Almost two weeks had gone by with no incident. Michael should have guessed it was too good to be true. He never should have let his guard down. Yesterday's events were painful proof of that foolish mistake. 
Feeling something was amiss, Michael had gone to Gabriël's cottage, finding the place in utter chaos. Half the furniture lay scattered and broken, and Joan and Raphael were desperately trying to calm Gabriël down. The demon living inside him had awoken from its slumber again. It'd tried to attack Michael the moment he stepped through the threshold, but Joan threw herself in between and took the blow. Gabriël didn't seem to recognise Joan anymore, and it had taken Michael and Raphael both to pull him away from her. As Michael held him down, Raphael had attempted to sedate Gabriël, but he trashed about so wildly that they were left with no other option than to knock him out with the broken table leg.
After taking care of Joan, they brought the unconscious Archangel to the catacombs. Michael placed sentries at the entrance and forbade anyone to enter but himself or Raphael. None would dare, anyway. Not on their own.

The catacombs lay below the steps of a mausoleum that stood in Michael's backyard. It gave access to a network of tunnels that spread under the entire Vale. Four holding cells had been constructed at the entrance chamber of the main tunnel, but were never in use - almost never.
Michael paused at the closed doors with a heavy heart, dreading what he might find below. What he witnessed yesterday had rattled him. He hoped Gabriël had come to his senses by now. If not... he knew what had to be done.
He finally opened the doors, and the midday sun entered the darkened chamber below. He did not need light as he descended the steps; his eyes quickly grew accustomed to the dark. Slowly, he walked to the last cell on the left. The flickering light of the single torch made shadows dance on the wall. 
Gabriël sat on the ground, one arm leaning on his knee, his head leaned back against the stone wall. His hair was messy, his shirt torn, and his skin was covered with dirt. Iron manacles were around his wrists and ankles.

He looks terrible, Michael thought.

Gabriël did not look up as he entered the cell. Michael considered sitting beside him, but deemed it better to remain at a safe distance. 

"Am I truly such a danger that I am to be treated like this? Do you fear me so much?"

He was taken aback at Gabriël's weak, yet resentful, voice. 

"There will come a time when I will ask for your forgiveness, Gabriël, but not now. You... This thing forced my hand. I had to act."

Gabriël gave no response. He did not move or face Michael, but balled his fingers into a fist. Michael believed to detect a slight tremor, but he couldn't be certain.

"What do you remember?" he asked.

"Pain," answered Gabriël, despondent. "Suffering. The feeling that everything and everyone would be destroyed. Then... nothing. Just darkness. I woke up alone and chained to the wall."

"The demon inside you took control once again. It seemed like you tried to fight it at first, but to no avail. Joan stepped between us when you attacked me and suffered some minor injuries, but -"

"What?" Gabriël's head jerked up, and he scrambled to his feet. "Is she -?"

"Safe," assured Michael. "And healing. Raphael was present and treated her. We had to pry you off her; you were nearly choking her. We had no choice but to knock you out."

"Well, that explains the headache, I suppose."

"Apologies. You, or better, your demon, forced me to do so. Raphael and I agreed it would be better to keep you -"

"Imprisoned?" Bitterness dripped off Gabriël's words. 

"In a safe place. I suggested the Villa, but that thing seems very keen to have it in for me."

"So, Plan B was locking me away in the catacombs."

"For the safety of others. And yourself."

Gabriël scoffed. This wasn't at all the reaction he would've usually given. It only convinced Michael more he'd made the right decision.

"Are you sure that Joan is well?" asked Gabriël.

"Yes, I am." Michael cocked his head to the side inquisitively. "Are you worried about her?"

"You've just told me I attacked my best friend! Of course, I am worried!"

"Your... best friend? I did not realise you were that close."

Another scoff. 

"Do not look for anything else behind it, Michael."

"Is there a reason I should?"

"No," said Gabriël firmly. "I have made it clear several times that Joan and I are simply friends."

"Best friends, as it would seem." Michael pinched his lips into a thin line before continuing. "Perhaps you could explain if that is why Joan insists on remaining your guardian? I would've thought she would be more reluctant to do so after the injuries she suffered at your hands."

Gabriël remained silent. Michael wondered if he really had nothing else to say or simply didn't want to risk any further suspicion. Either way, he had his answer.

"You leave me no choice, Gabriël."

Michael left the cell and locked it again. Gabriël stepped forward, but the chains prevented him from reaching the bars.

"What are you doing? Michael, you cannot leave me here!"

"I can. And I will. Only Raphael and I will see you. Primarily for safety reasons but also as a punishment for dereliction."

"I have done nothing!"

"Maybe not yet. But I am convinced you were planning something. In time, the truth will come out."

"Damn you, Michael!" Gabriël yelled furiously as Michael turned his back on him and walked away. "You cannot lock me away forever! MICHAEL!"

***

Joan reluctantly joined Margaret and Catherine at the Agora to have a drink. They'd caught her leaving the Villa after Michael dismissed her request to remain Gabriël's guardian yet again and nearly dragged her along with them for some 'girl talk'. Catherine needed to vent about her problems with the artistas, while Margaret seemed concerned, which was typical for her.
There was a lot of buzz around them. Some angels were attending an outdoor debate. Others just met with friends. Most were simply enjoying the sun's warmth. All of this usually put a smile on Joan's face, but not today. Today, she felt like she would never smile again.

"Joan, how's Gabriël doing?" Margaret's sudden question pulled her out of her musing.

"His wound sometimes acts up, but we've got it under control." Joan bit the tip of her tongue. She hated lying to her friends, but it was a necessity.

"That's good," said Margaret. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to come more often."

"Yes, me too," Catherine said after downing her second cup of wine.

"Don't worry about it." Joan shrugged her shoulders. "I can handle it."

"Still, you must be tired."

She was tired; Joan couldn't deny that. The past weeks had been an emotional rollercoaster for her and Gabriël. Then the incident that happened yesterday changed everything. Now Gabriël was... gone.

"Tell you what," said Margaret. "Why don't we go to the cottage, and you go home to rest? We can watch Gabriël for a bit."

"No, that's not necessary."

"Come now, don't be like that. We know you're tough, but there is no need for you to wear yourself out and -"

"I said no!" 

Joan's sudden outburst startled the people around her, including her friends. Everyone stared at her, wondering was going on. Catherine brushed her hair behind her ear and threw her a stern look.

"Joan, I know you're stressed, but that was uncalled for," she said. "Apologise to Marina. She was only trying to offer our help."

"No, Cate, it's okay. Joan, I didn't mean to -"

"I have to go," Joan interrupted Margaret and rose from her seat.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Catherine gripped Joan's wrist and pointed at her neck. "What is that? What happened to you?"

Joan cursed silently. The black scarf she wore had come loose in her sudden movement, showing the hand-shaped bruises on her neck that were healing slower than usually. She snatched her wrist away and hurried away from her friends without an explanation, ignoring their loud protests. How was she supposed to account for any of this, anyway?
Her feet carried her back to the Villa. Joan looked up, dawdling at the bottom of the steps. She was certain Michael's presence triggered the demon to attack so violently yesterday, yet how could she voice her suspicion without being questioned herself? After carefully weighing her options, Joan eventually climbed the steps and entered the Villa. She found Michael in the war room, leaning over a table littered with papers. She recognised one as a detailed map of Paris. Curious. What was so important about the French capital?

"I believe I made myself clear when you left earlier." Michael spoke and looked up before Joan even had the chance to knock. "We have nothing else to discuss, Joan. Go home."

Joan balled up her fist. Her nails dug into her palm as she willed herself to remain calm. Now was not the time to be rash.

"I know, I just... Michael, I apologise if it seemed like I dismissed your judgment. I still feel lightheaded from yesterday, and I'm having trouble thinking clearly."

His stern gaze softened a bit. Joan considered it a minor victory. At least he'd spoken the truth when he said he cared for her wellbeing. 

"Have you seen Raphael today?" he inquired. "Or Isabelle? They can give you something to clear the daze and help you rest."

"No, not yet," she answered. "I shall go now, I promise."

"See that you do." Michael returned his attention to his maps, but sighed and glanced back up when Joan remained on the threshold. "Was there something else?"

Joan tried to find the right words, but apart from indirectly blaming the Lord Protector for what happened yesterday, there was no way she could broach the subject. With no genuine evidence to support her claim, she thought it best not to say anything just yet.

"Will you... Will you not reconsider my request?" she asked instead.

Michael's jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed into threatening slits. Joan knew it was a long shot, but she had to try. She'd been there for Gabriël every time the demon threatened to overtake him, and he'd always regained the upper hand. Until yesterday, that is. He needed her. Unfortunately, that was another thing she couldn't say to Michael.

"I shall say this only one more time." He stepped around the table, pushing his fingers on the surface to emphasise his words. "Gabriël will remain in the catacombs until we find a way to exorcise this demon. The only ones who will see him will be Raphael, as his physician, and myself as his guardian. The sentries are under order not to let anyone else in."

"And what of me? Please, Michael, you must allow me to stay with him. Or see him, at the very least."

"Do I? Why is that?" He halted before her.

"I... We..." she stammered.

"Yes?"

Joan averted her eyes, afraid she might have already said too much. When Michael spoke next, his voice held a harsh, authoritative tone.

"I have had my suspicions about you two for some time, Joan. But since I cannot prove it, I cannot act. You mean a lot to the Lord's design, and Gabriël has been by my side since creation itself. I will not let you destroy each other. Therefore, I forbid you to speak to or see him. Should you try to reach out to him, I shall separate you forever. Do I make myself clear?"

The Lord Protector had spoken, and Joan could do no more but lower her head in defeat. 

***

Cesare lay naked in bed, vaguely aware of the three slave girls beside him. He felt restless. They had been training for weeks now, but the order to attack wouldn't come. It seemed that Gabriël and his slut had found a way to keep their relationship hidden from everyone. All anyone could do was wait until they were discovered. But patience had never been Cesare's strength.
Lucrezia had often made jokes about it whilst Giovanni had challenged him. And his parents, Pope Alexander Sixtus (once the 'simple' Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia) and his mistress Vanozza di Catanei, had scolded him for rushing into things. Though, admittedly, Vanozza had allowed him more freedom than his father, who had planned the future of all their children by having Cesare serve the Church, Giovanni the military, and by letting Lucrezia and Gioffre strengthen the family through their noble marriages. Even so, he didn't remember or even care much for his mother. The only woman he had ever genuinely loved was Lucrezia. And she was gone. 

Cesare got up from his bed to pour himself a cup of wine. He heard the sheets rustle behind him and turned to find one of the slave girls gazing at him with a quaint, admiring look in her eyes. His movements must've woken her up. The other two were still sleeping soundly. He had completely worn them out.
Cesare wondered if he should keep them. They were, after all, a gift from the Master to keep him occupied for as long as he wished. They served their purpose well, but he had grown tired of them already. Nonetheless, it would be rude, not to mention foolish, to send them away so shortly after receiving them. 

"Thirsty?" Cesare walked over to the bed and offered his drink to the girl.

The girl took the cup with a brief nod and sipped the wine. He took a step back to inspect her. She appeared young, early twenties perhaps. Brown eyes underneath light, silky yellow hair. A scar ran across her throat. That spiked his curiosity.
Cesare slipped on his robe, sat down in his chair, and gestured for the girl to come to him. She took her shift to cover herself and slowly stepped up towards him. For a moment, he thought of taking her onto his lap, but he didn't. Some courtesy could get her to open up to him. He allowed her to sit in the opposite chair, keeping the table between them. She gave his cup back, and Cesare filled it again, pouring an extra cup for her, at which she smiled. There was something mischievous in her. She somehow reminded him of Lucrezia, who used to smile like that.

"So," he said, "I suppose you know who I am?"

"Oh yes, I've heard of you, sir," she said. "Both here and when I was still alive. I am very honoured to meet you, at last, my Lord."

"Well, don't hold back on your own story. Perhaps I've heard of you as well."

"I do hope so. Everyone calls me Kitty. I'm not really sure why."

"I can imagine a couple of reasons." Cesare smirked. "Well then, Kitty, how did you end up down in the Circles? What heinous crimes did you commit in your life?"

Kitty sighed and sat back in the chair. She looked like a spoiled child who'd just been reprimanded.

"Pfft, nothing that bad. I married a King, you see. And he liked to give me presents. Lots and lots of presents. But he was an old man. Sickly too. Something to do with an old wound. I didn't really pay that much attention to it. He often left me alone."

She sat up again and gestured for Cesare to come closer. He moved his chair beside hers.

"But I think he knew I was lonely because he would often send one of his pages to me. To amuse me, comfort me, and... well, you know." Kitty blushed shyly. "And then, out of nowhere, I was arrested. Me, the Queen of England, arrested like a common criminal! I was treated appallingly, not allowed to speak with my husband. They shut me away in an abbey first and then in the Tower. In the abbey, I heard what they had done to him. My poor Thomas. Cut off his head."

A tear rolled over Kitty's cheek. Cesare almost felt compelled to console her. Almost.

"Another was executed, along with Thomas. Francis, a former lover from before I had even met His Majesty. But they accused me of having married him, which I never did! Only a silly promise when we were children. I guess the King didn't think it so silly, for he was hanged, drawn, and quartered. I saw their heads when I passed the gate. My lady-in-waiting was imprisoned with me. That fool tried to plead insanity, but the King would have none of it. And right he was. It was her fault that we were caught, anyway. She deserved what she got. Little bitch."

Cesare grinned. He had been right to think of her as a spoiled child. But to believe she had once been a Queen of England? Kitty lacked the grace and poise of royalty. No doubt her husband had only chosen her to keep himself occupied. He wondered about it.

"Who was your husband, exactly?"

"Henry Tudor. Or, as history knows him, Henry VIII."

"The King who married six times?"

"I believe he did marry one more after me." Kitty scrunched her nose in thought.

"Then you are... Katheryn Howard?" Cesare recalled her name then.

"Oh, you have heard of me! How wonderful!"

She clapped her hands with delight. Cesare certainly regarded the slave girl differently now. Henry Tudor had often challenged him for a joust in an attempt to ascend into the Master's ranks. He floated between the sins of Gluttony and Lust, receiving both punishments. The fool didn't seem to realise he was doing it to himself, constantly boasting about his conquests.

"Tell me something." Cesare leaned in, a hint of curiosity in his deep voice. "Did you really have the block in your cell?"

"Of course," Kitty answered, full of pride. "I had to practise. Though it was my execution, I still had to stand in front of respectable people. I was a Queen before I was a prisoner. I made sure they would not forget that."

Cesare had heard the tales, of course. Katheryn Howard's escapades with both the King and his page. The way she had practised all night on how to place her head on the block. Her last insult to Henry by declaring her love for the page on Tower Green; I die a Queen, but I would rather die the wife of Culpepper.
And now, Katheryn Howard, former Queen of England and wife of Glutton Henry, was in his quarters. A gift from the Master. To do with as he pleased.

"Well, Kitty." Cesare took her hand and pulled her up with him. "You're with me now. If you obey me, if you... please me, I assure you that you will want for nothing."

"Do I have to stay here, my Lord?"

"If that's what you want," he replied, stroking her hair from behind.

Kitty smiled seductively and dropped her robe on the floor. Cesare had not noticed before how appealing her body was to him. She pressed herself against him.

"It is," she whispered in his ear, standing on her toes to reach him.

Cesare did not answer her. Instead, he swept her up and took her back to the bed. He woke the other girls roughly, commanding them to leave immediately. As they gathered their things and scurried away, Cesare threw Kitty on the mattress. He picked up his belt from the floor and bound her hands to the bedpost. If he really had to wait for Gabriël and Joan to be cast out, he might as well make the most of it. Besides, he always had fantasised about fucking a Queen.