The crown of a king was proving to be much heavier than the crown of a prince, Michael reflected. There was no reason for it to be so different that he could find, but it was a fact nonetheless. There was a little more gold in his father's - his - crown than there had been in the one he wore before; a few more jewels, a little larger all around, and it made Michael's neck hurt and his head ache.

The weight wasn't so much on his skull though, but settled into the pit of his stomach and wrapped around his chest like a thick and ever-tightening chain. He hadn't thought there'd be so much more pressure now than before; his father had trained him well, given him plenty of responsibilities, but somehow there were hundreds more of them now that it was all left to him. Or at least, it felt that way.

Gabriel wasn't helping either. He was heir to the throne now, but every time Michael pointed out that that title came with certain duties Gabriel seemed to find some excuse to scuttle off somewhere else. Usually with some mention of the fact that the heir to the throne should be Michael's son. Which Michael couldn't argue with, except for the obvious fact that he didn't have a son yet.

He was beginning to agree with one of the last few things his father had said to him just a few days before his death; that Michael should have been looking for a wife a long time ago. And Michael wished he had his father to help him make sure he wasn't going to make some insane decision that he was going to regret.

"Your majesty?"

Michael sighed, rubbing his forehead. He almost leaned forward but stopped himself. His crown was too heavy for that, he kept fearing that it would fall off. It hadn't ever fully registered how much more the king wore his crown than the princes and princess wore theirs until now. "Good morning, Naomi."

The royal advisor set a pile of documents down in front of him. "I left the ones that can wait and that I felt you didn't need my help for in your office."

Paperwork. A unique sort of hell, Michael had thought before all of it became his job. Now the feeling had intensified. "Anything exceptionally urgent at the moment?"

"The Purgavains are still testy, I'm afraid."

"Of course they are." He sighed, and reached for the report she was offering him. "I thought they had been calming down over the last few weeks?"

"They seemed to have been, your majesty, for awhile. Now they're back to starting skirmishes at the border."

"Have they come across ours or Humaear's borders yet?"

"According to reports they haven't gone any farther into Humaear than is usual, but they have been coming into Edengar. Nothing worse than a few small fights, no deaths on our side as of yet, and only a few injuries. Still, I know how you feel about letting your enemies think they have the upper hand."

Enemies thinking Edengar was going soft had been Michael's primary argument for banishing Lucifer. Purgavai wasn't terrifically threatening, disorganized and fighting amongst themselves as they were, but if Purgavai continued Hellacia may begin thinking they could get away with the same. "Have Zachariah come talk to me about it later. Ambassador Kali as well."

Naomi nodded. "Together or separately, your majesty?"

"Separately. Ambassador Kali first, I'll give her a chance to do something about these trespasses." He doubted she would, but he'd give her the chance for the sake of show. He couldn't understand how Kali had become the Purgavain ambassador to Edengar, she never seemed to accomplish anything.

Naomi nodded again and made a note to herself. "I'll tell her as soon as I leave here, your majesty. Now, you've had a request for a meeting from Lord Milton, I think he wants to offer his niece as a marriage option."

Michael frowned. "I don't suppose there's a polite way to decline in advance."

"It's unlikely, sire."

Michael sighed in resignation. "Alright. Try to keep him from staying for too long, if you can. What's next?"

Naomi made another note to herself and pulled the next document from the pile.

"Do know how the Novak's are dealing with the king's death?" Sam asked.

Dean gave him a reprimanding look. "How would I know anything?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean was fairly certain that Sam knew about him and Castiel, but the last thing he wanted was to say something incriminating only to find out that he didn't. Not that he thought Sam would say anything, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

"Dean. Seriously?"

Dean shifted from one foot to the other, focusing his attention on the armor he was patching. "Okay, so say I do know. Why should I tell you?"

"I was just curious. I'm in the library most of the day, it's not exactly where they go to discuss what's going on. I don't know anything about what's going on in the castle. Way more gossip comes through here; soldiers come in. I know how they are."

"Well, they're managing. As well as can be expected, I guess."

Sam looked around, ensuring they hadn't received any company that the two of them would rather not have eavesdropping. "I don't think the king is reacting at all."

Dean sneered. "Cas says the same thing. Sometimes I don't think Michael - sorry, King Michael - feels anything at all. Only cares about his duty to the throne and the kingdom. Screw his family, if they're an obstacle. You know, he was the biggest voice for Prince Lucifer being banished?"

Sam probably had heard about that, gossip was bound to have reached him about it sometime in the last few months, even buried behind his books as he was. Sure enough, Sam nodded. "I'd heard rumors," he told Dean. "I can't imagine it. Arguing to have your own brother thrown out of the kingdom."

Dean nodded. "Don't get me wrong, I get why it had to happen, but actually being the one behind it? I don't care what you might do, Sammy, I don't think I could ever be the one saying that you had to be punished for it. Especially a 'I'll never see you again' kind of punishment."

"Glad to hear it."

Dean grinned. "Can't we talk about something more cheerful?"

"Like what? The excitement that is your job?"

"Oh, because your job is riveting."

"I didn't suggest we start talking about my job." Sam enjoyed his work, and Dean knew it, but he himself would be bored to tears by a discussion of old documents and ancient stories.

Someone knocked against the door frame to announce their presence. Both of them looked up casually, then shot to their feet, backs straight. Sam bowed his head. "Prince Samandriel."

The youngest of the Novak family inclined his head just enough to acknowledge Sam's existence before turning his attention to Dean. "We're getting several new recruits this week. They'll need just basic training swords, the usual. Probably about eight."

Dean nodded, thinking. "I have three or four in the back already. I'll get to work on the others. Do you want me to deliver them or will they come to pick them up?"

"I'll send them to you. They have to meet you eventually, after all."

Dean nodded. "I'll have the swords here, then."

Samandriel gave a single, quick nod, turned on his heel, and left the smithy.

Dean smiled and shook his head after the prince was gone. "He's a little bit weird."

Usually Sam would tell him that he couldn't say something like that about a prince, but he kept quiet this time, probably remembering what he'd been saying about the king earlier. "What makes you say that?" he asked instead.

Dean shrugged, returning to his work. "He just doesn't act much like a prince, if you ask me. Like a soldier, sure. Not a prince."

"Do any of them besides Princess Anael and King Michael act like royalty, now that Lucifer's been banished?"

"Sometimes, yeah. And even when goofing off or something there's still this… I don't know, this aura around the rest of them that lets you know they're above you on the food chain. Samandriel's just different. And he never introduces himself as a prince. If you didn't know he was you'd never guess it. Just seems like another member of the army. A high ranking member of the army, sure, but sometimes it takes me a minute to remember that that's not all he is."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Little of both, maybe? Sometimes it seems like he's trying too hard, like he's trying to prove something as the youngest. You know, the king used to tell him all the time that he was the only one with any military skill out of all of them?"

"Is that bad?"

"It's a lot of pressure to put on a kid's shoulders, that's what it is. Especially considering how little pressure King Charles seemed to put on the rest of his kids. Castiel told me once that his father never really seemed to expect anything of him beyond doing as he was told when he was told to do something. Definitely didn't expect him to start leading armies at thirteen."

"I always got the impression he enjoyed it," Sam said. Dean could understand why, it seemed that every time he saw Samandriel he was buried in a pile of books on military history and strategy, or else training, or getting ready to train, or coming back from training. He'd always seemed to be happy about it. Or, at least, as happy as Prince Samandriel ever looked. He didn't seem to have a broad array of facial expressions.

"Maybe," Dean replied. "But still. Big shoes for a little guy."

Castiel worried about it sometimes, he knew. But then, Castiel worried about a lot of things. And it really wasn't Dean's business, in the end.

"I don't know how I can make myself any clearer," Kali was saying through gritted teeth. "I will send a messenger to relay your message to King Richard, but neither of us can just snap our fingers and make people who live on the borders instantly behave themselves. We are not ordering these attacks."

Michael didn't trust Kali as far as he could throw her and didn't believe her words for a second. "Well, I suggest you find a way to stop them, whether you're ordering them or not. I'm not going to tolerate this."

Kali made an angry noise, shot to her feet, and stormed out of the room. Michael watched her go with disinterest before stepping into the hallway to find a guard. "Tell Commander Zachariah I wish to speak with him now," Michael ordered, and returned to the meeting room.

Zachariah had been told to expect the summons, so he arrived shortly. He gave a quick bow upon entering. "Your majesty."

"Commander. Did Naomi tell you why I wanted to speak to you?"

"She mentioned it had something to do with Purgavains and the skirmishes on the borders, your majesty."

Michael nodded. "I just ended a meeting with Ambassador Kali, and let's just say that I didn't find the conversation particularly reassuring. If the fighting stops, fantastic. If not, I want to be prepared."

"Of course, sire. Might I suggest more patrols for the border?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of more effective patrols, rather than simply more of them. Send out a patrol of some of our best, teach the Purgavains a lesson. I think that would do us more good, don't you?"

It was mostly rhetorical but Zachariah nodded even so. "That does sound like the best course of action, your majesty. Did you have any specific men in mind?"

Michael leaned back in his chair, wondering if Zachariah was going to agree with his suggestion or if the man's insecurities and jealousy would cause him to argue. "I believe my brother is ready to go on a patrol a bit farther from home, don't you, Commander?"

A flicker of irritation flashed across Zachariah's face, but it was soon reigned in and replaced with an agreeable smile. Michael chose not to acknowledge the initial reaction, the end result was far more important. "I believe he is, sire. I imagine he is plenty trained enough to handle a small number of Purgavain troublemakers."

"Exactly. Do you have any recommendations for who he should take with him?"

Zachariah shook his head. "None that immediately come to mind, sire. I could think about it, if you like, but I imagine your brother would prefer to pick the members of his patrol personally."

That was certainly true enough. When it came to the army Samandriel liked being in charge of as much as possible. Thankfully, he was good enough to warrant being allowed the control. "I imagine you're right about that. I'll talk to him later, after he's done with training. You're dismissed."

Zachariah bowed again and left.

Michael had wondered about sending Samandriel out so far from home, but he thought he was ready for it. Samandriel was good at what he did and had plenty of potential to be even better. And Michael liked the security of knowing it was one of his brothers out on the borders. They felt more trustworthy than any of the other soldiers, including Zachariah.

Samandriel entered Michael's office a few hours later, interrupting Michael's paperwork, much to the king's relief. The youngest Novak knocked lightly on the door as he entered to alert Michael to his presence.

"Are you busy?"

"Yes. Come in."

Samandriel smirked and pulled over the chair that sat against the wall specifically for visitors. He sat down across from Michael, surveying the papers with an air of disgust. "That looks unpleasant. Zachariah said you wanted to talk to me about some patrols?"

Michael nodded, signed the letter to the McNivens family that he'd just finished, and set it aside. "Have you been getting the reports about the border skirmishes with Purgavai?"

Samandriel nodded. "Yes, sir. No deaths or serious injuries yet."

"I'm hoping to keep it that way. I spoke to Ambassador Kali, and so far it doesn't sound like she's going to do much to stop the fights. Commander Zachariah and I agreed that the best course of action would be to send a patrol with a few more well-trained men than usual. Put them down all at once and hopefully scare them back to their side of the mountains."

"Sounds like a sound plan to me." Samandriel looked faintly hopeful. "Am I here because you want me to be on the patrol?"

Michael couldn't resist. "No." Samandriel's face fell a little, but Michael was impressed by his control. Someone who knew him less would never have noticed the change. "I want you to lead it."

The smile was as well hidden as the disappointment had been, but the straightening of Samandriel's shoulders was a little more evident. It reassured Michael that sending Samandriel out was the right call.

"I thought you'd like to choose your own men."

"Yes, sir. When would you like us to leave?"

"I'm hoping for within the week." Which meant he expected him to leave within the week, but Samandriel knew Michael well enough to know that without being told.

"I'll be ready."

Michael nodded and waved his hand to let Samandriel know he was dismissed. He almost called him back as he shut the door to tell him to be careful and that he was proud of him, but stopped himself. Samandriel could take care of himself, he didn't need warnings and reassurances like a child.

Michael returned to his work.

"Is Michael really sending you out to the border?"

Samandriel looked up to see Castiel standing in the armory doorway, looking concerned. Of course, concerned seemed to be Castiel's default facial expression, especially lately.

He nodded. "My patrol and I will be leaving in a few days." He was doing his best to not let his excitement show. He felt it would be unprofessional.

Castiel frowned, stepping into the armory to allow someone to get around him and leave with their sword. "How many soldiers are you taking?"

"There will be about fifteen of us. Michael wanted to make sure that injuries wouldn't force us to return home before we'd finished at the border."

"And you agree with that number?"

Samandriel fought the urge to roll his eyes at his older brother. Castiel was protective, and Samandriel was the only one younger than him, causing every protective instinct in Castiel to focus onto Samandriel. "I could do it with several less, Castiel. The Purgavains are far from being military geniuses, and they've been being stopped by patrols of three or four. They won't be much of a challenge."

"If they aren't a problem, why is Michael sending you?" Castiel challenged.

"Because he wants to make sure they stay not a problem. He doesn't want to make their king think he can start sending soldiers over and not get a response. He wants them all taken care of quickly, not gradually picked off like they're flies we don't really care about."

"And your opinion isn't at all influenced by the fact that you're glad to finally be going farther away than the next village?"

Samandriel glared at his brother. "No. It's not. It's just a border patrol, Castiel. The groups aren't anything worse than usual, there's just a few more of them and they're coming closer. We're just stopping a problem before it starts. Quit worrying so much." His voice was a little harsher than he'd originally intended, but the tone seemed to make Castiel back down. He didn't look apologetic, but he also didn't seem willing to continue the argument.

"Alright," he said unhappily, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just be careful out there, okay? This family has been through plenty enough already. I- I don't want anything to happen to you."

Despite Samandriel being certain that nothing would happen to him and that Castiel was being paranoid there really wasn't any way to argue with what he'd just said, so he nodded. "I'll be fine, Castiel. I'll come see you before I leave."

Castiel nodded, not looking reassured in the slightest. "I would appreciate that. Do you know how long you'll be gone?"

"With travel time, we'll probably be back in a little over two months. That's my best guess, at least." Samandriel never kept patrols on a strict schedule, there were too many things that he couldn't anticipate and having to change a schedule was far more stressful than just never having one to begin with.

"Okay," Castiel said reluctantly. "Try not to get yourself killed."

It may have been meant as a joke - it was hard to tell with Castiel - but it came out very somber. Samandriel found himself wishing for Balthazar or Gabriel, who knew how to keep things light-hearted. They didn't appear, however, and Samandriel just forced a smile and nodded agreement. "Don't worry about me, Castiel. I can take care of myself."

"Cas, for crying out loud, would you sit down? You're making me nervous!"

Castiel jumped a little at Dean's outburst; he'd nearly forgotten that the blacksmith was there and that he wasn't in his room at the castle. He sat down at the table despite his jangling nerves telling him that he would be much more comfortable continuing to pace around the smithy. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, I get it. But wearing a hole in my floor isn't going to help you much."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably and started to drum his fingers on the tabletop until Dean reached out and grabbed his hand, giving him a small smile. "Breathe, Cas. He'll be fine. Samandriel's tough."

"All soldiers are 'tough,' Dean," Cas said, not at all comforted. "That doesn't mean they all make it back home again."

"Cas, he's one of the princes of Edengar. No one's going to let anything happen to him. He'll make it home just fine, you'll see."

Castiel could see the logic in what Dean was saying, and objectively knew that he was right, but… "He's my little brother, Dean. I don't want anything to happen to him. I don't want him in a position where something could happen to him. I mean, you wouldn't let Sam go off to a potential war zone without a fight, would you?"

Dean laughed. "Sam, in battle? That'd be interesting to see. Guy's practically a saint, remember? But I get what you mean. No, I wouldn't be happy about it. But he's a grown man. And so is Samandriel. Neither of us get a lot of say in it. Besides, younger siblings have a great skill of being stubborn as mules."

Cas nodded agreement, then frowned as he considered Dean's words. "I'm a younger sibling."

Dean smiled wide, mischief glinting in his eyes in a way not unlike Gabriel or Balthazar's before a well-planned prank. "Yes, you are."

"Are you calling me stubborn, Dean?"

Dean leaned forward until their foreheads were touching and spoke in a low voice. "Why? Would you have a problem with that?"

In reply, Cas lunged forward, pushing their mouths together in a harsh kiss. Dean made a satisfied noise and brought his hands up to fist into Castiel's shirt. Without breaking the contact Dean pulled them away from the table, carefully making his way backwards toward the bedroom.

"Dean," Cas said after a moment, voice muffled by Dean's mouth. "Dean," he tried again, pulling away a little.

Dean made a disgruntled sound but let him go. "What?"

Castiel smiled, kissing him softly in apology and pulling away before Dean could deepen it. "You realize that we will kill ourselves if we try to go up the stairs while locked together that way?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Who said I had any intention of making it all the way upstairs and to the bedroom?" And he pushed forward again, kissing Castiel hard enough to silence any protests, a firm hand on the prince's hip steering him along. Castiel didn't mind. Not even when Dean threw his shirt across the room and Castiel felt the soft fabric of Dean's rug against his back.

"Have I succeeded in making you stop thinking yet?" Dean growled playfully into his ear, hands reaching for Castiel's belt.

Castiel started to say that he was doing a fair job of it, but Dean's hand was suddenly inside his pants and Castiel's brain turned to a fuzz of white pleasure.

In spite of everyone around him seeming to be certain that he had a very good chance of getting himself killed, Samandriel's entire body was practically humming with excitement. He kept himself reigned in, a picture of discipline to anyone who saw him, but inwardly he was raring to go. Feorh could sense it, he kept dancing in place.

Samandriel leaned down and patted his neck. "We'll be out of here pretty soon," he assured the horse. "Hester!" he called out. "Is everyone ready yet?"

Hester spun around slowly, doing a final check, then nodded before swinging herself into her saddle. "All ready, sir!"

"Let's head out then!" Samandriel waved his arm to indicate that they should fall in behind him and led the way out of the castle grounds, on to the road that would take them to the Purgavain border. As he turned he saw Castiel and Anael standing on the castle steps, watching him go with concern in their eyes. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way, trying to tell them, yet again, that they didn't need to worry about him.

Not that they'd listen. They were worriers, far more so than Gabriel, Balthazar, or Michael. Or Lucifer, though his worrying habits were no longer relevant.

Samandriel shook his head to stop that line of thinking, sternly told himself not to think about how he wished his father was here, and straightened himself further. He liked the feeling of sitting in the saddle, clad in light chainmail, knowing that he was good at what he was doing and that he was respected for it, not just praised for his bloodlines. He didn't know how his siblings stood all the bowing and scraping that followed them around. The day he'd known for sure that he'd beaten that attitude out of his soldiers had been one of the best of his life.

The road to Purgavai was a long one, and mostly boring. Edengar didn't have anymore contact with the Purgavains than was strictly necessary, so most of the large villages and such were on the road to Humaear instead. The way to Purgavai was mostly lined with farms and small cottages. Pleasant enough, but sleeping along the side of the road because of the lack of inns did get tiresome after awhile.

Still, even the hot days and cool nights, the biting winds that came and went with no clear pattern, and the rocky ground they used for a bed, weren't enough to make Samandriel wish he was back in the castle, with his comfortable bed and servants and well cooked food. It was invigorating, being out like this.

Hester laughed the first time she realized that Samandriel really meant it, and wasn't just putting on a face for the sake of the soldiers.

"You really think this is a great experience, don't you?" she asked over dinner, noticing Samandriel leaned back and watching the sun as it finished slinking over the horizon.

"Of course. You don't?"

"I think I'd like the experience of my warm bed a bit more."

He shrugged. "Maybe it's just because it's new to me then. But I like being out of the castle and feeling like I'm doing something besides sitting around and being told what I'd have to do if all of my siblings suddenly dropped dead."

Hester chuckled. "I suppose that doesn't sound like the most exciting of things. But you really don't mind not having your servants around for when you need something?"

Samandriel gave a derisive snort. "I don't like having servants do every little thing for me. I'm capable of dressing and feeding myself, thanks. I'm not helpless."

"Don't your brothers and sister use their servants?"

"Michael does." Lucifer did too, but he caught himself before he made the mistake of saying so. "And so do Balthazar and Gabriel, but that's just because they're lazy and get bored easily. Anael and Castiel, not so much. The three of us are generally pretty independent."

She tilted her head and gave him an appraising look. "You don't really act like I would expect a prince to, you know that?"

Samandriel shrugged. "This many people from the throne? I didn't have to have the intense princely training my brothers and sister got. I've been told that it shows."

She nodded, agreed that it did, and then the two of them moved to clean their dishes and get some rest.

The patrol reached the mountains bordering Purgavai and Edengar at last, still without any signs of trouble. Samandriel didn't think much of it though, as most of the reports of skirmishes had come from people who were actually in the mountains at the time, an area the Purgavains were supposed to stay out of unless they had official business taking them through the paths.

"Keep your eyes open," Samandriel cautioned as evening drew near on their second day in the mountains. "This would be an ideal place for an ambush."

They were silent as they maneuvered their way through the narrow pass, single file and eyes watching the mountain walls that surrounded them. There were plenty of caves and crevices, an easy place for the Purgavains to hide, especially if they hadn't brought horses with them and were navigating the mountains on foot.

Halfway through a shout came from the back of the line, a wordless cry that was cut off quickly. Someone else shouted, Samandriel yanked his horse around to see what was happening, and all hell broke loose right then and there.

A horse screamed, and the sound was echoed by Hester. Samandriel saw her fall from her horse but was unable to help her, arrows flying down on all sides. Someone's blood splattered against the side of his face, but he didn't have time to see whose it was.

Another horse screamed, louder this time, and Samandriel didn't realize it was his own until the animal was falling out from under him, sending them both crashing to the ground. He heard a bone snap and a far away feeling of pain told him it might have been his leg.

There was shouting everywhere, the sound of swords and arrows and armor filling the air with a dreadful din. Samandriel managed to pull a knife from his belt, lashing out at any of their attackers that came near, thinking he was helpless because he was pinned under his horse. He even managed to bring two of them to the ground.

But they were vastly outnumbered and their attackers were more organized than Samandriel had ever heard of Purgavains being and the fighting stopped far too quickly, the mountain pass falling silent. Samandriel shut his eyes, sending a silent apology to his family, expecting that he'd be finished off any moment now.

Instead, strong hands gripped his arm and pulled him away from Feorh's lifeless form, uncaring of the pain it caused Samandriel. His hands were wrenched behind him and tied, a gag was forced into his mouth, and a bag pulled over his head. And then he was on a horse, fighting to not pass out from the pain in his leg, his heart racing.

Michael was going to murder Gabriel. Slowly, with great forethought. He had so many things to take care of all at once and Gabriel was supposed to have come to help him, but he had disappeared off to God only knew where, leaving Michael without enough hours in his day once again.

Someone opened his door without bothering to announce themselves in any way. Michael looked up, ready to take out his anger at Gabriel on whoever it was. "Zachariah! I ordered that I wasn't to be disturbed!"

Zachariah didn't even flinch, eyes wide and panicked about something else entirely. "I'm sorry, your majesty, but I'm certain you're going to want to make an exception for this."

Michael sighed, planning to put the man in the stocks if this didn't turn out to be important. "What's happened?"

"It's Hester, sir, one of the soldiers from Samandriel's patrol to the border. She just made it back to the castle and… Sire, she says she's the only survivor of the patrol."

Michael shot to his feet. "Is she sure of that? Where is she?" He started to storm out of the room, expecting that Zachariah would answer him as he moved.

"She's still with the physician, your majesty, but she was conscious when I saw her."

Michael headed towards the clinic, anger rolling off him in waves, warning everyone he passed to stay out of his way. He nearly ran Castiel over halfway there as the younger man came through a door.

"Michael? What's going on?"

"Samandriel." And Michael kept going, now with Castiel on his heels as well as Zachariah.

"What happened?"

Michael didn't answer, letting Zachariah give the report. "Hester returned today. She says the rest of the patrol is dead."

He couldn't see Castiel's face, but it was easy to imagine it; the way the blood would drain away and the blue eyes widen. He heard his breath catch.

Michael didn't turn around. He still needed to talk to Hester, not worry about Castiel.

The woman was badly injured, he could see immediately. It was a miracle that she'd managed to get herself to help.

"What happened?"

Pamela, the physician, looked up and opened her mouth as though to tell him off, but saw his face and thought better of it.

Hester strained to sit up a little. "We were in the mountains," she said, her voice faint and ragged as she struggled for breath. "Ambushed… They were well organized… outnumbered us."

"How did you escape?" God help him, if she'd abandoned Samandriel in the midst of the fighting…

"Fell from my horse… passed out. They must have left me for dead. Everyone was dead when I woke up again. Purgavains were gone. Had to crawl most of the way to the next guard station."

She was deathly pale and looked almost ready to pass out, but Michael pressed on anyway. "And Samandriel?"

She shook her head. "I looked. Couldn't find him. His horse was dead though." She panted a few times, then her eyes rolled back in her head and she lost consciousness. Pamela shooed him, Castiel, and Zachariah away.

"He might not be dead then," Castiel said hopefully once they were in the hallway.

"For the Purgavains sake, he had better not be." It seemed unlikely, even if Samandriel had survived the attack, that he was still alive. With as long as it took to get between Edengar's capitol and the Purgavain border the attack must have happened almost two full weeks ago. Still, Michael wasn't prepared to give up hope entirely. He began walking purposefully down the hallway.

Zachariah remained behind him, thinking the king wanted some space to himself after the news, but Castiel ran to catch up. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to talk to Ambassador Kali."

Samandriel could hear distant speaking. Hands on his wrists. A Hellacian accent. "Any weaknesses I should know about?" White pain. A scream.