Chapter Text
“Have they arrived?” Castiel asks as he pushes through his office door, turning his head left and right for that blessed stack of manila envelopes.
“Just now,” Russell tells him, nodding to the stack on his desk as he takes his place by the door. “I have yet to inform your father, of course.”
Anticipation bubbles up inside Castiel, turning his stomach in knots as he crosses the room and settles in his chair. His hands shake when he reaches for the top of the pile, because this is it. This is the last chance he will have at finding that name in a stack. This is the last batch of applications, and after weeks of waiting, hoping, frantically searching through piles of identical manila envelopes, only to be left disappointed, Castiel can hardly stand to hope.
His father already has his list of ten and has convinced himself that Castiel will just go along with it. He doesn’t care what Chuck thinks—if the name Castiel is looking for is in this pile, there will be eleven suitors.
“How long until he realizes we have them?” Castiel asks, not bothering to slow his pace as he rips into the first envelope. He doesn’t even glance Russell’s way.
“An hour at best,” Russell tells him, glancing at his watch. “Thirty minutes if he grows impatient.”
“Let us hope today is a busy day for His Majesty,” Castiel mumbles under his breath, slipping the contents of the first envelope out and promptly pushing it aside when the name Bela Talbot jumps up at him, along with a picture of a pretty blond.
“I can help, Your Highness,” Russell says, but he doesn’t move. This isn’t the first time he’s offered to help Castiel get through his stack, but every time, something stops Castiel from accepting. Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t want to tell Russell who they’re looking for until he finds him, or maybe he just wants to be the one to find him. Either way, he will be doing it alone.
“While I appreciate the offer—”
“—you don’t need my help, I know.” Russell sighs, but takes a step to his left and flips the lock on the door. When Castiel glances his way, Russell shoots him a wink and a lopsided smile. “It might slow him down for a few minutes.”
Castiel flashes a quick, not-quite smile as he sets another envelope aside—not him—but excitement still flutters in his chest. It’s a strange feeling; one he hasn’t felt before. Not for a very long time, at least. He soaks it in, lets it fill him with hope. It must be here. Somewhere.
It has to be.
The unchecked pile shrinks steadily over the next hour, and with it, Castiel’s hope.
The faces of pretty people with prestigious titles fly by in a blur, unimportant, easily forgettable, because the one he is looking for has no titles. No money to his name, or land to make him a lord.
There will be only a name, written in bold at the top of the page, and a picture of a face that’s been haunting Castiel’s dreams since he was six years old. Of course, the face of the boy he remembers will look vastly different now, but Castiel is sure he will recognize him the moment he sees him.
He slides his stiff fingers under the flap of the next envelope. The seal rips with a sharp sound, and Castiel wastes no time digging out the thick stack of information. Daphne Allen. Castiel sighs and slides the package back into the envelope before dropping it on top of the second stack.
He looks at the dwindling pile. Just six left. What are the odds of him being in one of those? What are the odds of him remembering Castiel at all? Sure, he’s the Crown Prince, but that does not render him unforgettable, and even if he does remember, that does not mean he feels the same way as Castiel.
As the seconds tick by on the grandfather clock across the room, the sun sliding across the floor through his open curtains, Castiel can’t help but feel a little foolish about his hope. How could he be so sure the boy, now a man, would want him in any kind of way? He has spent the last fifteen years of his life pining after someone who probably has not a care in the world for him.
A lump rises in Castiel’s throat, hot and heavy. This is ridiculous—he doesn’t know why he even bothered to organize a glorified competition in the first place.
“Why did you allow me to do this?” Castiel asks the room at large, but Russell is still here, and he knows his guard will answer. Castiel picks up another envelope, ripping the seal with a little more force than is strictly necessary.
“If you recall,” Russell says, shifting his feet as he folds his hands in front of him. “I tried tirelessly to talk you out of it.”
“Yes, yes,” Castiel says, barely glancing at the long, red hair in the photo before flinging the envelope away. “Would an arranged marriage have been better?” He knows it wouldn’t have been. Not that this isn’t exactly that. His father chose the ten suitors they are currently calling on, each one for their ability to legitimize his position as the future king. He’s sure his parents will throw a royal fit when they discover he is adding an eleventh suitor.
If he’s adding an eleventh suitor.
“We both know this is exactly that; you simply have your pick of his choices.” Russell raises an eyebrow in a we both know I’m right look. Yes, of course he is right, but that doesn’t mean Castiel wants to admit it.
“There are three left,” Castiel says, not quite as matter-of-fact as he’d hoped. He stares at them, sitting on the polished wood of his desk, and can’t help but feel like he is about to have his heart broken again.
“Three chances for you to find the one you’re looking for.”
“He has to be here,” Castiel says to himself this time. His hands are shaking as he reaches for the next envelope, taking it from the middle. He holds his breath, closes his eyes as he breaks the seal. The thick, creamy paper slides into his hands.
Castiel opens his eyes and all the breath rushes from his lungs.
“Is it him?” Russell asks, still standing by the door, but so keenly interested, he might as well be leaning over Castiel’s shoulder.
“It’s not.”
“Two more, Your Highness.”
“Right.” Castiel takes the one from the bottom this time, and he’s not sure why, but he almost doesn’t want to open it. Whether he likes the answer or not, opening these last two envelopes will give it to him. He will know for sure and he’s not entirely certain he’s ready for that.
“You open that one,” Russell is saying, standing in front of his desk now, the last envelope in his hand, “and I will open this one.”
Castiel opens his mouth to refuse, but something stops him. Instead, he nods, and it’s a little jerky, but he doesn’t care. He can’t bring himself to care about anything but what is in these two envelopes.
“Okay,” he breathes, and rips into the orange paper at the same time as Russell, his heart thundering in his chest.
Where is the name, where is the—
The breath in Castiel’s lungs whooshes out of him as he stares at the bolded print. Not him.
“Russell?” Castiel looks up at his guard, at the package in his hands, turned to so he can read the name.
“Not him.” His heart sinks. That is it, then. He has his answer.
Dean Winchester doesn’t want him.
“Your Highness!”
Castiel’s steps slow as Russell closes his office door behind him. He turns to see Benjamin hurrying down the hall toward them.
“What is it, Benjamin?” he asks. He’s not in the mood for problems right now—all he wants is to curl up in his rainbow room and forget the rest of the world exists for a few hours.
“There was one held up at the post office—improper postage.” He’s smiling, but it’s nervous, like Castiel might be angry, but he can’t be. He can’t be, because his eyes latch onto the manila envelope with its bare postage corner and its hasty seal.
“One more?” he murmurs, his heart kicking in his chest, because this feels like something. He’s not sure what, exactly, but it feels like something.
“Yes, Your Highness.” He holds out the envelope.
“Your Highness,” Russell says, his hand already on the doorknob of his office. “Would you prefer to step inside—”
But Castiel is already tearing through the seal. His heart sits somewhere in his throat, his hands are shaking. Missing postage often means one cannot afford the cost of a stamp, so the mail is sent with the hopes that it might slip through.
His fingers close around the package, and he takes a deep, steadying breath. Here goes… everything.
Castiel slides the envelope off and lets it float to the marble floor. There’s a buzzing in his ears—a quiet ringing that can’t be from anywhere but inside his head—and everything starts to feel a little fuzzy.
He can hear his heart beating. Can feel it thundering in his chest.
“Is it him?” Russel asks, stepping closer. “Castiel, is it—”
“It is,” Castiel whispers, eyes locked on the photo of a man with green eyes and light brown hair. With a beautiful face and too many freckles to count. “It’s him.”
Lightness floods him, knocks back the sick feeling that had been churning in his stomach up until now. A real, genuine smile breaks across his face as he clutches the papers to his chest. Dean Winchester wants him.
Now all he has to do is figure out how not to mess this up.