Castiel ran from the bailey on the morning of the feast. He carried gently but tightly in his apron all of the eggs from the coop. Darting through long corridors with vaulted ceilings, he slid deftly past grooms and ladies maids, transporting his precious cargo to the vast kitchens.

As he raced the final stretch to the end of the long hallway that lead to the fragrant arena, he closed his eyes for a moment and said a small prayer that the Mistress of that realm would be absent, or busy, or completely unaware of the time of day. He opened his eyes just in time to see the huge wood door creak forward, and he abruptly slid, throwing his weight backward in a desperate attempt to save himself and the eggs from slamming into the slab of wood.

Resigning to take a hit for the team, Castiel allowed himself to slam hard against the stone floor, cushioning the eggs from the fall with his stomach.

"Oomph," he groaned as the jolt of the fall shimmied through his body. He looked up at his unintentional assailant. The woman standing before him was shorter than he, when he was standing, but from his current vantage point she looked like a giant. A giant with soft dark eyes and a curvy feminine mouth. Now, however, she was using both of these usually comforting features in an arrangement that could only be described as foreboding. "Oh," he sighed. "Ellen. I have brought the eggs."

"Was there a fox in the henhouse?" asked Ellen, in what seemed to Castiel to be a startling change of subject.

"Um. No…" he said, unsure of why she would ask.

"Well, then the horses must have gotten loose, and galloped into Twyfory Wood."

"No," said Castiel, with a slowly dawning sense of resignation.

"Then surely," said Ellen, bending down to be face to face with him, "the pigs have all gone flying past the gatehouse on silver wings."

"Well, no, they haven't," mumbled Castiel, looking into the gathered corners of his apron at his fragile charges. They were all intact. Thank god for small mercies, he thought to himself glumly.

"Then why, dearest angel," crooned Ellen, "are you not at your post until almost two hours after sunrise!" She ended on a brassy crow, ensuring that the legions of servants running errands, fetching meals and working in and around the kitchen would hear every note of her disappointment.

Castiel kept his head down through the following tirade, nodding occasionally in general agreement with Ellen's prognosis of his future, which was something of bleak one, in her opinion. After a suitable length of time, she quieted, and he looked up. She was giving him an understanding, and perhaps a touch apologetic, smile.

"Long night, hun?" she said softly as she helped him off with his apron, tying the strings together around the eggs to make a basket.

Castiel sighed as he followed her into the smoky depths of the kitchens. He didn't like talking about his nightmares, but Ellen and her daughter Jo were the closest thing he had to family in the castle, with the possible exception of Gabe.

Their life of servitude had begun when Jo's father William had died, leaving them destitute and forcing Ellen to claim serfdom to the local Lord. Castiel's had begun when said same local Lord had waged a war in the name of the King upon Castiel's village, killing his parents and most everyone who knew their names. Only Castiel and a few others, including Gabe, who were young enough to pose no threat, were taken to the Castle Lawrence to join the servants corps there.

Some nights, he thought he could remember the day that his future was ripped from him; but others he was just as sure that he had dreamed every false memory with the help of Gabriel's stories.

Castiel slid into a fresh apron and took up a place along Jo, who gave him a pitying smile, kneading bread for the banquet to be held that night. The smells of the immense kitchen folded around him- pungent spices, spit roasted meats and sticky sweet confectionaries of nuts and wild honey. Castiel had spent every day of the last twenty plus years running into the sweltering heat of the and working from the time the first fire was lit until the last knife was cleaned at the end of the night, and yet he had never seen as much activity as there was today.

It was going to be some feast, thought Castiel. The various cooks, brewers, butchers, bakers and even a candlestick maker or two had been working for days leading up to tonight. Fatted calves had been slaughtered and dressed, pork entrails had been mixed with spices and hung in smokehouses, and fruits had been glazed and studded in cloves.

And that was just the kitchen.

In the keep, garlands of flowers had been hung in great sweeping arcs across the hard gray stones that made up the inner curtain of Lawrence. Castiel thought he had never seen such expensive things as the goblets and table settings that had been brought out of the vault and carefully polished by attentive servants. Fine silk ribbons were tied around candelabras and doorknockers and even the torches in the hallways.

Every member of the inner household would be in attendance, either serving or as a guest. Families and envoys from all of the neighboring kingdoms had been coming in for weeks, taking up apartments in the towers and proceeding to live as though they owned it. Castiel had heard from Gabriel that even Sir Victor the Hunts-marshal said that he couldn't be expected to stable every horse in the kingdom. Two whole fields of barley had been repurposed as grazing for the visiting livestock.

It seemed that everybody wanted to be in attendance when the Prince Winchester took a bride.

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It was a few short hours to the feast, and though the kitchen staff was abuzz with work and excitement, Castiel had found a way to slip out into the gardens to sit in the fresh air for a moment, however briefly. There he found Gabriel, coursing a chestnut mare around the now-empty ground that had last been seen full of bulb flowers; tulips and daffodils that had been strung on to garlands. Castiel sat the low rock wall that surrounded the herb garden from the newly seeded vegetable plots and watched him trot along with the pretty horse. The garden was deserted except for them- everyone else was preparing the hall for the banquet

From where he sat, he could see the stables stretched out across the edge of the outer bailey. He could even see the gatehouse, which hummed with excitement as coaches full of late-arriving guests and their following carts of gifts moved slowly past the cadre of guards.

"Does Ellen know you are here?" asked Gabriel with a wry smile. His shaggy blond hair fell over his eyes and made him look almost indecent when he waggled his eyebrows like he now did.

"Does Victor know that you are here?" countered Castiel with a slight quirk of his mouth- the closest he ever came to a smile. Gabriel must have slipped out with the same intentions as Castiel- he was the chief falconer, after all. He had plenty of stable hands he could order around into coursing a horse.

For as long as Castiel had been at Castle Lawrence, he had Gabriel there with him. He even called Castiel his little brother on occasion, despite their markedly different looks. When he was young, Castiel had implored Gabe to tell him about their home in the highlands, because as hard as he tried he couldn't picture it.

"It was beautiful, Castiel. It was so high in the clouds, it was like heaven," Gabe would say, his voice taking on a singsong timbre that Castiel hadn't heard in years. He supposed that not even Gabe could hold onto his natural speech patterns forever. He had, after all, been in the lowlands as long as Castiel, and Castiel couldn't ever remember speaking like an outlander.

As they sat in the lofted room that they shared overlooking the stable yard, Gabriel told him stories about Castiel's family. About how his mother had talked about what a pretty baby he was, what blue eyes he had. Gabriel told him about looking down from the leap over the valley, and being able to see all the way into the lowlands, even though it was nearly three days walk into the lower valleys.

Castiel had once overheard Gabe talking to Jo, telling her about his arrival at Castle Lawrence, over twenty years earlier. Castiel shuddered even thinking about it.

"Is he here yet?" asked Castiel nonchalantly. "It's just a few hours to sunset."

Gabe smiled. "I highly doubt that he will miss the wedding," he said, a touch patronizingly, it seemed to Castiel.

"He was supposed to be back days ago. And the wedding isn't until tomorrow."

Castiel wasn't worried about the Prince- how could he be? Prince Dean was so rarely at Lawrence, the kitchen staff didn't even have his eating preferences memorized. Of course, he rarely ate in the hall even when he was home, preferring to eat with his men outside the keep. "You would think he's trying to stay away."

Gabriel snorted. "You would think that, wouldn't you?" Castiel tilted his head at him, hoping for an explanation. "I suppose he comes off as a bit of a… blunt instrument." Yes, he did, thought Castiel. An absolute hammer in the enforcement of the King's law. "I tell you," said Gabriel, stopping his perpetual jog to look at him squarely. "I have never had more fun relieving a man of his gold than I did when I last went hunting with Prince Dean Winchester."

Castiel sat forward a bit. This was news to him. He had never seen the man smile. "Do you think he doesn't like the castle?" Castiel inquired. He knew it was improper to ask, but this was different. This was Gabriel.

"Do you know how his mother died?"

Castiel shook his head. "I know she was murdered by the Yellow Eyes, working for the King Azazel."

Gabriel looked around conspiratorially. "They say that the assassins were really there to kill the Princes. You know, end the bloodline. They couldn't get to King John before, but the boys, well, they were just babies."

Castiel nodded, imploring him to continue. "So, the story goes that Dean sees the man standing over Prince Samuel's crib, and he starts to scream. For his mother, you know, like a little kid does. And the Queen has been sleeping next door to them- just can't leave them alone with the nurses. They say she was the most beautiful, loving…"

"Gabe."

"So anyway, Queen Mary goes rushing in, and she sees the killer in her sons' room, and she starts screaming and attacking him, and you know what he does?"

Castiel was riveted, despite himself. It was certainly not his habit to partake in gossip. He shook his head urgently. He couldn't believe he was hearing this. The events of the night of Queen Mary's death had always been so… secret. No one had ever spoken of it in his presence, and he understood that it wasn't to be brought up.

"The killer stabs her and then, he grabs a torch, and lights her up." Gabriel paused for effect, studying the look on Castiel's face. "He lights her on fire. Right in front of the Prince. Dean. Right in front of Prince Dean."

Castiel gasped and leaned back as if to distance himself from the story. It was a gruesome tale, to be sure. "So you think he doesn't like being here because it reminds him of the murder of his mother?" mused Castiel, more to himself than to Gabriel.

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As Castiel walked back to the kitchens, he thought about Gabriel's story. For not the first time, he found himself thinking about the similarities between Prince Dean's story and his own. Both orphaned quite young, both spending their lives far from the homes their parents intended for them.

Of course, Prince Dean was away by choice, and Castiel was living a life of involuntary servitude. And if Gabriel's story could be believed, Dean had seen his mother brutally murdered in front of his young eyes, whereas Castiel…

If only he could remember. Oh, well, he thought to himself. It's not that I couldn't leave. I could leave. No one would even notice I was gone. Not now. It was a strangely comforting thought. Of course he found himself adding, ruefully, I don't have anywhere to go.

Castiel was almost to the long low line of vented gates that made up the outside entrance to the kitchens when he heard the trumpeting on the Gatehouse tower. He looked back with a little more interest than he would have admitted to himself later. As he gazed toward the gate, a fleet of riders galloped in on decorated warhorses. Prince Dean Winchester had arrived.

Castiel stood watching for a moment before he became conscious of his name being called. "Castiel! Get over here!" It was Sir Victor, the Marshal of the Hunt. He was thirty paces away toward the gate. Castiel registered his request and returned with a quizzical look.

Victor gave him and exasperated look and a large imploring gesture. "Come on," he called. "All the grooms are busy with the guest horses. We need the manpower!"

Castiel gave a long glance toward the kitchen. It was so busy there, they probably wouldn't even notice his absence, and if they did he could simply defer to the fact that Victor required his services and Sir Victor was considerably higher up the ladder than he, Castiel, was. He gave in to the proffered temptation then, turning his back on the hot ovens, and ran out to meet the Prince's party.

As he charged up alongside towards Victor, he was given a set of reigns to hold. He held them loosely and dumbly, trying to keep his gaze from the men on their huge, lanky destriers.

"Victor," said the Prince, jumping down from his jet-black stallion. "What's the status on the patrols around the guests?"

Sir Victor held the beautiful horse still as it's master removed his riding gloves and began to unbuckle his coat. "All clear, Sire, as expected." Dean gave him a sidelong glare.

"Attacks are never expected, Victor. Assassinations are never expected."

"Yes Sire."

"Have the gifts been checked? Have you checked the jewelry on the ladies?"

"The jewelry, Sire?" Victor's tone sounded like a statement, but his face betrayed confusion.

"Yellow eyes. Nobles who are allegiant to Azazel will wear yellow jewels."

"I can't confirm that they have been checked," said Sir Victor. He gazed directly at the Prince for a moment. He thinks that the Prince is being paranoid, thought Castiel, sliding his eyes to the side to take in the prince. It occurred to him, with some small surprise, that he had never been so close to this son of King John before.

Prince Dean was tall enough, not as unusually lanky as his younger brother, but a decent height. He had distinctive green eyes, as were usually specifically commented upon in the two royal portraits of him as well as in the family tree tapestry hanging in the great hall.

Castiel would hesitate to say that the rest of him was ordinary- he supposed that most people would call him quite good looking, but he could quite confidently say that he proportions were quite correct.

"I'll bet," said Dean. He pulled his riding coat off of his broad shoulders and tossed it on his horses saddle, over his gloves. Castiel was surprised to discover that under his riding gear he wore the undecorated plainclothes of a common soldier- a plain linen shirt, brown trousers, and a rough leather belt.

Castiel was also surprised to discover that since his arrival on the scene a few short minutes earlier, he had gained three more sets of reigns, and was now effectively surrounded by large, armored warhorses. He stifled what would have been a startled yelp, and gazed plaintively around for their owners, the knights of Prince Dean's party, all of which seemed to consider their time in the stables at an end. One of horses, a sorrel colored monster, neighed disapprovingly at his discomfort and tossed his head contemptuously.

Castiel shushed and shook his head at his unruly charge, begging him with his eyes not to expose his lack of basic husbandry skills. The horse, it seemed, did not respond well to criticism and whinnied loudly, stepping backward and jerking Castiel forward by his reigns. Another of the large animals felt the tug on their own reigns and stomped in protest. The sorrel backed up further with wide eyes, forcing Castiel to follow, and started to shuffle his front hooves.

Castiel, unused to being around animals of any kind that weren't being roasted on the open ovens, became aware, in some distant corner of his brain, that a bad thing was going to happen if he didn't do something. The horse tossed its head and yanked it back swiftly, dragging Castiel closer. He dropped the other reigns he had been holding.

Unexpectedly, the horse kicked up it's legs. The abrupt movement wrenched the reigns hard, and Castiel was yanked forward, landing hard on his knees below the horses neck. It stomped again, and then reared back. Castiel threw his weight backward in an awkward attempt to clear the landing area beneath the horse. He looked up and saw the hooves of the huge animal flailing above his head. He wanted to close his eyes, but he was riveted to his impending misfortune.

Suddenly, just as quickly as the whole situation had begun, a hand fell on his, and pulled away the reigns. A body stepped in front of Castiel, shushing and cooing what Castiel had to assume were comforting equine words. The horse slammed his hooves down on the ground hard, but didn't show any signs of leaping back again. It whinnied unhappily, as if to accuse Castiel of mistreatment to that man that had presented himself before it. The man clicked his tongue and patted the animal's nose, and was rewarded with a soft snort.

Castiel let out the breath that he hadn't known he was holding. He looked up at his savior and he pulled himself to his feet, wondering darkly in what way he could possibly embarrass himself any further. Just as the thought arose, the answer came back to him, as the man who was even now calming the horse that could have killed Castiel turned toward him. It was Prince Dean.

"New stable hand, Victor?" asked the Prince, gazing at Castiel with something like… curiosity, perhaps?

Sir Victor trotted up along side him, huffing with the relief of an accident averted. "No," he said upon reaching them. "He's a house boy. All our grooms are handling the overflow mounts." He looked at Castiel with a mixture of apology and disappointment, the second time in one day that those two feelings had been leveled at him.

"Haven't you ever met my little brother, Sire?" said Gabriel, coming suddenly up behind Castiel. He clapped him on the back and then dragged him back a step away from the Prince. Castiel was surprised to see him- he hadn't seen him at any time during the proceeding events. "Trouble wherever he sets foot, it's true, but wait till you taste his pasties."

The Prince looked from Gabriel to Castiel for a moment, his mouth quirking into a small smile. Then he looked up at the tower of Castle Lawrence, and his smile faded. "I suppose," he said, "it's time for me to go get ready for the feast." He said this last word darkly.