defend himself. Castiel hadn't really paid attention to how it had happened, having been distracted by Dean. He looked so confident, and the sweat from the sun suited him.

The crowd began to cheer and scream Dean's name, though Castiel would assume most of them had never seen his face before. Gordon, rather out of character, bowed his head and left the arena without creating a fuss, though he didn't shake Dean's hand. Dean looked fazed by the crowd, and, for the first time, weary. He absent mindedly reached round and pushed his shoulder back into place.

"Your highness," he knelt.

Castiel bit his lip. His eyes shone in the beautiful day like the brightest green leaf from his most delicious apple tree. Gods, Castiel was selfish, but it was decided. This was a good thing, he convinced himself. "You may rise, Dean Singer. You have achieved much today, and for that you should be proud. You are the first competitor in this tournament's short history that has won without formal Edenish training, so I must reward you further. I will offer you a position in the royal household, as my personal guard."

The gasps from the spectators and Dean's glare of horror and confusion made Castiel realise in an instant that he'd made a terrible mistake.