Dove Caught in a Burning Bush Ch. 04

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content as well as rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, or non-consensual sex or scenarios.

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By the time Crucifel's eyes opened the following day, the sun had already risen over the ivory walls and towers of the palace, and Promethiel was gone.

Upon first waking, she'd been confused by the unfamiliar surroundings and scents. This wasn't her bed, nor was it her room. It lacked her familiar stylistic preferences of softer shades in favor of bolder golds and reds, and the ceiling beyond the sheer crimson canopy didn't have the same mural that she had grown up tracing with her eyes in the dark as a child.

There was no tale of a dove sweeping over countless swirling jaws with fangs of seafoam hidden beneath ocean waves, going on to circle a floating isle wreathed in cloud to pluck a single leaf from an olive tree.

Instead, it told the story of another bird altogether, cloaked in gilded flame as it crested the edges of the pale, stone ceiling to line it with each stage its flapping wings. Further toward the center of the vaulted ceiling was another ring of images, that same bird was now nothing but a fireball, swirling like a pulsating comet in its rotation. The next stage, ever closer to the center, saw clouds of gold stars flecked onto the stone with thin lines connecting constellations between them.

And finally, staring back at her from the very middle was the brilliantly shimmering depiction of a phoenix, flaring bright in autumnal gold, red and bronze in the warm sunlight that spilled in from the tall window that rose up next to the bed she lay in. Crucifel knew this ceiling too, and with that realization the memories of the previous night flooded back over her like rising ice water.

The incubus, the paralysis, his tongue dragging over her where no one had ever dared touch her before, Promethiel's divine violence he wrought upon the demon and the smell of burning flesh.

The spot where he'd been was stone cold as she brushed the soft, white material with her fingers, so he had to have been gone for a while by the time she'd woken up. Her body was encased in the comfortable warmth of her brother's silken sheets, enough so that she was tempted to slip back into sleep, but just as Promethiel had his duties to attend to, she also had hers.

A shiver of anxiety rippled through the prophetess. She didn't even want to know what time it was, knowing full well that it was far too late for her to be starting her day as she usually would by leading morning prayers in the palace chapel. Why hasn't anyone woken her?

Crucifel was torn between hoping that news regarding the previous night's break in had been spread enough that her angels would be understanding of her absence earlier in the morning, and an equally ardent wish that it was downplayed or even omitted entirely in order to avoid stoking more fears so close to home. Somehow, both options felt selfish.

Sitting up, Crucifel felt something heavier than the usual tickle of her pale hair sliding across her shoulder and flinched bodily, wings snapping out to their full length and bristling in surprise like a startled bird of prey.

She turned her head down, looking to find the source of the sensation with wide yellow eyes, only to squint them in confusion that quickly shifted to exasperation. Some of the hair that had fallen over her chest was loosely braided, stray strands fell free of it to hang down and tickle her skin as she had gone upright. Certainly a servant hadn't done this while she slept, which only left it to be Promethiel's handiwork. She let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding, wondering how deeply she must have been sleeping for him to manage braiding her hair.

"Even in absence, you manage to be an imp." Crucifel shook her head, starting to undo the braid as she swung her feet off the bed and let them hang over the edge. Her fingers paused once she'd plucked the hairs free though, and after a brief moment of consideration, Crucifel redid the braid in a tighter, neater fashion. It wasn't in the way, more of an accent that hung astride the rest. She'd allow it, for now.

As she sat, there came a knocking at the door, polite but firm, and Crucifel straightened. "You may enter."

The heavy wooden door opened with a creak, revealing the familiar, matronly face of Mirilmen and two chambermaids. They filtered in and the guards at the door closed it behind them.

"Good afternoon, Your Highness," Mirilmen greeted softly with a bow that was mirrored by her two assistants. "His Majesty requested that you were allowed to rest uninterrupted, I hope that you managed to sleep well after your ordeal last night."

"Yes, I did. Thank you, Mirilmen." Crucifel nodded, her smile feeling just a little bit too tight. She wasn't sure if it was a lie or not, herself. Judging by her brother managing to braid her hair without waking her, she had to have been sleeping with some kind of soundness, but her body still felt weak and sluggish in a way that went beyond morning bleariness.

It was obvious that Mirilmen didn't believe her entirely either, but she nodded regardless before turning her head to the freckled angel at her left. "Lilamile, please go fetch her Highness something from the kitchens, something not too heavy on the stomach, and some tea."

"Yes, ma'am," Lilamile nodded to Mirilmen, bowing once more in Crucifel's direction before taking her leave. The other chambermaid at her opposite received a nod from the head maid and stepped away to begin tidying the room with delicate sweeps of her wings.

Crucifel swallowed as Mirilmen stepped closer, tilting her head with a slight frown that wrinkled her forehead so distinctly due to the scar that snaked from her brow to her left cheek. The princess knew that expression, it was one that she'd seen since she was young and the older angel would find her up to some mischief or hiding away with her face in her hands.

"If I may speak boldly, your Highness?" Mirilmen asked.

"Speak freely, Mirilmen," Crucifel answered with a nod, feeling as though in some way she was sitting before her mother. Being scrutinized in concern, but scrutinized nonetheless.

The head maid seemed to sense her apprehension and sighed, holding out her hands for Crucifel to take. "I fear that last night will be marking the start of something bigger, and not just for you, for all of us. It is one thing for a demon to attack a settlement near the edge of the Seal, but this is the heart of Edenara. You are the heart of Edenara."

Some part of Crucifel wanted to laugh bitterly, not out of spite toward Mirilmen's words but because she knew they were true. So much came down to ride upon her back, a broken conduit to a lost God. It wasn't fair, it was so, so far from fair and yet she bore it out of love for her angels and a deep sense of duty. She'd been born for this role, to take that heavy weight of thousands of unanswered prayers, lost family members, frightened and angry pleas and turn them into something with meaning.

But what was she other than a pretty ornament who could only speak from her own heart in a land so far from wherever He was? She tried so hard, yet felt like a failure with each blow to the kingdom's confidence.

"I know." Crucifel took Mirilmen's hands, their contrasting warmth and coolness a long familiar sensation as she watched the head maid's fingers curl with her own; skin to skin, skin to metal. The bronze of the articulated fingers on Mirilmen's left hand caught the sunlight pouring in through the window, sending a reflective gleam across the stone floor. "Things are going become difficult, but I promise to do my utmost for you all. I will do whatever it takes to keep my angels safe, and I know Promethiel will too. We are your shepherds in His absence and we will guard our flock with all of our power."

Even if she'd made such a poor guard dog the previous night. Having to be saved by the same brother who she'd just vouched for despite the blood only she knew that dirtied his hands.

"Your Highness, I said for all of us," Mirilmen replied, "I've known you your entire life. I've seen you fall asleep praying in the chapel with knees red from kneeling for so long. I wouldn't expect anything less than your best from you, but know that this is not a lonely battle for you and your brother."

Crucifel set her jaw, feeling her eyes going glassy. "Thank you, Mirilmen. That means more to me than you know."

The other angel nodded, giving her hands a final squeeze before releasing them and stepping back with a bow. "Speaking of His Majesty, he said that you were to rest, and he would be taking over your duties for the day."

She blinked, frowning. Promethiel, acting as a prophet and king for the day? She was sorry to miss such an interesting wearing of hats. "Did he?"

"Yes, your Highness," Mirilmen replied, . "He told me to inform you that you could do whatever you wished, so long as you got your rest. There is also a contingent of guards outside the door so that your sleep will not be interrupted."

Lilamile returned as Mirilmen finished speaking, carrying a covered tray in one splayed hand and a steaming cup in the other that glowed faintly as she used her flames to keep it gently heated. The tray was set onto the bed, revealing a spread of assorted cheeses, preserves and fruit with bread. The cup was placed on the bedside table within reach, and after confirming that there was nothing else needed, Crucifel was left alone in peace.

As she ate, she felt some of her strength coming back to her, but the exhaustion of the previous night still wore heavy on the prophetess. She had so nearly been defiled by a demon in her very own room, a place that she had long seen as a place of utmost safety.

Now that Crucifel knew her duties had not been simply dropped, the idea of leaving Promethiel's spacious bed wasn't an appealing one, it was still warm with her body heat and it would be so easy to fall back into slumber, but would that really be appropriate?

She sat in the middle of her brother's bed for a moment, considering her options.

Her own sleeping quarters were in a sorry state but would hopefully be repaired sooner than later, and that aside, she didn't want to go back there just yet. Her dreams were mercifully half remembered, but there was a lingering sense of oily slickness in the back of her mind that gave her a good idea of what had been haunting them. Crucifel shuddered, wrapping her wings around herself at the memory of the incubus's touch.

No, it felt safer here.

So she downed the tea and placed it and the empty tray back on the side table before laying back onto the bed, pulling the silken sheets over herself and burying her face in the pillow that smelled so much like Promethiel; a warm mixture of honeyed myrrh and jasmine.

Try as she might, even if just a few moments earlier she had been ready to sink back into sleep, now she found herself wide awake.

It was guilt, among other things that kept her from fully relaxing again. She rarely ever took the day off from her role, it was one that she'd grown into since childhood and something that so many of the kingdom relied upon. Promethiel could bow his head and pray with such fervent conviction that she'd seen him bring angels to tears, but Crucifel had always known that he preferred to put his faith in his own hands.

After all, he was a king of Edenara, and he and those who came before him were not given such a position without the ability to wield it like a divine blade.

But it hadn't been enough to save their parents had it? They hadn't expected their own child to spill their gilded blood, to watch as the precious metal that filled their veins and his as it sprayed across his face. Crucifel certainly hadn't. Her heart ached with the loss.

She wished that she hadn't followed the sound of voices that night, or at least been just a few moments later so that she could even pretend to believe his words to the rest of the kingdom; that it had been the work of demons. But no, she'd gone forward and seen the truth for herself. Promethiel was a killer, and nothing would change that.

Her eyes went subconsciously to a tapestry on the wall above the bed, staring into golden eyes that her family so thoroughly dusted on everything; banners, robes, jewelry, bodies. It was a symbol of vigilance and a reminder that even in absence, God saw all. In her youth they had been comforting, like a promise. As she aged it felt different, though.

She felt the eyes watching over her, judging her measure and worth every day as she tried her best to be prophetess and beacon of hope her beings needed her to be.

Even now, she felt the weight of countless eyes and hopes on her, threatening to crush her into the silken sheets.

How much did God really see? The correct answer was everything, of course. For a brief heartbeat she let herself imagine that He was watching over her from wherever He was, and that His eyes were just as heavy with expectations as those of the beings who needed her.

Killer or not, guilt coiled through her like roots tangling through her bones for letting Promethiel bear that weight for even a day on top of his existing duties. She didn't know what to think about any of it anymore; the killing, the heartache, the demons and Promethiel's fiery protection and affection.

Did those eyes, God's eyes, see that too?

How she'd turned red when Promethiel kissed her jaw in the library, did He know how it set her spine tingling, made her want things that she knew she shouldn't. Crucifel's wings folded tightly around her body, hiding her face from the eyes on the tapestry as she covered her own yellow ones.

"I'm trying," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry for how weak and foolish I am."

Shifting her wings and turning over, the prophetess hugged the pillow she had been using to her chest, her long white hair falling over her face. She wanted to sleep forever, but even if she did, the weight of everything would still be waiting patiently for her when she woke, ready to climb her shoulders anew.

But she did need rest, Promethiel was right about that. So with the heady scent of him lingering on the pillow at her face, Crucifel settled down into a deep but troubled sleep.

Upon her second time waking, the sun was on its downward journey and the click of the door shutting stirred Crucifel awake.

Immediately adrenaline rushed through her and she shot up in bed with her claws unsheathed, only to see an exhausted looking Promethiel striding toward her across the marble floor. Crucifel forced herself to remain steady as he kneeled onto the bed and wrapped her in an embrace, resting his chin over her head and draping a wing around her shoulders

"Shhh, Darling. Did you sleep well?" He murmured softly, brushing his lips against her snowy hair. "I didn't mean to startle you, I'm sorry."

She relaxed against him, letting her nails shift back to their usual, blunted shape with eyes still unfocused with sleep.

"I've heard that when incubi feed on someone, it leaves them tired, but I suppose I wasn't quite prepared for just how tired," she replied quietly. "I never thought one would be so bold as to sneak into the palace, and the two guards it killed..." She shuddered beneath Promethiel's warm wing.

"Their kin have been made aware and the bodies handed over, a service has been planned in their honor," he said softly, nuzzling his cheek against her. "I'm sorry if I frightened you last night, I don't think I've ever killed something in so much hatred."

Crucifel winced, thinking of how much cleaner the death of their parents had been in comparison. He hadn't mangled them or torn their wings from their backs. It was efficient almost, awful as that thought was. The incubus had been shredded without even an ounce of dignity afforded to him, dying screaming and thrashing as his blood covered Promethiel's snarling face.

"I don't think I have either," she murmured, pressing her face into the wing around her shoulders. "I just... Why me, Promethiel? Why was I the only one allowed to live, to be protected like this?"

Promethiel was silent for a moment, holding her a little tighter to himself. He didn't need to ask what she meant. "I didn't want to kill you," he whispered, "you weren't in my way to the throne, I was already heir and even if you had been, I would have figured something out."

Crucifel shivered again, wondering just how close she had come to death that day. Even if the chance had been small, she had no doubt that Promethiel would have killed her if he saw no way around it. Why wouldn't he, attraction or not?

"And the advances afterwards, I didn't think you were serious at first, but now I feel certain you are. Why this too?" Crucifel asked, hiding her face away from her brother so that he wouldn't see the red of her cheeks. "You know it's not right."

Promethiel chuckled dryly, wrapping an opposite wing around her. "I can't help myself," he murmured. "When I look at you, when I see your soft skin and your ivory hair falling down around you, I feel like a starving animal that has been denied food for weeks, only to be presented with the most succulent meal imaginable. You're so beautiful, Crucifel, and I just can't help but reach for you."

She felt his wings bristle around her, a spark of gold falling from between his lips that she watched out the corner of her eye as it floated down and dissipated like a dying ember. "You're behaving now. For the most part."

"I'm forcing myself to," Promethiel rasped, gripping her chin between his forefinger and thumb so that he could turn her to meet his eyes. "Crucifel, do you feel how my fingers are trembling? I smited a demon last night in blind fury, and when I was done, I covered you with my wings to hide your modesty from the servants."

Crucifel swallowed, watching as Promethiel's golden eyes glowed in the dim evening light filling his chambers. "I know-"

"You don't," Promethiel insisted with strain in his voice, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. "You don't know how badly I wanted to unfurl my wings and see you bare, even with the blood of that disgusting demon smeared across your skin. I'd have licked it off to see it all. Every curve, dip and hidden place not meant for me."

The words set her aflame, striking like another bolt of his lightning up through her body, starting from her loins. Her skin burned as she tried to find a response. "Promethiel, you have to stop this," Crucifel finally whispered, her eyes wide as she stared back. "It's not right to want me like that, it's not--"

"I cannot!" Promethiel hissed, gripping her face tighter. "It's too much, Crucifel. I want you so badly that it hurts, that it hurts, Crucifel. I want to hold you and never let you go, even if I have to bleed for it! "

Crucifel shivered, staring up at him. She had never seen Promethiel so desperate before, so needy even. It was terrifying, sickening and thrilling all at once.

"Where was all of this before," she whispered, "before you killed our parents?" It was cruel to jab him with that when he looked more vulnerable than she had ever seen him in their centuries long lives. Every thought was caught in a turbulent whirl of too many feelings and sensations. Her body was growing too hot, too sensitive to allow him this close for much longer without risking something dirty and shameful.

"I've always been like this," Promethiel whispered, "I am just very, very good at hiding it. You're my sister, Crucifel, and that protectiveness could just hide in its own shadow while it became something else."

"But not anymore," Crucifel replied, her own wings beginning to bristle in heated restlessness. "You've become too bold in our parents' absence, Promethiel. I know they wouldn't have approved of this."