"Who are you?" Michael asked Astrid the moment the three of them were alone, his voice surprisingly tender.

"I'm Astrid, the niece of Arcturus, the future Queen of Eurovea," she recited, feeling so confused by the archangel's repeated question that she stepped back from him, meeting Azrael, who had taken a step towards her, halfway.

"Tell me who you really are," Michael insisted, his stubbornness suggesting that he knew something Astrid didn't.

What was she supposed to tell him, what did he want to hear? she wondered, searching her mind for something, anything else that she could tell him.

"Her angel side is incredibly strong," Azrael said, his arm coming to rest over her shoulders protectively, pulling her closer, "but she has no idea who her real parents were, how she got to be brought up by Arcturus as the heir to the throne."

Michael nodded, his eyes never leaving Astrid's.

"I have a letter for you." Astrid recalled suddenly, realising that she had left it in Azrael's room.

"I admire Arcturus' choice of his ambassador, if nothing else." The archangel laughed as if Astrid was the funniest thing he had seen in a long while. "You bring me his letter and then forget about it..."

"It's not from him, and it was to be a secret, or so I thought," Astrid said, raising her eyes to Azrael, finding him looking down at her, surprise filling his seafoam irises. At least she managed to hide the letter from everyone.

"So? May I see the letter?" Michael prompted, pulling Astrid from the reverie she had fallen into when her arm brushed accidentally against Azrael's wing. The feeling was indescribable; the simple touch made her skin tingle, and the blood racing through her veins sing, while her mind exploded with images she wished she could keep to herself. He looked even more magnificent than before with the white wings, and the love and respect of her, which she felt emanating from him, was intoxicating...

"It must be in my room, right, Astrid?" Azrael asked, scattering her thoughts before Michael would read them too. He should have taught her to shield her mind from anyone but himself, he would never want to miss a single thought of hers, he mused, wishing they had more time together, wishing she belonged to him and he could show her how much better her fantasies would feel in reality...

"In my luggage, in one of my books," she agreed, forcing herself to look back at the archangel despite her blazing cheeks.

"Azrael?" Michael prompted, and the moment Azrael's wings wrapped around her, the three of them vanished from the large chamber and materialised in Azrael's much smaller room.

Astrid staggered as her feet touched the floor, her heart thrusting against her ribs, scared like the two doves, leaving Azrael's shoulder in a whirlwind of wings to settle on the mantelpiece above the empty fireplace. She didn't know that angels could do this, but she knew next to nothing about angels in general. That reminded her that Azrael wasn't a fallen angel anymore and that he would be taken away from her soon. The thought filled her eyes with tears as she disentangled herself from his arms and wings and walked towards his bed, where she had noticed her bags lying on the floor.

She pulled The Book of Angels from beneath her clothes and walked back to Michael, passing him the letter she had found easily among its pages.

A gasp escaped the archangel's lips as he saw the neat, feminine handwriting, and to Astrid's surprise he traced each of the letters forming his name with his finger, caressing them, before he collected himself and opened the letter fast, as if he couldn't wait to read it.

Astrid looked at Azrael enquiringly, but he only shrugged and wrapped his arm around her waist as they stood in front of the archangel, waiting for him to finish reading.

"Angelisa," he whispered then, one arm pressing the letter to his chest, the other pulling Astrid from Azrael and coming to rest over her shoulders. "My daughter, I didn't know, I was sure you were both dead..."

Astrid didn't hear the rest of his sentence. She felt her legs give way, and she fell into Azrael's outstretched arms even as the world around her flickered out of existence for a few blissful moments.

When she regained consciousness, she was lying on Azrael's bed, her back propped against his pillows, the two angels sitting on the mattress at her feet, arguing in hushed tones.

"Explain," she demanded, disturbing them, her eyes intent on Michael.

He shook his head, sending his golden curls bouncing, making Astrid notice how very young and very old he seemed at the same time. "Your mother is the only one who can explain everything to both of us, I can only tell you my part..."

"My mother?" Astrid whispered, reaching out to Azrael; she needed to at least hold his hand. She felt, yet again, as if someone had pulled a carpet from under her feet. She had lived surrounded by lies, within a yet greater web of lies... Nothing seemed to be true anymore, nothing apart from her feelings for Azrael.

She noticed her 'father's' disapproving look finding their joined hands, but she didn't care.

"Your mother, yes," he said, meeting her eyes again. "Who gave you this letter?"

Astrid frowned, trying to organise her thoughts. "I think it's from Deimos." It must have been she who gave Astrid the Book of Angels as well.

"Arcturus' sorceress, the one who makes sure none of us can approach him during the Black Nights," Azrael offered, recalling how he had nearly killed Astrid because he couldn't get to her uncle.

Michael nodded, accepting the information but frowned, as if it didn't make sense. "What does she look like?" he asked, his eyes never leaving Astrid's face.

"She's tall and slim, her hair is long and midnight-black, her eyes just as dark..." Astrid closed her eyes, trying to recall her uncle's sorceress whom she had never met face to face, apart from that one occasion when her uncle told her about the trial... and then, for one short moment, the woman had looked different... "No," she corrected herself. "I'm sure she uses magic to disguise herself. Her hair is long and curly as mine, the colour of the brightest copper, her eyes look like two pieces of ice, but they feel warm nonetheless..."

"Polaris. Her name is Polaris, and she is your mother, just like I'm your father, Angelisa."

"My name is Astrid," she insisted, clutching at the last shards of her reality, feeling them slipping away.

"I met Polaris in a small village not far from Vega, where she lived with her family. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen..." Michael said, ignoring Astrid's words. "She was a human of angel descent; her father had been long dead, and her mother brought her and her two older brothers up alone. Polaris was a witch, one of those humans we were trying to protect from Arcturus' guards, from his persecution. Her angel side was so strong that she could see me, and we fell in love... I lost my wings for her. When she got pregnant, we decided to call you Angelisa, despite all the other people naming their children after the demon fashion... Then I had to leave to help other fallen angels in another part of the country, and when I returned, she was gone. Her family told me that she had been taken by the guards and burned at the stake in a public execution in Starling, along with a few other witches... I read their thoughts, Angelisa. They all believed it. I searched the country for her nonetheless. She was nowhere to be found... I killed so many demons in the next few Black Nights, hoping that avenging her, and you, my unborn child, would help me get through my grief, that I got my wings back and returned to Heaven in no time, swearing to never set foot on Earth again."

"But... How? Why...?" Astrid muttered.

"I don't know anything more. We will have to ask her when we free her from Arcturus. We might need to win the war and kill him first, though..." Michael mused, his eyes glossed over by his vision of war and bloodshed, all in the name of love.

"I don't want war," Astrid said loud enough to pull him out from his reverie.

"But it's necessary, Daughter, I'll teach you to think like a queen..."

"No," Astrid said, feeling her temper rise, then watching with satisfaction the letter which the archangel still held in his hand curl up with heat and begin to smoke as her anger set it on fire. One look from Michael was enough to extinguish the flames as she continued, feeling calmer, "I'm not a child anymore, I'm an adult, I was supposed to be married and crowned upon my return to the castle. The people of Eurovea may well be enemies for you, but they are not enemies for me, not even those of demon descent," she said, thinking of Arabella, Orion's father, Izar, Achernar, Lady Alioth and her husband, and Rigel's mother, "and that's my kingdom which you plan to destroy in another of your wars. I don't care if I'm the rightful heir to Arcturus' throne, but there's no other as far as I know. I was brought up to become the queen... I want to look after Eurovea, Father, the country and its inhabitants are my responsibility, I must right Arcturus's wrongs and improve the people's lives. And the lives of the fallen angels too," she added as her eyes met Azrael's, who had been hanging at her every single word. "Oblivis is an awful place to live in. If I make their existence in Eurovea more comfortable, then the Black Nights will stop..."

Michael's lips pressed into a thin line as he listened to her. "We can think about all of this later. Let's see what will happen when we try to free Polaris... I can't promise you anything now, child, if Arcturus..."

She nodded carefully. "Just let me speak to him before you do anything. In all the books I've read, it's the infinity of innocent people who suffer when two powerful men argue. Let me try to solve this in peace."

"You have my promise. But if you won't succeed, I'll free Polaris and then kill Arcturus and any of his demons standing in my way..."

"Thank you," Astrid said, feeling a little better.

She braved a glance at Azrael in the short pause that followed, wishing Michael would leave them alone for a while, smiling as he nodded to her thoughts, their silent exchange not escaping the archangel.

"What's exactly between you two? Polaris mentioned in that letter that she saw a fallen angel around Angelisa, I mean Astrid, for a long time, before he vanished from the castle a year ago, it was you, Azrael, wasn't it? She also said that she couldn't make Arcturus change his mind about sending her to find the fallen angels, hoping that she would cause war with her lack of knowledge about the real state of things, but she made him send her with her fiancé and a few guards... Was that the man you killed? And how could you fall in love with him so deeply after that, Daughter, he's an angel of death who the humans normally fear..."

"I guess I'm not enough of a human then, Father," Astrid said, stressing the last word which felt strange to her lips, alien to her ears. "I don't care what he did and who he was before we met. I love him." She laced her fingers tighter around Azrael's, getting lost in his eyes. "I don't want you to send him away from me... " she whispered, looking back at Michael. "Is there any way... Please?"

Michael shook his head, closing his eyes momentarily as if he was summoning patience to deal with the whims of a teenage daughter he didn't know he had until a few moments ago. He was lost in thought for a long while, but when he finally spoke again, he seemed to have come to a decision.

"Show us, Azrael, show both of us what passed through your mind since the moment you saw her for the first time," he said, looking at Azrael. "I want her to see your thoughts and memories as clearly as you can see hers. And then," he added, his eyes meeting Astrid's, "once you know him as well as he knows you, I'll do whatever is in my power to make you happy."