No matter how many times he saw it happen, William could never quite shake the feeling that there was something slightly surreal about watching a fighter craft, one that looked like it would have been more at home flying over the battlefields of France during World War Two, hover in place like a particularly frenetic helicopter.
Yet that was what it was doing as it floated over his family’s airfield, its rear-mounted propeller whirring quietly in reverse in an attempt to arrest the vehicle’s previous forward momentum.
“Will, uh, we be in trouble, milord?” A voice asked quietly from behind him.
Tearing his gaze from the somewhat impossible sight of a prop-plane acting as a VTOL, William could only smile at the two rather waterlogged and windswept looking fisherwomen behind him.
“Not at all,” he replied honestly, favoring both with a winning smile.
No, the only one in trouble here is me, he thought as his eyes peered past the two peasants to the plane behind them.
Or perhaps calling it the wreck of a plane would be the more apt descriptor.
It was certainly in worse shape than the one that was currently coming in for landing. The rear propellers would need replacing, and he knew for a fact that the right wing wasn’t supposed to bend that way. No, his family’s Wyvern would need quite some time in the workshop before she was sky worthy again.
Fortunately, none of them had been hurt in the landing. A minor miracle he attributed more to the peculiar flying characteristics of this world’s craft than any skill on his part.
Eyes moving just slightly above the wreck, he struggled to hide his frown as he made out a half dozen distant riders cantering up the air-field’s service path, their surcoats emblazoned with the orange and purple colors of the Ashfield family.
His family.
Sighing, he put them from his mind, as his gaze turned back to the Drake. He watched as its landing gear finally came down, the aether-ballasts that ran down the sides of the vehicle belching forth steamy blue-green clouds of the miracle substance that allowed the whole ensemble to fly.
When it did finally touch down, there wasn’t even a thud to announce it.
As landings went, it was picture perfect, and rather neatly displayed the difference between a woman with years of flying experience in a Shard and an enthusiastic beginner with little more than book learning and more confidence than sense.
Oh, and the possible delusional memories of flying similar craft from another world away, he thought as he watched the canopy of the Drake slide open. Can’t forget those.
Though in his defense, the Drake’s pilot hadn’t needed to compensate for a not-insignificant amount of sea-water in the right aether-ballast – or two other people in her cockpit. The first issue was something he might have been able to clear with a few well-placed barrel rolls or loops, but that hadn’t really been possible with three people occupying a craft that had only ever really been designed for one.
It had been a cramped return journey. One made all the more awkward by the fact that both of his passengers had been quietly convinced that they’d both be beheaded on landing for the crime of ‘taking liberties’ with a noble’s son by sitting on his lap.
“William!” A voice called from the recently opened canopy of the Drake.
Oh, she’s pissed, he thought.
It said a lot about his recent actions that he’d managed to make his ‘fun’ aunt mad. Steeling himself, he stepped forward to face the music.
“Aunt Karla.” He threw his arms wide gregariously. “I must say, I’m glad that you decided against shooting me down. It would rather have thrown a damper on my daring rescue.”
In the past, his antics had never failed to draw a smile from the Shard-pilot, but it seemed his latest antics had been a step too far as the woman simply snarled as she tore off her flight goggles. “I should have, you fool boy! When we got the news, I thought…”
She trailed off uncomfortably at the last minute, but William had some idea of what she’d been insinuating.
He’d hardly have been the first young nobleman to steal his family’s Shard – or in one rare case, an entire airship - in a desperate bid to escape an arranged marriage.
Of course, such stories usually ended pretty poorly for everyone involved. This was a woman’s world after all, and as such, not particularly kind to sheltered young men. Especially those in possession of incredibly valuable military hardware.
The lucky ones usually got ransomed back to their noble houses by the legitimate government of whichever territory they eventually touched down in – often sans the Shard they’d rode out in.
The unlucky ones…
Well, in a world where women outnumbered men five times over, it didn’t take a particularly creative soul to guess where some of those men might end up if they were caught by bandits, pirates or any other brand of brigand.
Or even just a particularly unscrupulous noble.
Thus, it was often quietly considered wiser to shoot down a runaway groom in an attempt to recover the Shard’s Mithril-Core, rather than lose both that and the pilot.
New noblemen could be made, with some luck, but Mithril Cores were significantly more finite.
And who knew, the runaway groom might survive the ensuing crash. Aether-ballasts made for significantly softer and less explosive landings. As evidenced by his own most recent crash.
Fortunately, for everyone involved with his most recent act of insanity, he’d been over the water – and traveling back towards his family airfield – when his aunt had caught up to him in her hastily sortied Drake.
For while the aether created by a Mithril Core might have been lighter than air, the same could not be said for the core itself. That’d sink just as surely as any other large chunk of metal submerged in water.
And thus, lost to the depths forever, he thought.
At least, in theory.
“You thought I was making a run for it?” William simply smiled as he banished that particular thought. “Not at all. While I’m not exactly happy about my upcoming nuptials, I’m not insane.”
Karla’s eyes pivoted away from William to the two peasant women all-but cowering behind him. The noblewoman sighed, her gaze softening slightly. “If you did what I think you did for the reasons you did it, I’d say that the jury is still out on that one.”
He just continued to smile, even as the sounds of thundering hooves drowned out any further conversation as the guards of House Ashfield arrived. The dozen odd women looked more than a little panicked, eyes flitting from the wreck to the two members of the household they were sworn to standing across from one another. Hands lingered on the handles of swords, but the mounted men-at-arms seemed torn on whether to draw them.
“Orders, milady?” The sergeant finally asked.
Karla continued to glare at her nephew for just a moment longer before she shook her head in disgust.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Get these two inside and in front of a fire before they die of chill.” She gestured to the two fisherwomen. “Then you can get one of your people to escort them back to their homestead before night falls.”
The guard hastened to obey, gesturing to one of her people who moved over to take command of the two peasants – though not without a cautious glance in William’s direction. William merely inclined his head, distractedly accepting a final belated thanks from the two fisherwomen as they were led away.
“And guardswoman, be sure to remind the two why it is a poor idea to continue plying their craft when a storm is looming,” Karla shouted after the retreating trio.
William rather thought that the loss of their fishing boat would serve as an ample enough lesson to the mother and daughter duo on that front, but for a change he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. He was in trouble enough already with his aunt and didn’t need to pile more on by questioning her in front of her people.
Sure, they were technically Aunt Evonne’s people, but everyone knew that the airfields were Karla’s domain.
Which likely went some way to further explaining why she was so miffed at him right now.
You know, aside from him nearly killing himself by flying out into a storm to find and rescue two missing peasants by stealing a Shard from what was supposed to be a secure hangar.
Indeed, on that front, he could well imagine that some of the nearby guards weren’t too happy with him either, given that they were likely in for one hell of a lambasting the moment he was out of earshot.
Not that they’d be alone in that. William had a feeling that he was about to suffer a similar fate, if only from a slightly higher source of authority.
“And you,” Karla grunted as she gestured for one of the guard’s horses. “You’re coming with me. Your mother will want to speak to you.”
William had a feeling that would prove to be something of an understatement.
—---------------------------------
A loud slap rang through the room.
William said nothing, ignoring the stinging sensation that blossomed across his right cheek as he blinked in surprise. Not from pain, honestly it didn’t hurt too badly. No, it was the location that caught him off guard.
Normally they avoided his face.
His Mother, Count Janet Ashfield, icily stared him down, hand still raised from where she’d just struck him. “I’ve begged you. I’ve cajoled you. I’ve nagged you. I’ve spanked you. I’ve caned you. I’ve even had you beaten. Yet it seems that no matter what I do, you refuse to behave.”
The words were firm, but there was no mistaking the hint of desperation that underlined those words. Truth be told, that hurt more than the slap. The disappointment he could see in his ‘mother’s’ eyes as she regarded him.
For though he generally tried not to think of her as such, there was no denying that she thought of him as her son.
And he was. Biologically speaking.
…His soul was a different matter though.
At least, if his theory on how he’d come to live in this body was correct.
As such, little emotional disconnects like these were but one of many unfortunate and awkward tribulations that came with reincarnation.
Still, mother or not, it was hard to be literally raised by – and loved by - someone for eighteen years and feel nothing for them.
Hence his guilt at the pain he was causing her. He could see that the woman across from him was almost on the verge of tears. She wouldn’t cry, of course. The reversed gender roles of this world, and her station besides, meant that just couldn’t happen. But he could see that she wanted to.
“What, my son,” she asked through gritted teeth, “what would you have me do now?”
“Have you considered bribery?”
The strike across his back was instant, the pain that flared out from where the cane struck him easily a dozen times more painful than the slap that had preceded it.
Yep, that’s definitely Aunt Sophina, he thought.
The woman was the Ashfield House’s marshal - and was built accordingly.
With that said, the strike upon his back could have been harder. He’d seen the woman in the training fields. He knew for a fact it could have been a lot harder.
It certainly could also have been softer too though, he thought as he bit down on a grunt that tried to escape his lips, what felt like white fire dancing across his back. A lot softer.
It seemed though that his latest stunt had well and truly expended his most martial aunt’s patience. Which was fair. The Shards were an integral part of the countship’s military power, which was her domain, and he’d basically just taken one for a joy ride.
Sure, he’d saved two people from drowning or worse, but if rescuing two peasants was considered a decent reason to sortie a Shard out over water, he wouldn’t have needed to steal one.
On this occasion at least.
He’d have stolen one for some other reason eventually regardless. His plans required it. The fact that one of the nearby village’s fishing boats had gone missing had just served as an excuse to kill two birds with one stone.
So it was, through long practice, he managed to keep himself perfectly upright, even as every nerve on his back cried out in agony. He showed none of it, he maintained his perfectly practiced – to be infuriating - grin.
At the sight of it, his mother let out a small, almost hysterical, chuckle. “Well, even if you lack your father’s soothing temperament, you certainly inherited his glib tongue.”
William wouldn’t know. The man had died before he was born. As a result of a particularly tragic riding accident if the servants were to be believed.
Naturally, his mother and ‘aunts’ spoke sparingly on the issue.
And while the transmigrated man tried not to be garish about it, he honestly preferred it that way. He’d already had a father once. He didn’t need anyone else trying to step into that position. Trying to deal with an entirely new mother and a half dozen aunts was already confusing enough.
Not to mention mortifying on a number of levels.
More than once, the circumstances of his new existence had left him feeling akin to a skeevy degenerate dwelling within his own skin.
Over the years, he’d made peace with it on some level, but some part of him oft wondered if his self-imposed mission was not so much a goal worth lauding as a form of self-flagellation.
“No, I will not be resorting to bribery. Quite the opposite.” His mother continued. “For though I have hoped and prayed for years that you would recant your disreputable ways, you have not. To that end, a drastic solution is called for.”
For just a moment, William’s heart skipped a beat as he dared allow himself to hope that the last four years of… well, he wouldn’t quite call it ‘familial terrorism’, but it was something close to that, would mean something.
“And what does that mean?” he asked, feigning casual disinterest.
“Fortunately for all of us, your latest stunt has come at an opportune time. Next month you shall reach your majority. Normally an auspicious occasion, but your recent behavior has quite soured that.”
The woman was reciting the words in a manner that suggested rehearsal. Indeed, he had a feeling she’d been planning this for some time, with his latest actions only reinforcing her decision.
I do love it when a plan comes together, he thought excitedly as she continued. You know, assuming that I’m not about to be disowned or something like that…
That would… complicate things. Which was why he’d made sure to keep his behavior within the bounds of the merely scandalous, rather than the outright destructive. Hell, from a certain angle, most of his acts of rebellion could come off as downright heroic.
If one ignored a lot of the context in which they occurred.
He took a small breath as his mother continued.
“We shall use it as an opportunity to summon unto you a hand heavier than mine own, in the hopes that a more impartial environment might correct your rebellious nature. Ironically, in punishing you, I shall grant a wish I am sure you have long forgotten.”
William’s heart soared with triumph, even as he affected irritation. “A wish long forgotten? If you must speak in riddles mother, at least do try to be cogent with them.”
He tried not to shriek as the cane once more lashed across his back.
“What your poor mother is trying to say boy, is that you’ll be attending the Blicland Royal Aviation Academy in the new year. With any luck, four years of proper military living will finally manage to straighten you out.”
It said a lot about how much his back was stinging that he didn’t much feel like dancing a happy jig as the first stage of his plan finally came to fruition.
It stung.
A lot.
“A man, attending the Royal Aviation Academy?” He grunted through gritted teeth. “While you are right in that I had long since forgotten that particular desire, I do well recall your response to it.”
At his words, his mother inclined her head to his aunt, who spoke up once more. “While the Royal Academy is certainly intended for women, there’s precedent for men to attend. It’s rare but not unheard of. Sometimes there are fools like yourself who need bending into shape. Other times men have attended as part of their betrothed’s intended Marine-Knight retinue.”
William grit his teeth. “Am I to be the latter then? Part of ‘that woman’s’ group of lackeys?”
Janet Ashfield rolled her eyes at his words. “That woman is your betrothed. And as you are, I’d not curse the poor girl with you, even if the dutiful young woman might accept you. No, I’ll not stunt her future court by indulging your foolishness.”
Oh? That was a little surprising. Not bad. Merely unexpected.
“Then am I to have a retinue of my own? It’s a little late in the year for tryouts, mother. Never mind the fact that my dearest younger sister would be most put-out by me pilfering our land’s talent before her turn comes around.”
His mother winced a bit at the mention of his sister – and the Ashfield family’s heir. Her existence was ever a sore topic when it came to him. Likely because many amongst the family assumed his turn towards villainy had been caused by his supplanting as heir by a bastard.
Which was patently untrue. He adored his younger sibling. Indeed, his relationship with her was the only one where he truly allowed himself to feel… close.
If only because hers was the only relationship he had that didn’t leave him feeling like a pretender.
“And reward you for your behavior? Hardly. No, you need a hard hand, not a taste of leadership.” Sophina scoffed, before gripping his shoulder. “You’ll be attending the academy as part of the general intake program.”
Ah, that was… less than ideal.
He’d be attending with the peasants. Which would be fine, if they weren’t going to be the absolute bottom of the academic totem pole. In skill, status and resources.
Not ideal for so many reasons, he thought. Perhaps I pushed a little too far?