Dove Caught in a Burning Bush Ch. 09

...

"Promethiel."

Crucifel's voice was steady despite how she felt, there was something swelling in her chest. Hot on her tongue, scaling but tender. "You know better than to ask me such a thing, you fool."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, bringing him back down with her against the pillows, brushing a kiss of her own to his brow while her wings curved around him. "I'll try. I shall try to give you time, but this is my fate. I can't say that I am not afraid, but I cannot just abandon it."

"Thank you," Promethiel rasped, wilting against her. "I will save you, Crucifel. I'll save you and all of those that would have joined you, I promise."

Their foreheads nuzzled together in the fading dark, making that feeling in her chest glow brighter. When his lips brushed against hers, she didn't hesitate, leaning into the kiss as if it was that lifeline he'd offered. His teeth grazed her bottom lip and she gently clamped onto his top lip awkwardly, making them both snort in amusement again before settling back into their breathless motions.

Heat crept up her neck as his hands went to her breasts, squeezing them gently and making her hum into his mouth. Between their pressed lips and his tender kneading of her bosom, Crucifel's body was quick to shiver in response to the attention it was being given.

A thought occurred to her then, and she pulled back with a gasp on her swollen lips. "The letter!"

Promethiel looked as if he wanted to complain about their interrupted kiss, but instead cocked his head, giving her chest a final squeeze before letting his hands go still. "Letter?"

Crucifel would have gone to dig the leather scroll from her discarded robes by the bed, but Promethiel's body laid over her own was a strong enough deterrent. That aside, his warmth was soothing and she didn't want to have him move any more than necessary. So she would settle for the next best thing, hugging him tighter around the neck with an excited grin. "You won't believe the letter that I received yesterday! It came from the wastes, from the wastes, Promi!"

Still, he looked at her with confusion, but she pushed on with such a shine in her citrine eyes that he couldn't help but smile like a fool at her. "That is a rarity, and just who was it from?"

"Dumasiri!" She declared, squeezing Promethiel tighter before releasing him with an apology when he produced a soft hiss of discomfort. "They're alive! They have been traveling all of these years and now they're on their way back to Edenara."

"Dumasiri?" Promethiel asked, staring back at her with raised brows. There was genuine surprise lighting his golden gaze, then his eyes narrowed with an expression that could only be described as exasperated acceptance. "Our intrepid cousin who stumbled off into the wastes one day on a whim, disappeared, and has now waited a good three hundred years to send a sign that they weren't eaten by a pack of wild pegasi? That sounds about right for them. Was an estimation given on their arrival?"

A little more enthusiasm would have been welcomed for such an important revelation, even if her brother did make a good point. But the sheer relief of knowing that they were just that little bit less alone, and of course that Dumasiri was alive after everyone had assumed the worst, was enough. When angels disappeared beyond the Seal, especially for such a long period of time, it was generally accepted that they would not be returning. At least not whole.

"If you would get off of me, I could show you the letter myself," Crucifel said, trying to push herself up against him. Promethiel resisted her efforts, snorting with amusement while fighting her attempts with dead weight.

"Ah, ah!" He tsked, pinning her down with a smirk. "Tell me, Sister Dear, what is the password?"

They met eyes, Crucifel's mouth settling into a line to avoid smiling at his teasing. She then leaned forward, letting her expression relax as her fingers traced his jawline slowly. Her lips quirked into a small smile, and she could see Promethiel's eyes soften as his cheeks flushed a shade darker.

"The password," she whispered, brushing their lips with hooded eyes, "is..."

Crucifel boxed him repeatedly on both sides of the head with her wings, fluttering feathers in his face as he groaned in disappointment, letting her wrestle him off to flop over onto his back beside her with a sharp intake of breath.

"Did I hurt you?" She gasped, a sharp jolt of alarm racing up her spine as she leaned over him.

"Just my heart," Promethiel sighed dramatically, turning his head to the side and placing the back of a hand over his brow in exaggerated despair. "I never thought I would see the day that you would use your divine beauty against me, and yet..."

There was a genuine feeling of strain in her sockets as Crucifel's eyes rolled, she gave him a final swat on the top of his head before she slid off of the bed to bend over and rummage through her discarded robes next to it. The letter wasn't hard to find with the leathery heaviness of its material, and she tucked it under her arm before climbing back into bed next to him. "Are you sure your back has healed enough to be laying on it?"

Promethiel shrugged, brushing her feathers with his own with a sweep of his wings. "My hide is intact enough to not worry about bleeding again at least, the regenerative benefits of being an Archangel."

She hummed, observing him closely as she handed him the parcel of leather. "Their lettering is a little off, but this is definitely written by Dumasiri's hand."

Promethiel spent a few minutes scanning over the letter, lighting a ball of flame in his palm to read by as his brow furrowed and he would occasionally squint while trying to decipher the messy words. Crucifel waited patiently as he read, nestling close and placing a hand on his chest to idly trace over the line of blinking eyes tattooed down its center to occupy herself.

Finally, when he seemed to have finished, she tilted her head at him. "Well? What do you think?"

"I think," Promethiel said, giving the leathery parchment a small shake. "That their handwriting has become a sin in and of itself. But--" His wing blocked hers before it could thump him, a snort of amusement falling from the king's lips. "From the sound of it we have about two weeks before their arrival, and I'm also thinking that with all of the doom and gloom lingering over the kingdom lately that when that happens we'll have no choice but to throw some sort of welcome party."

That didn't actually sound like a half bad plan. With the most recent event at the palace being a memorial service for the guards that the incubus and his accomplices had slain, to have something less solemn and more celebratory would be a fine morale boost. An angel had returned practically from death, after all.

"They would like that," Crucifel agreed, taking note of the morning sun now spilling over Promethiel's chest, highlighting the loose strands of his hair that spilled over it in gold. "Duma always was one for parties."

Her words trailed off as she drank in the sight of him, bathed in sunglow just as she'd wished. It was just a glimpse before she would need to steal away again, but the warm amber light treated Promethiel's ethereal form so much more differently than moonlight did. Instead of tempering his eyes to quartz, the sun set his gilded irises ablaze in a way that made her heart race.

"We have a little more time before the day starts, Lovely." Promethiel met her gaze, rolling over onto his side to drag his lips across her shoulder. "You could stay a bit longer, if you'd like."

She reached up to brush several feathery tendrils of pale hair from his face, feeling her belly twist like she was staring down a very long drop with bound wings. "I think I need some time to myself to think about, well, everything. The morning hasn't even started and I have so much to meditate on. Will you be alright on your own?"

There was disappointment in his eyes, but he gave a small, sharp nod at her request before reluctantly drawing away, leaning back to recline woefully across his silken sheets. "Oh, my Love. As much as I will wither without the sun-bright glow of your divine presence by my side, I think I shall make it through the day with only minimal atrophy until we meet again."

Crucifel snorted, taking just a moment longer to admire the way the sun shone over his bare skin, following the path of gilded light as it flowed over his jaw to his torso. It spilled all the way down to where his hips jutted slightly in his exaggerated pose of despair, giving her a good view of his half-hardened cock resting against his thigh. She quickly turned her gaze away before it had a chance to grow dark and lustful. "I will see you later on, Promethiel, but try not to burn any more of the palace in my absence. Please?"

"I will make no such promises." He blew a small tongue of flame at her mischievously before dodging a thrown shoe from where she was dressing, grin only widening as she was forced to make the journey to retrieve it afterward.

Under the deep blue light of early morning, the palace's surrounding gardens were empty save for the occasional patrol of guards that would make their rounds. At most, a nod or bow would be afforded to Crucifel, but she would ultimately be left to her own devices. Considering her state of mind, that suited her just fine.

She felt as though she barely knew herself anymore, in such a short amount of time.

Who exactly was Crucifel, princess and prophetess of Edenara? A holy and pure beacon of hope to her angels, a cool-headed royal figure whose loyalty to her kingdom was unquestionable. Or perhaps was she a blasphemous whore who opened her legs to her own brother?

Crucifel had expected to feel her wings shed from her back the moment Promethiel's lips had met her lower ones that night in the tower, but they hadn't. They had flapped and lashed with her pleasure as his sinful mouth and hands explored her, lapping up her arousal like a ravenous beast.

If not then, then when Promethiel's heat had spilled into her depths while her own orgasm shook her. Surely she should have grown a pair of horns before the sun rose.

But nothing had happened. And once again after another night of passionate, tender exploration, Crucifel was still as angelic and ethereal as ever. Promethiel too, seemed unchanged. She couldn't help but wonder if his words about their intimacy being ordained were true, or else simply overlooked somehow.

And his plea to delay in the duty that she'd been born for, or else kill him? How could he have known what to say to strike the very breath from her lungs? It was as if he'd seen into that sore heart of hers and chosen just the right set of words to flay her alive.

Her mind rattled off a brief of the archangel's small acts of adoration as of late; his wings over her as they slept, the braid he'd left her with when she woke, his face against her neck, mouth upon the peaks of her stiffened nipples. The poem he had breathed as he dragged his tongue between her folds. She had only been able to shudder and shake, gasping as Promethiel lavished her with such overflowing tenderness that she thought she might burst.

Crucifel felt the need to fall upon her knees and pray for forgiveness, hoping that wherever and whoever her Creator was, that her words would reach there and be judged as sincere. She knew her purpose, all who knew her did, it hadn't been forgotten.

She had never known anyone to love her so fiercely, or want her so badly that it made her very soul quake.

All of her rebuttals and flames slung his way had only enticed Promethiel to hunt her more desperately, and it shamed her how quickly she'd cracked under his desire. He had killed for the throne. Their own parents, the king and queen of Edenara. Promethiel claimed that it was necessary, but he'd never elaborated, not to her at least. And foolish thing that she was, she'd kept his treasonous act between them out of fear. But now? What stopped her from revealing his treachery?

He was hiding something, and Crucifel was determined to find out what.

She moved along the garden paths with her white robes flowing behind her in the morning breeze like a gossamer ghost, wondering just how she expected to find the answers she sought. How could she understand the nature of her brother's wicked heart, if she no longer had a clear grasp on who she truly was either.

Without even meaning to wind her way there, the princess came to a halt before a pair of marble statues that had been carved in the likeness of her parents. They stood as a centerpiece of the palace gardens, having been placed in memorial to them. At the time, Crucifel was surprised that Promethiel had done it, but it was good cover wasn't it?

Kill them, blame it on the rising demonic threat, give a solemn and tearful speech as the statues were set into place. Promethiel could say whatever he pleased about how they died to protect Edenara from the demons, but she knew.

"Oh, Father," Crucifel said, pressing her forehead against the statues in turn. "Mother."

She knew that it was selfish of her to ask for anything else from them. They were gone, their ichor was on Promethiel's hands and in his veins. But she still prayed that somehow they would hear her, feel the clashing of crossed blades in her heart.

"What do I do? This is all so much, I feel like I'm drowning in water too thick to tread," she spoke aloud, not expecting an answer. Even if there wasn't one, she needed to speak her fears, find some sort of comfort in the chaos even if only in pretend conversation with the dead.

The garden was quiet, the sky above a deep and cold blue that met a spreading fog of pink where the sun climbed higher. Wind whipped across the grass, but Crucifel could swear it was moving through her too.

"I want to be good," she whispered to the air, clasping her hands. "I so desperately want to be pure and divine for the angels of my kingdom. But I can feel myself sinking with Promethiel. He is the devil on my shoulder, offering me everything my cowardly, weak heart has ever wanted."

Her voice was no more than a breath, a plea.

"Even if we somehow have not fallen, this sinking feels so much more frightening. Because while I know what happens to the fallen, I do not know what will happen to us."

She felt sick saying it like that, 'us', but Promethiel didn't commit these sins on his own.

He'd killed, she'd kept her mouth shut.

He'd taken the throne, she'd given his rule her blessing.

He had held her like a lover...

She had let him in, wrapped her legs around his waist and melted against him, letting his movements rock her like a lullaby made flesh until they both saw stars. And now she was losing sight of herself.

"No one has ever wanted to delay my fate, or made me feel like I am the most precious thing in the kingdom that went beyond this inevitable sacrifice of mine. Like I'm a treasure beyond replacement." A broken little laugh bubbled from Crucifel's throat, dragging briny tears out with it that she had managed to hold in the entire morning, but no more. "I could easily add idolatry to his list of sins, and yet despite how he acts as though I am eternal, he makes me feel so mortal and fleshly."

Vulnerable and treasured, that was what he made her feel like. Like a prized lamb led trusting up a steep mountainside, even when she could see the dagger he held was dripping blood already. She had to trust it was not for her.

"I want to be good," she rasped again, "but I don't know if I can be anymore, is this what it means to fall?"

The statues were just as still as ever, their polished surface catching the rising sun to make their edges gleam. She felt suddenly ashamed to be standing before them and the divinity that lingered in their image even after death. "I'm sorry, Father, Mother. I cannot be the daughter you wanted me to be. I am selfish and weak. I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I ever could."

She pressed her forehead against the statue of her mother, tears trailing down the slope of her nose to darken the stone cheek it met.

"Did you ever feel this way toward father?" she asked softly, "like he brought you to the edge of a great cliff, and now to stand you had to cling tight and trust him to hold and not cast you away. Learning that in some sick, terrible way that you liked the butterflies in your belly as you looked down at the vicious sea below, knowing the arms suddenly around you were crushing the breath from you?"

More silence, a stare of petrified judgment from marble eyes. She felt the pressure of their gaze pulling on her, even if it was only the wind tugging at her robes.

Seven minutes. Crucifel would give herself seven minutes to fall before their feet and weep and beg for forgiveness. And then she would stand and dry her tears, becoming the strong, serene princess and prophetess that her kingdom needed her to be.

Of course, she didn't even make it to five before a soft hand touched her shaking shoulder, making her tense and shy away as she hid her face in the sleeve of her robe. "Please...I beg you, leave me be."

"I would like to stay a few moments, if you don't mind, Your Highness."

Mirilmen? She'd expected Promethiel, but Crucifel peered out from behind her sleeve at the familiar face of the palace's head maid. How much of her incoherent mumbling had she heard? Did she know enough to look upon her with disgust? Pity? Hatred for her weakness of both body and mind?

There was none of that to be found on the other angel's face as she crouched beside Crucifel, instead it was concern that lit her wheat colored eyes. Mirilmen was silent for a moment, giving Crucifel time to draw herself back into a slightly more dignified state before speaking softly.

"I will not disturb you or judge you for your tears, Your Highness," Mirilmen spoke gently, turning her gaze to the pair of statues before them. "But if you would allow me to sit by you for a few moments, I'd like to remember them as well."

Crucifel nodded, moving over to give Mirilmen room to kneel beside her, her heart pulsing in quick, shallow beats for several long moments as they clasped their hands before them in silence. Nothing had been noted of her previous words, and those had been in strangled whispers that would easily be lost to the wind. So slowly, Crucifel relaxed beside the older angel as the wind stirred their wings.

"Mirilmen?" She asked quietly, studying the plaque at the base of the statues. "Can you tell me one of your favorite memories of them?"

The head maid hummed, turning the question over a few times before giving her answer.

"Well, it may be somewhat biased of me, but I think that would be the look on Her Majesty's face when I told you and your brother about how I lost my hand," Mirilmen replied easily, opening her eyes and glancing over at her. "You two were such curious new souls, always asking me questions. Lord knows why it was me specifically."

A small smile crossed Crucifel's lips, her reddened eyes turning toward Mirilmen with contrition. "I am still so sorry for getting you in trouble for that with my crying. It was quite the tale that you weaved for us. Vividly too, might I add."

Mirilmen chuckled, shaking her head and making her silver curls bounce. "No, it's perfectly understandable, Your Highness. I did get a bit too into the retelling, and the props were far from necessary. Did you know that your brother then spent a week following me around the palace asking me to teach him how to rip a demon's jaw off after that? Your poor mother was so embarrassed, and your father eventually got him off my heels with the promise of more hand to hand combat lessons."

The head maid scoffed to herself, reaching out her left hand and clenching the brass digits into a fist before unfurling the carefully articulated fingers once more. "One would think that His Majesty would have sought lessons on that from a mentor with just a few more nonmetallic fingers."