Prince Mikhail spurred the black mare faster. He had to make it to the castle and find out what the hell was going on. It was not in his nature to abandon his own quests, and in all truth if he was not honour bound, he would be riding in the opposite direction.
The journey to Kryta was long and tiring, and as he reached the outskirts of the kingdom, darkness was already upon him. He brought the horse to a trot. Although it was night the village was alive and bustling.
Many of the inhabitants were making their way the ale house. He didn't like villages, hated cities even more. Solitude was his friend, and the sooner he made it to the king's side, the sooner he could leave this place. He guided his horse to the stables and flipped a gold coin at the stable boy. His mouth agape, he watched as the Prince patted the horse faithfully.
"This horse is now yours little one." Prince Mikhail said, handing the reigns to the still surprised boy. Mikhail arched an eyebrow at the young lad. Yet he remained silent.
Sighing heavily he unpacked the saddle bags, and transferred them into his own bag.
"You ... you are a seraphim." He gasped, pulling off his hat he bowed down before Mikhail. Mikhail hastily pulled the boy up, he really didn't want any attention drawn to him. Seraphim were the most powerful of angels, and regarded to be higher than kings. At the moment however, he would rather just get to the castle and be on his way.
"Master you should not touch me, I am filthy." The boy trembled bowing again. Mikhail swore softly under his breath. This boy was going to cause him too much trouble.
"What is your name?" He said harshly.
"Peter I am in need of an attendant, do you have a family?" Peter's eyes bulged slightly, an angel of the highest ranking was speaking to him, asking him to be his attendant.
"I have none m'lord." Mikhail smiled, then this boy would have to come with him.
"My name is Mikhail." Fear swamped the wonder in the boys eyes, the shivers of excitement soon turned into shivers of fear. Mikhail flinched slightly as the boy started reciting Latin prayers, it was not that they affected him in anyway, it just saddened him that his name caused such fear.
"Devil child." Peter cried, he made to run to the stable doors, but Mikhail closed them with just a simple thought.
"I do not wish to hurt you Peter, I need you to never speak of my appearance here." Peter clawed at the door, and almost died of fright as he felt the hand on his shoulder. Beneath the blazing lamp, he saw the legendary three scratches on Mikhail's right cheek, the darkness of his right eye, compared to the celestial paleness of his left.
Long blond hair fell about his face, his large wings fluttered as he pushed the boy behind him. The left wing was a blinding white, whilst the right was a disturbing black.
"Peter! Peter! Where is that good for nothing lad!? When I find him, he isn't getting away with just twenty thrashings." Peter whimpered as the stable owner entered the stable. A gentle breeze ruffled his fair hair, and all he could see was the stable owner screaming his name. the village passed beneath him and he clung onto Mikhail in fright. He heard the heavy beating of the sixteen feet wings. The castle loomed ahead, and Peter knew his adventures were just beginning.
King Jericho motioned for Mikhail to come closer. Dressed in the red royal robes of Soledad. The Prince though of mixed and questionable heritage was Jericho's greatest ally, and anyone who caused trouble for the royal outcast did not last long in his kingdom.
Mikhail was a beautiful man, if not for the slashing brows, and square jaw he would have passed of for a female. He looked very much like his mother. The long hair silky and alluring aura.
"I am dying." Jericho finally said. Mikhail gave a small nod. Jericho saw the sadness in the lightness of his left eye, whereas his right eye showed none. It was a disturbing trait he had.
"And if an heir is not found, then my nephew will gain control of Albion." Mikhail grasped the hilt of his sword and growled. Jibril was a tyrant of a man, charmer to both men and women, he could destroy Albion in a day. It did not help that his father was an angel, or that they were related as cousins.
"Anything my liege."
"You must find my daughter." Mikhail gasped in surprise. He did not know that the king had a child. This was a totally new revelation. "Yes, my daughter. She lives with her mother's people."
"Does she know she is a princess." Mikhail asked.
"Luckily yes, I have made it easier for you and sent a messenger ahead."
"And if she does not want the position?" Jericho coughed violently and pulled against Mikhail's robes. He felt the life slipping from him.
'Then make her yours, and give me grandchildren. You deserve love my friend.' He smiled before his soul spiralled to the heavens.
"Jericho, what should I do?" but it was pointless the king was dead and the prospect of returning home left with the king's spirit.
Mikhail watched from the bell tower as the body was taken away. It would not be good for someone to see him near the body, ideas may be formed, that maybe he had something to do with the kings death, that was the fate of a hybrid, to be forever ostracized by those you wanted to help most.
"Master, do you not wish to join the mourners." Peter tugged at his robe, trying his best wake him from his stupor.
"Leave me be Peter, do not think I have no feelings, I miss the king greatly" Mikhail scowled, plucking both a black and white feather, he let them flutter in the breeze, and only the most observant would notice the two feathers land atop the coffin as the soil was thrown upon it.
Mikhail made his way to the Jericho's personal library. There Hamlet, his steward sat with a strange piece of parchment. It was white and rectangular and next to the parchment was what appeared to be a silver beeping device.
"Ah Prince Mikhail, junior Peter." He addressed them both motioning to the seat before him.
"I do not understand how I am to retrieve the princess, if she is not from this world." Mikhail tugged off his oppressive robes, the shirt and breeches did little to warm him, yet the cloak was too oppressive.
"She is in the 21st century. She is but one summer." Hamlet looked up as both Mikhail and Peter gasped.
"Do not tell me you plan for me to be her guardian?" But Mikhail already knew the answer.
"It is the only way, Prince Mikhail, you shall go and watch over her until she is ready. However." He glanced towards Peter, who gulped in fear
"Peter knows too much, he will have to go with you." Mikhail looked at Peter, he had dragged the poor fellow into this, and the best thing would be to release him.
"I will follow my master anywhere." Peter said defiantly. The lad was barely eight summers, yet he was willing to sacrifice himself for Mikhail.
Mikhail laid a supportive hand on Peter, who smiled in return.
"I never knew my father Mikhail, maybe one day you will call me your son." Mikhail, pulled the boy into his arms and hugged him fiercely. The evil part of him remained cold, whilst the pure side warmed at the thought, his white wing enveloped Peter, just as the beam of light transported them to the baby's cradle.
The mother of the child looked in their direction, but dismissed the stirring and continued to coo at her child. Mikhail moved from Peter and placed a tender kiss on the child's head. He would protect her, until her time to take the throne arrived.
Abigail Winters cried in frustration, the soil tumbled out of the C sized bra cup. A fat worm slithered to the floor and began to writhe blindly.
"Peter, Peter! Get your sorry medieval butt here now." In reply there came a small immature laugh. Abigail growled. Downstairs many of her closest friends waited for her, to celebrate her twenty first birthday, yet here she was rummaging for a new bra that didn't stand out through the sheer silk top she was wearing.
"Peter." She growled as she found her ripped pantyhose. A soft tinkling heralded the arrival of a celestial being, without thought she turned to where the light beamed into her room and threw her tights at the shape forming. When the light disappeared, a confused 6'6, blond god stood with a bemused look on his face. Abigail shivered with desire. Instead of his usual silver armour, Mikhail wore skin tight leather trousers, that enhanced his manly bulge and muscular legs, a large white cotton shirt that puffed out slightly. It opened to reveal smooth tanned skin, and muscled abs. His hair was still braided from the last time he had visited.
"What has he done this time?" Mikhail asked, Abigail blushed, she was naked from the head down to her hips. But that never seemed to disturb Mikhail.
When she was younger he had always been her knight in shining armour, like a father to her. When they were alone he would play with her, whether he took her flying or showed her the wonders of the stars.
It was only when she reached sixteen, that she realised the feeling in the bottom of her stomach wasn't excitement at going flying, it was need for him. But up until this day he continued to mentor her on the ways of Albion, the kingdom she would soon be ruling.
"Peter destroyed another one of my bra's." Mikhail raised an eyebrow at her.
"The look suits you Abby." Abigail's head shot up, Mikhail didn't do funny. His eyes seemed to gleam with a look unfamiliar to her.
"Abigail honey, your friends are waiting." Her mothers voice called out. Abigail turned back to where Mikhail had been standing, to find him gone. With a weary sigh she left her room.
"I don't understand why you don't marry her father." Peter said, picking the dirtied bra from the floor. He gently petted the worm that had slithered under Abigail's bed.
"You do not understand the ways of guardian angels. I have no claim over her, and I am already Prince of a different plane." Mikhail, combed his fingers through his hair and thought back to when he had seen her naked in her room.
It had taken all his restraint to pull her into his arms and ravish her. Smooth, flawless toffee coloured and black hair that rolled down her shoulders. When he had seen her they had barely covered her pert, firm breast. Her hazel green eyes could always break through his tough exterior.
She was not what would now a day be called beautiful, but that was because of what she was, her beauty would only be fully appreciated in Albion.
Mikhail looked in the mirror once more. "What say you, am I fit for mortal company?"
Peter looked as his father asked him for his opinion. He did not look a day over twenty five, and would look so until a many millenniums. Peter however would age once they returned to Albion.
"Papa, if you have no intention of marrying her, why tease her so?"
"Because I also have human weaknesses."
... Abigail thanked the maitre'd as they were seated. It was a rather posh restaurant, and she had chosen it to impress the friends she would soon be losing.
"So where is this 'Michael?'" Vanessa asked. Abigail wasn't entirely sure why Vanessa was in her group of friends, or why she was in Vanessa's group of friends, but it seemed to her that she would forever be part of the snob clique. The one thing her father did before he died, sending her and her mother enough money to live in luxury for eternity.
"I and the girls are beginning to believe that maybe you're just making him up." Each of her representative girlfriends were sitting with their boyfriends. Twenty people looked and disguised their laugher into coughs, all but one, her best friend Ellen who squeezed her hand, but in her eyes there was a look of sadness. She doesn't believe me either, Abigail thought to herself.
"I'm not making him up." Abigail growled picking up the menu, it was meant to be the end of the conversation, but Vanessa was not known for her intelligence.
"Then why isn't he with you, on your birthday."
"I just had to find my girl the perfect gift." Came a deep, familiar voice. Abigail almost jumped from her seat. Craning her head she saw him, his wings were not visible to the humans, only she saw their faint outline.
But the three scratches were still there and his dark, ominous eye. Making his soft face appear a little fierce. Abigail couldn't help but smile as everyone at the table gasped in surprise. She knew that she was not the most beautiful woman in the world.
Her nose was too big for a face, her lips too large, her breast too small and her hair to feisty, but that didn't stop Mikhail from pulling her from her seat and kissing her hungrily. Mikhail had waited twenty-one years to hold her like this. To touch her. Their tongues clashed together as he tasted the sweetness of her mouth. Her body was soft against his hard muscles, and they jumped in response of her soft hand upon his arm.
Reluctantly he let her go, and congratulated himself at the way her lips were red and puffy from his ministrations. Mikhail pulled a seat up to the table and tugged Abigail's hand into his.
'What are you doing here?' She hissed mentally, something Mikhail had taught her, when she had wanted to take him to school on her very first day. Mikhail squeezed her hand playfully. 'Just enjoy this day, Abby.' After dinner a few of her friends returned to her home, where she could open her presents. She smiled tightly as she opened Vanessa's present. It was a dieting book. There was strained laughter.
"I know how self conscious you are, and Christmas was some time ago dear." Abigail blushed thanking her for her consideration. "Plus now that we have finally met Mikhail, we wouldn't want you to lose him because you wouldn't look after your figure."
"Actually I love the way Abby looks; I wouldn't change her for the world." Abigail sent a confused look to Mikhail, he was definitely laying it on a little thickly. She soon ran out of presents to open, and felt slightly bereft. As materialistic as it sounded, Abigail found that receiving presents was the best thing about a birthday.
"Here you go cherub." Mikhail whispered in her ear, sending ripples of pleasure though her body. Abigail took the badly wrapped present, ripping though the layers of paper.
A small blood red velvet box opened to reveal a silver chain, with a small vial that held two large feathers, one black one white. She felt her eyes tear up at the thought of Mikhail plucking his feathers for her.
"These are the two most important feathers, until they grow back I will no longer be able to fly. My people believe it holds the same significance as a promise ring." Abigail shook with the enormity of what he was saying.
"That's such a lovely necklace." Vanessa sneered with jealously. Abigail forgot there were people still in her home. Rather quickly she ushered them out of her home and ran to her room, where Mikhail sat nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just promised her the rest of his life.
"A promise ring?" she hissed.
"Yes, in case you do not find a suitable mate." He smiled. Abigail on the other hand just scowled, why would she never find a mate? Mikhail howled in surprise as she threw one of her pink bunny slippers at him.
'Father I think you have angered her.' Peter laughed.
"Why are you upset, I thought you would be flattered." Mikhail watched in shock as Abigail began yelling obscenities.
'Just tell her that, it is most likely she will marry you.' Peter suggested. After relaying the message Mikhail was rewarded with a slap upside his head. Abigail had never been so insulted in her life. Her fingers curled around the chain, as she made to yank it off, Mikhail was suddenly standing before her, both his large wings folded around her.
They were in such close proximity to one another, Abigail couldn't help but splay her hands on his chest, she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye.
"Do not remove it, cherub. Listening to Peter is never a good idea." He gave a crooked smile.
"P ... Peter. No, you shouldn't listen to a seven year old boy". Mikhail rested his forehead against her crown and gently stroked her cheek.
"Angels are not as promiscuous as humans. We mate for life, there is no such thing as divorce in my world. Once we have the mating ceremony we are bound for life." He placed a tender kiss to her cheek, trailing his lips to her neck.
Gently he grazed her neck with his two long incisors.
"Fangs?" she whimpered.
"I'm a little different. My mother was a demon. But all angels do a blood exchange. And then you will be bound to me until the day I die, because my life is longer than yours. "I do not want you to be tied to me until you are ready. Sleep with as many men, bare their children. Come to me when you are sure you want me for eternity, because that is how long you shall live for."
Abigail understood the enormity of what he was saying.
"Would I become an angel?" Mikhail chuckled against her soft, perfumed skin. His arms wrapped tightly around her pulling her closer, so she could feel what he felt for her.
"You must be born an angel. Our children however will be." Abigail blushed at the thought of growing large with his child. She nuzzled his neck lovingly.
"I will give you time love. Soon we will leave earth and return to Albion, you will have enough time to decide by then." She bit his lip seductively, as he kissed her, running his hands up and down her sides.
As he left a thought came to her mind that brought a smile to her face. She had, had a few boyfriends in her time. And no longer had the evidence of virginity. Mikhail on the other hand was probably clueless on the acts of sex. His first time would be with her.
Jibril slammed his fist on the dining table. The thud vibrated through the room, the candles flickered and the tapestries rose and fell against the stone walling.
Jibril turned his cold steely eyes upon his uncle's steward. The man did not cower or whimper in his presence. Instead he stood as tall as any 5'3 man could, with his chin high in the air, and a small smirk on his lips.
"What do you mean by this Hamlet?" Jibril said as calmly as possible.
It was this tone of voice that had many a warrior wetting his pant. The steward continued to stare at Jibril with barely contained disgust. The steward did not like being under this bastards thumb, and he awaited the moment that Mikhail returned with the heir to the throne. The years of oppression, the fear that all the citizens of Kryta lived in would disappear as soon as the girl was brought back.
"As I said my lord, lord Mikhail gave word that he will be returning soon. That is all my lord." Hamlet gave a stiff bow. Jibril continued to stare angrily at the shrewd man, but after minutes of silence he bade him to go.
"Mikhail is coming." Jibril whispered. He was not sure whether he should be happy or furious. Mikhail was his greatest enemy, and greatest friend.
As young children they had played together, in the cloud fields of Soledad, the kingdom of Mikhail's father. They had shared their first ever kiss, during their adolescence in convent school.
To this day Jibril had loved no other, even when he found that Mikhail preferred women. Jibril was aware that Mikhail would never love him as he did. Maybe that was why he continued to be so bad, why be good when life never returns the favour?
Jibril got up from the table leaving the hardly touched food behind. He would prepare for Mikhail's arrival, and would greet him as any cousin would. Far be it for him to love his cousin.