Work Text:
Balthazar had never been so giddy in his life. Not when he participated in that memorable ménage à douze in the brothel. Not when he found the one-hundred-year-old bottle of wine in the cellar and drank himself silly. Not even when his brother Michael tripped as he danced with his wife at their wedding. None of that could possibly compare to this moment. He felt like he was flying, despite his feet standing firmly on the ground as he waited outside his father’s council room.
He had a message from King John in his pocket, and he had personally volunteered to deliver it to his father. Balthazar had no knowledge of what was in the letter, but he knew it was going to be good.
To his knowledge, his father was under the impression that Castiel was returning with him, broken and ashamed. It probably wasn’t even a thought in his large head that Prince Dean went through with the marriage, let alone be so excited about it that they’ve been sequestered in his room, fucking like rabbits for days. Balthazar would have stayed longer in the Kingdom of Winchester, if not for the noise of their lovemaking echoing throughout the entire left wing.
He hoped the letter contained news of the marriage, and if it didn’t it was no trouble for him to be the one to deliver the happy news. When he was finally allowed to enter his father’s council room, he found the king and his Right Hand pouring over a map. It was such a familiar sight that he stilled for a moment to take it in. As a child, he begged to be a part of council meetings, but his father had never allowed it. When he was finally old enough, it was the last thing he wanted to do.
The servant cleared his throat nervously, telling Balthazar all he needed to know about his fathers current mood. “Prince Balthazar, Your Majesty.”
His father waved the servant off, not even bothering to look up from the map that he and Metatron were pouring over. Not even their rudeness could ruin his good mood. He sauntered up to the table and leaned on it, content to wait. To his surprise—and further glee—it was a detailed map of the Winchester Kingdom.
He couldn’t help himself. “Getting a little ahead of yourself, don’t you think?”
“Oh, it’s you,” Zachariah drawled, as if the servant hadn’t announced him. King John himself could have been announced and he wouldn't have paid a lick of attention to the poor servant.
“Yes, hello Father. I am well, thank you. Yes, the return trip was completely uneventful.”
Zachariah didn't look up from his map. “And your brother? Is he in his rooms?”
He smirked. “Well, yes. I imagine he is. He hasn’t left his room for days, actually.”
But his father was barely listening, and instead reached out a bejeweled finger to point to one of King John’s numerous coal mines. “This one too. See how close it is to the border?”
“Yes, your majesty,” Metatron simpered. “It shall be taken first. Perhaps I can draw your attention to this field? Our scouts have tested the soil, and—"
“I have a letter,” Balthazar interrupted. “It’s from the King.”
That got Zachariah’s attention. He glanced up,looking as excited as Balthazar felt, sure that he was about to justify the war he’s been frothing for. “He won't be King for much longer… Now, give it here!”
With a flourish, he pulled it from his vest pocket and handed it to his father. Zachariah didn’t wait a second before he broke the wax seal and unfolded the paper. His face lit up in the most sincere smile he’s ever seen from his father in his entire life. “It’s in the King's own hand.”
Metatron was leaning over Zachariah’s shoulder, already reading ahead. From the expression on his face, it wasn’t good. Mumbling to himself, his father finally skimmed the letter. “Let's see… Blah, blah, blah. Too many greetings, what’s the—” Blood drained from his father's face. “What? ‘The nuptials went off without a hitch’ … ’Castiel has already integrated himself into…” Zachariah’s sharp gaze landed on Balthazar. “What is the meaning of this?”
He played dumb. “What do you mean?”
“Where is Castiel?”
“How would I know? I left early this morning. He’s probably finishing up his supper right now.” Or perhaps eating it directly off of his husband’s abs.
“What do you mean, ‘you left?’”
This was better than he could have imagined. “I was under the impression I was to return to the palace as soon as possible.”
“Yes, but where is Castiel?”
“In Winchester.”
The king was still staring at him, mouth agape and all brain function ceased. “This says they got married.”
“Well, that was the point, wasn’t it?”
He ignored Balthazar and stared back at the letter. “Unique perspective… the people love him… There’s talk of a honeymoon. Balthazar, explain this to me!”
He just shrugged. “Looks like everything went according to plan.”
“Plan?” he sputtered, turning his gaze to the pale and silent Metatron. “This was not the plan!”
Bathazar considered hamming it up. What do you mean, father? Or, I thought you wanted them to marry… Something that would force him to admit he was sending poor Cassie to the slaughter, but he couldn’t help but feel some pity towards the man. “Yes, well I can confirm they are, indeed, married.”
“But, why?”
He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “Because you signed a contract? Because King John is a man of his word? Perhaps Prince Dean liked the look of Cassie’s ass?”
“Balthazar!” his father shouted in warning. “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” He turned to Metatron. “You assured me—”
“Well, I—he was supposed to—”
“This was your plan!” Zachariah screamed, his face red and jowls jiggling as he shook with anger. “Fix this!”
Metatron's pale face started turning purple. “My plan? You were the one who suggested it!”
“How dare you!”
“I was following your orders!”
Oh, how Balthazar wished for a glass of wine to enjoy the show. Life couldn’t possibly get better than this.
The double door slammed open, both sides nearly upending the priceless vases that bordered the room. Everyone jumped as Commander Naomi stormed into the room, her dove gray wings poised to kill. With murder in her eyes, she zeroed in on her brother, the King, and marched to the large desk. As if all attention hadn’t already been on her, she slammed her fists onto the wood for effect. “Where is he?”
Zachariah gaped like a fish, torn between outrage and embarrassment. Metatron, equally terrified, fled from the room. Balthazar watched him go with the same fascination he reserved for the theatre. “W-who?” his father stammered, face red and eyes wide.
“My Chief Strategist! Who else would I be talking about?”
His shoulders relaxed and he went back to glaring daggers at King John’s letter. “How would I know where your strategist is? Perhaps you should keep better track of your subordinates. Now, leave me be. I need to—”
“You were the one who called for him! I wouldn’t have let him leave otherwise. Where is he?”
“I didn’t call away any of your precious soldiers. Battle must have addled your brain.”
Balthazar's eyes widened. This was not going to end well.
“Your son, you idiot! Where is he?”
Zachariah’s eyes swung to Balthazar as if he could have possibly been the strategist she was speaking about. He was surprised his father even remembered he was there, and held his hands up in surrender. The king looked back at Naomi as he wracked his brain for who she could be talking about. “Michael?”
Balthazar had to hold back a laugh at the idea of Michael even stepping foot on a battlefield, let alone being able to strategize anything other than trysts with his mistresses. There was only one brother that she could be talking about, and Cassie was long gone.
Her fist pounded on the desk again, hard enough for Zachariah’s dessert wine to slop out of his goblet. “Where. Is. Castiel.”
Zachariah’s face drained of color. “Castiel?”
Balthazar’s smile got impossibly wider. Little Cassie—his father's least favorite son, young Michael’s punching bag, Gabriel’s prank target, and the guy no angel would look twice at except to mock—was the Chief Strategist Zachariah had just permanently sent to the Kingdom of Winchester. This was too good to be true. Balthazar had to be dreaming. He opened his mouth to make a comment that would surely get him kicked out of the room, but Commander Naomi wasn’t done. “When he was called to this godforsaken palace, I assumed he’d be back within the week. When is he coming back? And so help me God, if your answer isn’t today then I will personally make whoever is responsible for his absence pay.”
The King’s mouth flopped like a fish. “I—What—Castiel?”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “When. Can I. Expect. His return? I have far too much riding on his plans for him to not oversee them.”
Balthazar glanced between his father and the commander, and suddenly things weren’t so funny anymore. A feeling of dread grew in his stomach. If Castiel was the chief strategist, then they were in a lot of trouble, and not only that, the Kingdom of Winchester just gained an important new member, one that could send the power balance between the two kingdoms reeling. He could see where the argument was going, and he didn’t want to be in the room when the figurative talons were unleashed. He edged around the room slowly, keeping his eyes on the stare down in front of him, and finally slipped from the room.
He let out a deep breath and gave the empty hallway a cursory glance before pressing his ear to the door.
“Well, I—he’s—”
“Where is he, Zachariah? What have you done?”
“I sent him away,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Well, bring him back!”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“He’s, uh… married to Prince Dean.” Balthazar could hear his father’s gulp through the door. “Of Winchester.”
“You gave my Chief Strategist to King John? The humans?!” Her shriek filled the air and he cringed at the sound. He could only imagine how his father had fared at the onslaught. “I can’t believe you—”
“Naomi…” He could picture his father holding a hand out in surrender, or maybe even touching her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. “I didn’t know—"
“You didn’t know?!” she yelled at him. “He’s been under my direct command for seven years! I detail his exploits in my weekly missives. I talk at length about my nephew in every letter! How could you not know how much he does for our kingdom?!”
“You know I don’t concern myself with military matters.”
Balthazar cringed, knowing what was coming. “Then who’s been reading my letters?”
“Metatron,” he answered remorsefully.
“Where did he go?” Her low heels clicked as she paced. “I’m going to murder that rat.”
Balthazar had begun to wonder the same thing. If Metatron knew the part Castiel played in keeping the demons at bay, and still conspired with the King to use him as a pawn...then Metatron was in more trouble than Balthazar thought.
“Naomi, please.”
“You know what you’ve done, right?”
“I didn’t—”
“You’ve given the humans even more power! Before, you actually stood a chance if our peace devolved into war. Without my strategist...” She paused and took a calming breath. “You’ve given them even more power over us, and crippled our army. Without him…”
Zachariah’s voice was shaky when he finally answered. “Surely, we can get him to come back.”
Balthazar snorted into his hand. Castiel was never coming back. King John’s letter said it as clear as day. He’s finally fitting in, the people loved him, the King recognizes his worth, and it was only a matter of time before Dean fell in love with him.
Balthazar couldn’t bear listening any longer. He felt both dread and happiness, shame and pride, all for Cassie. They were all guilty for ignoring their littlest brother, some more than others. He alone had the best relationship with Cassie, and even that was strained from being apart for more than a decade. Now, without him, things were going to change.
Who knew what would happen in the next year. Naomi would have to find a replacement, obviously, but from the way she spoke about Castiel, it seemed that someone as good as his would be nearly impossible to come by. Thankfully, he was expected home and Hester would have his head if he delayed a moment longer, so he would be able to avoid the immediate fallout. With that thought in mind, he rushed to his room and immediately threw his clothes into his traveling trunks. Within the hour, he was loaded into his carriage and heading home, leaving the palace and the whole mess behind him.
Ignoring the bumpy cobble road and the light flickering through the passing trees, he pressed a piece of parchment across his legs and began writing a letter to Cassie.