As the youngest son to the king of a small European country, Castiel had rarely felt free to be himself. After a breakup and his ex-boyfriend outing him to the public, Cas flees to America to seek some peace and quiet from the press. In his new town, he manages to escape from his bodyguards for an afternoon and meets an attractive stranger. The man, Dean, gives him a taste of what it could be like to date as just another regular person.
And that’s just the first of the strange turns his life is about to take.
“Do they actually still make paper newspapers in the 21st century?” Dean asked. “Why don’t you read your news on the phone like normal people?”
“This is grounding,” Sam said, not raising his eyes from his paper. “It’s nice to do things the old fashioned way sometimes. There’s coffee in the pot.”
Dean went to get some coffee and made himself a bowl of cereal that he put on the table opposite Sam. Realizing he left his coffee next to the pot, he walked to get it and, on the way, stopped to read over Sam’s shoulder.
“Mmm, I love the smell of political opinion pieces in the morning,” Dean said. “How very fascinating.”
“That’s rich, coming from someone who probably doesn’t know who the current governor is,” Sam responded.
“Hey! I know stuff. The governor is… that guy. With the hair. And glasses I think,” Dean said and took a sip of coffee.
“Our governor is a woman,” Sam said, sounding smug, and turned the page of his paper. He probably did say more but Dean had stopped listening as soon as he saw the photo on the page. When he read the headline he sprayed some of the coffee in his mouth right on the paper.
“Hey!” Sam said. “I know you don’t like the paper form of news but there’s no need to…”
Sam turned to Dean, and Dean’s face must have been something because Sam’s tone turned concerned and he asked what was wrong.
“That guy in the photo… it’s the guy who I helped with the car yesterday,” Dean said, not believing his own words.
“Who? The journalist?” Sam looked at the photo. “Or… Dean, it couldn’t have been. Shouldn’t he have like… bodyguards with him? A driver? You said his car was a piece of shit?”
“Yeah, because it was,” Dean said. “But that’s him.”
Him being His Royal Highness, the prince of Fiyora, who was in the picture being interviewed by a local journalist.
“You said your guy had a weird name. Cas something. But the prince is called James,” Sam said.
“I know,” Dean said, placing his coffee mug on the table and starting to doubt himself in the face of overwhelming evidence. Cas had been wearing jeans and a hoodie, Prince James in the picture was wearing a fashionable tailored jacket and trousers. And yet Dean believed it had to be the same person.
“Wait, let me look him up real quick,” Sam said, pulling out his phone and typing something on it to pull up a Wikipedia article. “Here we go. Prince James of Fiyora, the Duke of Seraphim, full name James Castiel Charles Emmanuel…”
“Oh fuck,” Dean sat down in his chair and put his face in his hands. “Castiel. He said his name is Castiel.”
