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Despite the fact that Micah had seen the princess in visions for years before meeting her, he had still been surprised when she walked through the door of his parish, interacting with each of the patrons as she went. If he hadn’t known her face - her eyes - implicitly then he would’ve doubted she was the princess at all. There was only so long that anyone could escape their destiny, he knew that much. He knew that he could put it off for as long as possible, but then it came to the stage when he needed to do something. Micah hadn’t been there for Ceri, or for his family. He hadn’t protected his village, hadn’t seen a vision that warned them to keep the sick separate from the healthy, or not to drink the water from the well. He had a responsibility now to make up for that, in any way that he could.

The storm had come on suddenly during their peaceful walk through the countryside. Micah got the impression that Juliette was not used to such luxuries, the simple things that he had taken for granted in his youth. He turned to her, hearing her words albeit muffled. The wind picked up around them at her attempt and Micah, a grin coming onto his face, gestured towards a grove of trees. “We should get some shelter,” he said, reaching a hand out towards her, to help her over the rough ground. Once they were shielded somewhat from the wind, he turned back to her. “It depends on your definition of success, I expect,” Micah commented, looking at the way the trees moved in the wind. “I think it’s beautiful.” He wondered if she wanted her question answered after all, but decided that Juliette was not the type to ask if she did not. “I learned to trust my visions when they became too much to ignore,” he admitted, “and when they were proven true, more often than not. It is still difficult, most times, to work out which are true and which are dreams.”

Much of Juliette’s life had been spent hiding in plain sight. For a princess, it was contradictory, especially for one that was to inherit the crown. She was forced to behave as though she couldn’t summon a bolt of lightning if anyone threatened her, magic was far too fearsome, and Juliette succeeded… except for when she had attacked her guard. If the king suspected her powers, he had never mentioned it, and Juliette truly believed that meant she had been successful in her dual identity. However, that did not mean she wished it were her life. Juliette had no desire for the crown, for the obligations, for the politics, though she was good at them. What Juliette truly wanted was freedom, acceptance and excitement. Thus far, Micah seemed like an excellent person to grant her all three. Micah was also capable of giving her answers.

Juliette wasn’t used to embarrassing herself, but the storm that had come on wasn’t her doing… most likely. She could never tell if she caused them or if it was nature simply having its way. Thankfully, Micah looked delighted and Juliette couldn’t help but smile herself. “Shelter is good,” Juliette agreed, though the storm didn’t bother her in the slightest. Wind, rain and thunder were all a part of her. Juliette followed Micah beneath the trees, grateful for his help. Dresses were not made for climbing, Juliette mused. “I’m a princess, Micah, I think success is when my intentions come to fruition.” Despite her words, Juliette kept her voice light, like she was teasing, though her statement was true. “What else do you think is beautiful?” She asked, unable to help herself. Flirtation was a passion of hers! “And when did they become too much?” Juliette asked curiously. “I don’t imagine that seeing the future is an easy gift,” she said softly.

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There was no one in this world who Lucien loved more than his sister. When his parents scoffed at his interests and the tutors called him dull for failing to comply with their requests, Juliette, still young herself, had pulled a chair over to his desk and asked what he was working on. She was always so thrilled when he had a breakthrough, almost more excited than he was himself, and when he failed, Juliette did not take it as reason for him to quit. Lucien wasn’t exactly sure what he thought about the prophecy, or prophecies in general. He was a man of science, one of the few in Rielle who liked to separate affairs of the body and earth from those of religion, but he also had powers beyond comprehension. If he could create fire from his palm, and his sister could control the very elements, who was to say Micah could not see into the future?

“I would love to chart the stars,” Lucien said, looking up at his sister with a smile on his face. “I’ve seen the constellations from the palace for decades, but further than that has never been an option before. I might even find one to name after you.” They hadn’t been away for long, barely a few days, but already Lucien felt as if there was a weight off his shoulders, as if the world was open to him. Juliette seemed much the same, though there was also an added excitement to her, her voice more alive than it had been for years. “Not much has changed for me, to be fair,” Lucien said. “I spent most of my time standing behind you.” At parties, that had been what saved him. “Yes. I’m very happy,” he admitted. He looked at his sister for a moment. “Are you?”

Curiosity whilst in the palace had been more of a curse than a positive. Juliette had never been particularly adept at hiding her feelings, much less controlling them, unless she was donning her guise as ‘Your Royal Highness.’ Her inquisitiveness was what lead her to suspecting the king had done several horrible things, including hiding their true parentage. Magic was something inherited, from what Juliette understood, and her father certainly possessed no gifts — nor had his previous bride. In an ideal world, Juliette would have been close to her father, able to ask such a difficult question. In reality, however, Juliette spent her nights sneaking around, rifling through his things, and when that failed, leaving the palace to indulge in beautiful duchesses and dukes.

Lucien, of course, lead a very different life. He was interested in science, in defying possibilities, and Juliette couldn’t be more proud of him for that. His curious mind lead him to entirely new places while hers got her into trouble, as proven by her impulsive decision to join the prophet on this quest. Thankfully, Lucien was at her side regardless. “Then we’ll spend time charting the stars,” Juliette said simply. Whatever Lucien wished, he received. “I think I’ve earned having a star named after me, yes?” The idea was incredible! Who needed jewels when they had stars? “Well, now you aren’t standing behind me. You’re standing with me,” Juliette pointed out. “I think so,” she said slowly. The idea of happiness was difficult to grasp, she had numerous responsibilities, and even this was another one. Success was the only option. “What does happiness feel like exactly?” At least Juliette was free, she supposed.

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Growing up in Novibrinsk had not been idyllic, no matter how many rose tinted glasses Micah tried to don over the years. He had not been the perfect son, the perfect lover, or the perfect friend. In fact, he was pretty sure he had written the book on how to be the imperfect man all around. Despite that, he had friends. He had family. He had people who cared about him, who wanted to keep him safe. And he had left that, without even a second thought. There were many things in his life that he regretted, and the loss of those he cared for made up the grand majority.

He hadn’t expected to see Zoya again, not in this lifetime, having assumed that she died in the same plague that took his family. When he did, Micah was somewhat relieved at her cold gaze. If she had revealed any of the emotion that he was feeling in his chest, it would be a lot harder to continue on this path, especially since it was clear Zoya was coming on the journey with them. “Charming as always,” Micah commented, looking up from his broth when Zoya came in. “Far more self assured than when we were children, too. I assume you didn’t spend the time apart with farmers, Zoya?” Micah looked at her for a long moment, and then took another sip of his broth. “I am a prophet. I give prophecies. What are you getting out of this situation? You are meant to protect the prince in the palace, aren’t you, yet here you are.”

Obviously Zoya had expected Micah to be dead. She wasn’t angry with him for not perishing due to a plague, but she was angry at the fact that he had survived and never informed her. She was angry about his strange prophecies and what they meant for their journey exactly. Perhaps, most of all, Zoya was angry for the reminder of her past. She tried to think of Novibrinsk rarely, especially because whenever she did, all that she recalled was loss. The loss of Micah’s village, the loss of her parents, and the loss of all innocence she had desperately clung onto. Rather than mourn, Zoya had always turned to anger, and now was no different.

Unsurprisingly, Micah was unfazed by her threats. Arrogance had always been obnoxious, she mused, thinking about the numerous egotistical men she had killed throughout the years. “I do strive to charm those I wish to kill,” she said. There was some truth to the statement, too. Few of her victims expected an assassin to be a women, much less one that had feigned kindness. “Oh, I was one of the best farmers, Micah. Crops are a passion of mine,” Zoya countered. Micah had never been foolish, he wouldn’t believe that she had done such labour. “Then what’s my prophecy, hm?” Zoya asked, tilting her head to the side. “Perhaps I just crave adventure,” she suggested. “Or maybe I’m here because I don’t trust you. The options are endless for my reasons.”

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Lucien had grown well used to his own company. Growing up in the palace, he had been surrounded by people on a daily basis, but that didn’t mean he had relationships with many of them. His tutors gave up on teaching him within a matter of weeks, stating a lack of focus and attention, but without having something to grasp his interest, Lucien didn’t see the point of sitting in a classroom, listening to a tutor drone on and on about topics he could care less about. It was a similar situation with many of his parents’ friends, and the heirs and heiresses from other kingdoms, most of whom were more interested in his sister than him anyways. With the exception of his sister, Zoya was the only one Lucien found himself actually wanting to spend time with, and he took her opinion seriously because of it.

When she spoke, breaking the comfortable silence between them, Lucien looked up from the glass he had been working on. It seemed that, at the right angle, it made small words and letters larger and more easily read, definitely something worth looking into further. “To put my sister’s mind at ease,” Lucien replied, meeting Zoya’s gaze. “She trusts the prophet, so I do as well. What he is saying has some merit, Zoya. Rielle has changed recently.” There were rumours of revolt, and farmers stirred in the fields far more than they had before. Lucien’s attention went to Zoya’s leg, and then when she spoke again, he casually returned his gaze to the glass on his desk. “Unless your feminine wiles can convince my sister the prophecy poses no threat, I’m afraid I’m still going,” he said. “Why? Are you afraid that travelling with me might be beyond your competence?”

Adventure had always appealed to Zoya. As a child, she’d traveled through countless cities and villages, exploring and trading goods at her mothers’ side. When she wielded a blade for the wrong cause and in the wrong name, Zoya had similarly been on countless expeditions, and she had faced numerous challenges. Nothing about traveling frightened her, even with magic in her midst. (Whether Zoya was excited to be around witches or disgusted was a constant daily battle. Unless, of course, it was Lucien. She would adore him regardless.) What did frighten her was that it was pointless and that Lucien and the princess would ultimately grow disappointed and disillusioned. The prophet was not someone that Zoya trusted, though she had to admit that he did make compelling points. There had been a shift throughout the kingdom, but she highly doubted that it was their responsibility to fix it.

“What makes the prophet trustworthy?” Zoya challenged, raising her eyebrows. As much as she cared about Lucien, she did not blindly agree with all of his sentiments. Thankfully, it wasn’t her duty to. Zoya was only charged with protecting Lucien and nothing further. Unfortunately, he made that difficult on occasion. “Change doesn’t mean that there’s a prophecy involved,” she scoffed. “Change means civil unrest and that there should be a strong response from leadership and yet their princess is running.” As Zoya spoke, she continued mindlessly sharpening her blade. “I could try it,” she said, chuckling. It was unlikely Juliette would have any interest in her, but it would be amusing. “Unfortunately for Juliette, however, I’m more interested in a different member of the royal family.” At Lucien’s question, Zoya looked up from her blade. “Competence in what field exactly?”

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Micah had been someone Juliette immediately trusted and as a result, his claims of the prophecy had never once shocked her. In fact, they made perfect sense and Juliette was thrilled to be going on a journey with him and with Lucien. (Zoya was along for the ride, too, but Juliette wasn’t sure if the bodyguard was excited to be among their ranks.) Juliette’s powers were  something that she had always loathed and feared within herself, but around Micah, they were a little less terrifying. Perhaps because it was the first time she wasn’t forced to hide them, hidden within Rielle’s countryside.

“How did you learn to trust your visions?” Juliette asked abruptly. The sound of the wind was loud, but not deafening, and in truth, she wasn’t sure whether Micah could hear it. She had always been in tune with storms. Idly, Juliette reached out a hand and attempted to calm the wind. Instead, she worsened it and cringed. “That wasn’t very successful, was it?” She asked, mildly embarrassed by her poor display. A princess was supposed to err on the side of perfection.

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Some would argue that Juliette was being impulsive while others would argue that she was being harmlessly curious. In truth, Juliette wasn’t sure what exactly fuelled her to follow a prophecy so closely, and she wasn’t sure what about Micah she had immediately trusted. Simply put, Juliette believed his claims, believed that she would find more answers about the mysteries her family had created and Juliette wanted to better understand her powers. When phrased like that, there were no questions left in her mind about whether it was the right thing… not that she was prone to doubting her decision making to begin with. As the crown princess, Juliette had never been afforded the luxury of self doubt.

Whatever the cause, however the adventure went, Juliette was grateful that Lucien had decided to come along with her. That, too, had never been something that she questioned. She and her twin had always been somewhat inseparable, though they had vastly different interests. “What are you planning on creating during our travels?” Juliette asked curiously, moving her skirts so she could sit on his makeshift workbench. They were already far from the palace, but it was one of the Levesque’s many homes and it came equipped with many luxuries they were accustomed to. “Are you happy to be away from the royal dullness? I know I am,” she added with a grin.

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There was once a time when Zoya considered Micah a friend… and a time where Zoya assumed that Micah was in fact dead. Clearly, neither of the above beliefs were true. Micah was not dead, and he certainly wasn’t someone Zoya shared any kind of camaraderie with anymore. Not only was she bitter about embarking on a very questionable journey — Zoya’s conflicting feelings about magic were endless unless Lucien was involved — but Micah also was quite simply a pain in the ass.

Naturally, Zoya cornered him in the kitchen without either of the royal twins nearby. “If you’re lying to them, I will kill you,” Zoya said simply, like she was reciting an equation. Though Micah had powers, Zoya was an expert in murder of various varieties and he posed little threat. “What are you getting out of this?” She questioned, arching an eyebrow.

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The irony was not lost on Zoya that she was now the prince’s bodyguard, in charge of his safety. Not long ago, she would have been the one breaching his defences, and she would have excelled at it. Thankfully, that was no longer what she was destined to do. It was liberating to take control of your fate, even if that meant sitting inside a palace on the outskirts of Rielle. Surrounded by tactical idiots, Zoya had taken it upon herself to demand they make a plan before ‘fulling the prophecy.’ In truth, she was holding out hope that she could convince Lucien it was a stupid idea, though Zoya was realistic enough to realize he never would while his sister’s safety was at risk.

“What are you hoping for with this… prophecy?” Zoya asked, looking up from the book she’d been mindlessly flicking through. “And what exactly is the point of it?” As she posed that question, Zoya rose from her chair and removed a dagger strapped to her leg. Absentmindedly, Zoya went through the motions of sharpening the blade, obviously unable to sit still. “I don’t imagine I could persuade you to stay here with my feminine wiles, hm?”

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Summer Bishil photographed by Diana Ragland (2018)

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Stella Maeve - San Diego Comic-Con Portrait

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Happy 27th birthday, Alexandra Park (14/05/1989)

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“Don’t even speak,” Mona said with a groan, busying herself with picking stray pieces of clothing up off the floor and pulling a face as she imagined the activities that had gone on once they were shed to hide the fact that she was a moment away from smiling. “I don’t want to know what went on here last night. Mostly because I heard it. Jesus, Evie, were you murdering them in here?” Murder, in Mona’s opinion, would have been preferable, at least if it was justified. Still, she couldn’t help but be endeared by the current wreckage of her best friend’s bedroom, just because it was such a classic Evie move. How could she not find it hilarious in that regard?

She sighed, deciding that even her attempts to clean would come up short, and dropped onto the end of Evie’s bed. “I hope you’re up for just as much … vigorous activity today,” she said, no longer able to keep the smirk entirely off her face. It had been a struggle to manage it for this long, and she was proud of herself! “I have a target. Two targets, actually, so we can indulge in one each. Arabian politicians, more dedicated to getting their rocks off counting their dirty oil money than the workers who die on their plants. Are you up for the challenge?”

“But then you would miss the sound of my voice,” Evie pointed out. “Never hearing what clever things I have to say would wound you like a steak to the heart.” As she spoke, Evie looked through her wardrobe, paying special attention to the weather outside. Despite her no longer needing to be concerned with their destroyed climate, humans were effected by it. Thank god she was no longer so vulnerable! Humans were such weak creatures, though they had their uses. “Maybe I should have murdered some of them. I’m a little peckish this morning,” she said, turning to smile coyly at Mona. “Judging by one of their heart rates, he was about to have a heart attack. It was so flattering,” she said lightly, rolling her eyes. “Why didn’t you join us?”

Once Evie decided on a suitable outfit, she changed into it and spun around for Mona to admire. Her best friend deserved the view! “I’m far from satisfied,” she assured Mona. “I could handle even more vigorous activity in fact.” It wasn’t a lie — Evie was insatiable in every conceivable way and she always had been. There were moments she wondered if that was due to her endless and unsuccessful pursuit of love, but admitting that seemed like weakness. “Challenge? Please,” Evie said with a laugh. “No human is a challenge! Some are just a little more irritating than others. Do you have a plan?”

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In a strange turn of events, the undercover mission that the entirety of the NYPD balked at for its dangers turned out to be one of the best things that could possibly happen to Ray. He had always been optimistic, was forced to be since he was a child, but in this situation he knew he was excelling. While his experience had been mostly beat cop duty previously, he knew that his past allowed him to fit in seamlessly into the organisation, and he could almost feel the promotion on the horizon. More than even that, though, he was working with Evie, who was, inn the simplest of terms, the best cop he had ever laid eyes on.

She was insanely over-qualified for this gig, something Ray never forgot, but she didn’t act like it. She was dedicated, and she was resourceful. Added to that, she trusted him, for reasons he never wanted to examine unless he jinxed it. When he asked her to join him on the docks, she showed up without a question, something he always appreciated. “Moonshine,” he supplied as he walked towards her, knocking his knuckles against the wooden crates pushed into the shadows created by the dock buildings. “The guys want it moved down south by tomorrow morning. Figured boats was the best option. Any chance you got some dockhand in your back pocket?” Ray paused after that, looking at her for a moment, a smile coming onto his face. “You’re looking good, Evie. Whose life did you make hell today?”

Undercover work with the NYPD was preferable to life in London, which had slowly began to turn to normal. Briefly, she had helped reunite families, but alas, it hadn’t lasted long and once again women were viewed as far lesser. It was infuriating, especially everything that Evie had accomplished, all of which she had known she was capable of, but now that was no longer a problem. Of course working undercover as a flapper of all things was not ideal, but Evie had slowly begun to see how enjoyable it could actually be. While she was still working, and very much in the game, the dancing and the unparalleled freedom of it all was admittedly enjoyable. Much, much less stressful than slyly deciphering German code and German plans.

As far as Evie knew, Ray was among few cops in the NYPD aware of her status as an undercover agent. Women were not allowed in the force, and if it weren’t for Evie’s background and this specific operation, she highly doubted that she would have the pleasure of joining in the action. Thankfully, Ray, unlike his coworkers, was not a misogynistic pig! He would have made for an excellent ally during her time in the MI6. “No one in my back pocket that we can trust,” she mused. “Besides, it’ll be much funnier watching you lug all of these onto your boats. Chop, chop,” Evie said, leaning against one of the crates lazily. “You like the dress? It’s very bright,” she said, snorting. The golden number wasn’t her typical style, but flapper apparel was expensive looking and she supposed quality mattered in America. (It had in London, too, and would again once they regained resources.) “I never make people’s lives hell, I only better than, Ray,” she scoffed. “Today I met a politician! I’ve decided to continue stringing him along because he could be useful in the future.” For both Evie and Ray, she added silently. They were both at a distinct disadvantage. “Did you do anything exciting?”

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The good news was that they were still alive, but the bad news was that they were running dangerously low on just about everything. Gabe had been predicting this moment for a few weeks now. They were a decent sized crew, but against a whole swarm of zombies and with a dangerously picked over city at their disposal, decent wasn’t good enough. They needed specialties and Reese was just the person for the job. (In Gabe’s opinion, despite the time that had passed between them, Reese was the person for most jobs.)

Once he’d prepared two sorry excuses for tea, courtesy of random leaves that Margot had found, Gabe knocked on Reese’s door. There was no reason to be nervous — he was visiting for valid reasons — but Gabe couldn’t help the way butterflies erupted in his stomach. Visiting your ex was never simple, and it was especially complicated when your feelings never seemed to dissipate. Nevertheless, Gabe had a job, people relied on him, and as much as he adored Reese, he could bear it. When she answered, he offered her one of the cups with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about the taste,” he said, an easy opener. “How are you doing?” He should have started with asking about survival lessons for the whole compound, and a refresher course for himself, but Gabe was only good at taking orders when it came from an outside party. He rarely seemed to listen to his own.

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The village of Bayeux was one of the most peaceful places Matthias had ever visited, and considering his long list of roads and cities traveled, that was an impressive compliment. Matthias was positive it had something to do with the fact that the crown wasn’t looming over his head and the fact that Ella was currently standing beside him with his arm wrapped around his waist — Matthias had always been a closeted romantic. Unfortunately, with a search party officially sent out after the King of Trier, Matthias highly doubted that the peace would last long.

Gently, Matthias pressed a kiss to Ella’s forehead. “Do you think we should return to Trier or keep traveling the road?” He asked curiously, knowing that the Etretat highway was nearly endless. He had journeyed on it for weeks without seeing the end. Granted, he had been rather drunk at the time and his imagination had always been active. Perhaps they had turned off and Matthias had been unaware. “Mom won’t give up until she finds me and forces the crown on my head,” he continued. Of course, Matthias was already the King, but he liked to pretend otherwise.

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Romeo had always been a schemer, it was one of the many things that originally attracted Mila to him despite how much of a fucking prick he was. It was rare that she met anyone who countered her own intelligence, and while they were brilliant in different ways, he was capable of keeping up with her. Alexis would roll her eyes and snicker if she was aware that Mila was praising Romeo’s brain of all things, but thankfully for once, Alexis wasn’t present to listen to her ramblings. It was the only time Mila wasn’t missing her best friend, and with good reason: Alexis hated Romeo more than Mila ever could. Sometimes she wondered if being in love with him had completely ruined her good judgment.

Especially in moments like these. Despite having successfully scavenged for medical supplies, they were currently residing in an abandoned barn that smelled like shit. “I can’t believe you weren’t smart enough to get us back on time,” Mila said bitterly. “Now I have to spend the night with you. If you wanted to torture me, I could have leant you a few scalpels,” she said coolly. After a moment, she checked how many bullets were left in her gun. “We could fight our way back,” Mila said thoughtfully. They were both capable — well, mostly Romeo, but she hated to admit he was decent at anything at all.