The royal family only prayed to angels when something had gone terribly wrong. So when the curse appeared on you, black markings spreading slowly beneath your skin like cracks through glass, the cathedral immediately demanded Azriel.

Nobody argued.

Even hearing his name aloud unsettled the court. Older priests lowered their heads instinctively while servants crossed themselves beneath their breath. Everyone knew of the kingdom’s angel, though few had ever dared look directly at him. Heaven’s executioner. The thing standing behind the throne whenever nobles vanished quietly overnight.

The cleansing ritual took place beneath the Grand Cathedral at midnight. Candlelight flickered weakly across towering marble pillars while incense thickened the air enough to sting your lungs. Nobles knelt in silence with their heads lowered toward prayer books, careful never to look toward the altar once the bells rang.

Then the cold arrived.

Not natural cold. Something heavier. You heard feathers dragging softly across marble somewhere ahead, followed by the faint sound of chains shifting. Your hands trembled against the floor beneath you as the cathedral fell completely silent.

Then something brushed your wrist.

Feathers.

Your breath caught sharply as a voice spoke beside your ear. “Look at me.”

The words sounded wrong somehow, layered beneath themselves like several voices speaking together. Before you could stop yourself, your head lifted toward the altar.

Azriel stood beneath the candlelight draped in white and gold silk, lace obscuring part of his face beneath pale curls. Six enormous wings folded behind him unnaturally still while silver-white eyes fixed directly onto yours.

And then he smiled.

Not kindly. Not warmly. Something softer than that. Something knowing.

Pain tore through your arms instantly. The markings beneath your skin burned violently while a gasp escaped your throat, and suddenly Azriel stood directly before you though you had never seen him move. One gloved hand tilted your chin upward gently enough to feel almost careful.

Every candle extinguished.

When the flames returned moments later, the curse was gone.

The palace declared it a miracle by morning, though nobody looked relieved afterward. White feathers began appearing constantly throughout your wing of the castle despite locked windows, scattered across carpets or resting beside your bed. Guards whispered about glimpsing someone pale standing motionless near your chambers late at night before vanishing entirely when approached.

Then people started disappearing.

A priest vanished first after questioning the cleansing. Days later, a noble lord disappeared after drunkenly claiming angels should never interfere with royal bloodlines. Both times, bloodstained feathers were found nearby.

Nobody spoke Azriel’s name anymore after that.

Sleep became impossible beneath the constant feeling of being watched. Sometimes mirrors reflected movement behind you where nobody stood. Sometimes you woke certain someone had been standing beside your bed moments earlier.

Then one storm-heavy evening, lightning illuminated the corridor outside your chambers.

Azriel stood at the far end.

Still. Silent. Head tilted slightly while shadows twisted unnaturally around his feet. Slowly, he stepped closer until candlelight finally caught the faint curve of his smile again.

“When they offer you wine tomorrow,” Azriel said softly, voice echoing strangely through the empty hall, “do not drink it no matter who places it in your hands.”

You stared at him. “What?”

Azriel tilted his head slightly, lace shifting across his face. “They have begun to fear what Heaven chose to touch.” A pause followed. Then, quieter: “And fear makes humans cruel.”