Chapter 1

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 m'lord"

"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.