For William, there was at least one notable upside to living in this new world.
His younger sister.
He’d been an only child in his last life, and in many ways perhaps that had been for the best. But in this one, he found that the role of ‘older brother’ was one he quite rightly cherished.
Possibly because it’s one of the few times I actually get to feel like the grown-ass man I am, he thought as he daintily sipped from his tea.
He watched from across the table as his much beloved sibling bit down on a small cake, before letting out a small hum of delight, her long elfin-ears fluttering slightly as she did so.
Amusingly, that motion alone marked her as half-elf. Full elves had slightly longer ears, but couldn’t actually move them for whatever reason.
“You like it then, Olivia?” he chuckled.
The thirteen year old paused in her appreciation of his culinary masterwork, a small piece of icing marring her cheek as she recalled where she was and who was watching. Cheeks coloring slightly, she huffed as she once more resumed the ‘regal’ posture she’d held when he’d first been invited into her room.
Though, once more, it was only slightly marred by the dash of white icing smeared across her cheek. Chuckling, William ignored her mumbled complaints as he reached over with a napkin to wipe it away.
Kids who thought they were grown-ups were adorable.
As he sat back down in his seat, the blonde continued to glare at him for a moment longer before sighing. “Would it kill you to be this pleasant with mother? She would be delighted by these…”
“Cupcakes.” He specified as she trailed off.
“Cupcakes,” she murmured. “An apt name for a novel concept. Small individual iced cakes that are not too heavy for mid-morning brunch.”
William just sat back with a smile as his younger sibling undoubtedly schemed on how best to unveil this latest culinary innovation at one of her tea parties. Apparently, it was a decent way for her to build up the prestige of her burgeoning court, but William was pretty sure she just liked to brag about her older brother.
As needlessly arrogant as that presumption was on his part.
Though to be fair, said emphasis on his cooking ability was likely just about the only positive thing his sibling could say about him. Well, that and the fact that she even had an older brother, given the relative rarity of men in this world.
Slowly, he reached over to pick up one of the cakes in question, the exterior still warm from the oven.
He’d hardly been much of a chef in last life, seeing food as more of a means to an end than anything else, but it was a skillset he’d been expected to cultivate in this one.
And he had. To great success.
Because even if he’d hardly held much interest in the concept back on Earth, he’d still been born in a time of plenty unlike any other time in human history. To that end, he held in his mind knowledge of meals and recipes from across the planet to pull upon.
Asian. European. African. Mexican. North American. Indian.
He knew he was quietly considered something of a culinary visionary in local circles, a fact his family likely would have been lauded across the land if his poor behaviour didn’t so neatly overshadow it.
After all, he thought as he placed down his latest ‘invention’. It’s hard to brag to your neighbours about your prodigiously talented chef son when he insinuates that said neighbours should stick to the salad the moment he actually serves the food.
He did know it was one of his selling points regarding his betrothal. Indeed, his fiancée made a point of mentioning it in her semi-frequent letters to him.
…Not a single one of which he’d replied to.
Still, to give the girl credit, she hadn’t stopped sending them.
He frowned at the thought as, naturally, he felt a bit guilty about that. Unfortunately, that was simply the way things had to be.
Yet another small sacrifice for the greater good, he thought.
“And I’m always perfectly pleasant,” he said, finally answering his half-elven sibling’s opening question.
“You’re insufferable. I’m pretty sure you’ve nearly driven Aunt Sophina to drink.”
He reclined in his seat dramatically. “Olivia, you wound me, casting such aspersions about your sweet older brother’s character. Oh, woe is me, it seems my dearly beloved younger sister has finally entered her rebellious phase.”
“Hardly,” the girl in question scoffed. “You, brother, are quite rebellious enough for the both of us.”
William just smiled in amusement. Amusement that only grew as he eyed the maid standing at the back of the room watching them interact with confusion.
There were good reasons indeed why it was assumed around the countship that his lapse into ‘villainy’ over the past few years was a direct result of his being passed over as heir due to his gender.
Worse yet, in the eyes of many, passed over in favour of a bastard.
Less amusingly, it was not lost on him that he was never allowed into Olivia’s presence unaccompanied. Not when she’d been a babe. And not now, after thirteen years of nothing but brotherly affection.
There was always at least one maid or one of his aunts present.
And while the idea of a ‘combat maid’ had been a laughable prospect back in his own world, in this one, they were a deadly reality.
He often watched them train in the morning with the other guards. Indeed, the only real difference between them and the guards was that the maids were paid a bit more to act as servants as well as protectors.
It was a highly coveted post.
And the woman who was even now creasing her brows in confusion was certainly built for it.
Sure, they were called maids, but beyond the gender of that moniker and their role as servants, they had little in common outfit wise with the role they’d had on Earth.
The woman’s clothing held more in common with a plain sleeveless cheongsam and pants with an apron across the front. All in gray. Indeed, the only consideration to color in the woman’s outfit was the orange and purple headband that she wore to keep her hair out of her eyes.
He’d place her in her late twenties to early thirties. A dark, vaguely middle eastern, complexion that suggested South-Western ancestry. Well-muscled, yet with a little feminine softness. Dark brown hair tied back into a no-nonsense ponytail. A slightly regal bearing, enforced by the sword at her waist. And he had little doubt she had calluses on her fingers to match.
However, in the course of his observations he realized he’d missed whatever his sister had just said.
“Sorry?” he said, turning his gaze back to her.
“I said,” Olivia enunciated with a put-upon sigh. “Would you please stop ogling the help? You’re making them uncomfortable. She’s new and hardly familiar with your… predilections.”
Sure enough though, as he looked up, he saw that maid’s face had turned a little red, even if she was quite admirably trying to hide it with a dutiful expression.
It said a lot about the world they lived in that a little lingering gaze had such an effect on the woman. Women as a whole generally weren’t used to being ‘ogled’ by guys. Or complimented. Here it was the opposite that tended to be the case.
“Predilections. With a word like that, you’d think it was a bad thing,” he hummed before inclining his head in the maid’s direction. “Do you think appreciation for an attractive woman is a bad thing, Serrel?
He could see the surprise on the woman’s face, not just at being addressed, but that he knew her name. She needn’t be on the second account. He knew the names of all of his sister’s guards – even those that had just been promoted to the post.
Though that knowledge was not unique just to his sister’s maids. He made a point of learning as many of the staff’s names as he could.
It cost him nothing, and always both surprised and pleased them that he knew their names. Indeed, he suspected that was just about the only thing that kept his reputation on a relatively even keel with the servants – given that the shit he stirred up with his shenanigans had an unfortunate tendency to roll down hill, despite his best efforts to the contrary.
“I… uh…” Ah, her voice was nice too. Strong and smoky, yet with a lyrical accented undertone.
Unable to help himself, he continued. “I must say, I know it’s the same uniform everyone wears, but this one really brings out your eyes. Green is such a pretty color.”
She was really flushed now, even as she desperately tried to hide it. “Ah, thank you, milord?”
Oh, this was fun. He opened his mouth just in time for his sister to swat him on the arm.
“Stop it,” she huffed as she sat back down again. “Honestly, why can’t you be this charming to girls your own age? I know you have a fiancée, but I’m sure she wouldn’t begrudge you making a few 'friends' prior to your nuptials.”
She gazed down at her tea. “I know for a fact that Katie still thinks you’re cute despite your horrendous behaviour towards her last year.”
He laughed, reaching up to ruffle his adorable sibling’s hair. “Unfortunately for her, I have no interest in little girls.”
“She’s your age!” The half-elf squawked as she batted away his hand.
Hardly, he thought. I’m a grown man in a teenager’s body. The very thought of laying a hand on someone ‘my own age’ is…
He shuddered.
Katie was a sweet girl. A nice girl. But she was just that. A girl. Even at eighteen, she was still just a ‘girl’.
Even now, the idea that she has a crush on me is only marginally less horrifying than when she had a crush on me when we were both eleven, he thought.
It was small wonder he tended to push his ‘peers’ away.
To that end, he’d quickly discovered that he had a fairly specific type in the ‘new world’.
Mature. Capable. Women.
Preferably older than thirty.
…Though ironically that still often left him feeling like he was going after ‘younger women’.
He’d lived a full life after all. Even with the heart attack, he was chronologically something like ninety-six when he combined both lives.
“You’re ogling her again.”
He smiled at his sibling’s dry remark. “Ah, my apologies, Serrel. As I said, you really do have lovely eyes. I keep finding myself lost in them.”
And other features. Guard training did the most wonderful things to a woman’s figure after all. Especially when combined with good food.
“Ah, that’s, uh, fine… sir!” The woman said quickly.
Just as his sister was about to interrupt again, a loud knock came from the door.
“Ah, that’s probably Aunt Karla,” he said as he stood up. “As I understand it, she’ll be my escort for this trip. Likely as punishment for ‘allowing’ me to steal a Shard from her airfield.”
Still, he didn’t miss the way some of the life seemed to leave his sister’s eyes as he spoke.
Leaning over, he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Don’t worry squirt, it’s just four years. And I’ll come back down for Winter-Fast.”
It was rather telling that the half-elf didn’t bat him away this time.
“Promise?” she asked in a remarkably small voice.
“Promise,” he confirmed.
Straightening up, he turned and opened the door to the hallway, revealing Karla. There was a rather pronounced frown on the usually jovial fighter pilot’s face.
“The ship will be ready to depart soon.”
Which meant they wanted him aboard now. Sophina had made it clear that he was not to be let out of sight for a moment lest he try to pull an actual runner. Which was why there’d been two guards standing outside Olivia’s room the entire time he’d been inside – and why Serrel had been standing near the window.
“It’s a good thing I’m ready to go then.” He smiled beamingly back at the annoyed woman. “I’ve got my travel bag right here.”
He lifted the oversized rucksack with one arm, the many items inside jingling against each other as they did. He’d already sent all his other luggage on ahead.
His aunt looked less than impressed. “Give me the bag.”
“What? You don’t trust me?”
She snorted. “Not even a little.”
“Hurtful,” he muttered as he handed over the bag.
His aunt rifled through the contents, pulling out writing utensils, sketchbooks, journals and then the one thing he’d rather she hadn’t.
“What’s this?” She asked as she gripped a small leather bag. One of several. Setting the rucksack down, she poured some of the content of one of them into her hand.
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“Mud? Sand? Dirt?” she asked, rolling the slightly damp grainy black substance around.
Even as his heart skipped a beat as he glanced in the direction of a nearby torch, William kept a smile on his face.
It’s damp, he repeated in his mind. Damp.
“Exfoliation cream, actually. For my face,” he said with feigned calm.
“Ex- what?” His aunt asked.
“Skincare,” he said. “Given that I’m liable to meet my betrothed at the end of this trip.”
The woman stared at the granules for a few moments more before shrugging and dropping it back into its leather container, before shoving that back into the rucksack.
“Well, I suppose even a rebel like you is still a man in the end,” she murmured as she wiped her hand on her flight jacket.
“Quite,” he grunted with feigned embarrassment.
Smiling for the first time since they’d met, the woman clapped one of the nearby guards on the shoulder. “Alright you lot, let’s get this show on the road.”
As William slung the rucksack over his shoulder and moved to follow after his aunt – while the guards fell in behind him - he found himself looking out a nearby window.
The view was of the fields just beyond the Ashfield estate, with lush greenery trailing off all the way down to the bay.
And above it all, in defiance of gravity and common sense, flew the Indomitable.
Looking for all the world like a civil-war era ironclad rebuilt from the ground up to fly, even from this distance he could see dozens of portholes for its gas-powered cannons dotted across the things gleaming metal hull. To the rear of it, two powerful rear-mounted propellers pushed it through the blue skies above. Every now and then, small bursts of blue-green aether burst from the sides as its many aether ballasts corrected the ship’s altitude.
And emblazoned proudly across the stern was the symbol of House Ashfield, a white raven over a field of darkness, purple and orange flecks spattered across the periphery.
Despite himself, William could admit that it made for an intimidating sight.
While all things had their place in the line of battle, it was an undeniable fact that airships stood at the apex. They were the ultimate expression of power in this world, able to destroy entire armies with impunity from the safety of the clouds. Able to cross an entire continent in a matter of days. In a world of swords and bows, the only thing that could realistically challenge an airship’s might was another airship.
A fact of life that was proven beyond a shadow of a doubt nearly a thousand years ago when the first elven settlers subjugated the island nation of Lindway.
His homeland.
An airship was as much a seal of office as it was a weapon of war. A house without one could no longer be said to be able fulfill its military obligations and would soon find itself landless and disowned.
And this might well be the last time for a long time that he’d get the opportunity to view it. Or even the time to luxuriate in a nice view of any kind.
The coming days would be hard.
He couldn’t simply attend the academy.
He needed to excel.
To dominate.
His plan called for nothing less.
For now though, for just a moment, he allowed himself to soak it all-
“Hurry up, Will.” His aunt called after him. “We’ve got a deadline to keep.”
“…The ship’s not leaving for hours yet woman,” he grunted under his breath, though not before adjusting the strap of his pack as he jogged slightly to catch up with her.
---------------
Elves.
Elves were complicated. Not as individuals. As individuals they were, in William’s unfortunately extensive experience, arrogant snobs who thought that they were God’s gift to the universe as a whole.
…Though asking any of them ‘which god’ might well cause trouble.
As evidenced by the ongoing holy war in their homeland and the balkanization of the once-united Elven Empire.
Fortunately, the local brand of pointed-eared idiots that ruled over his homeland generally had a more cosmopolitan outlook on matters of religion.
No, where they got complicated was in the social realities of race relations.
For example, when a fourth in line daughter of a relatively small barony and captain of a maritime vessel invited the second in line son of a relatively large countship to dine with her, could the man decline?
By rights, even with his gender, William should have held the higher rank. And by law he did.
Indeed, even his aunt, as a sky-knight, was of equivalent rank to their host.
As such, he should have been able to decline were he so inclined.
And he was.
Unfortunately, he was a human. And she was an elf. And given that the nation was run by elves, it was rarely wise to snub one of the long lived beings.
Thus, his aunt had made the socially ‘correct’ decision and decided to err on the side of caution by accepting her dinner invitation. After all, ignoring everything else, this was a maritime ship rather than an airship – one that happened to be headed to the capital - which meant they’d be stuck with the woman for weeks at least.
Something he grew less and less pleased about with each passing moment.
“No, you idiot. The dessert fork goes on the furthest right of the placemat,” the captain of the ship they were traveling on lambasted her orcish servant, pitch black eyes flashing ominously as her elfin features twisted with wrath.
The poor greenskin woman looked positively terrified as the much more diminutive elf glared at her, fingers frozen in the act of laying out the evening’s cutlery.
“Ugh, just get out.” The elf finally snapped, allowing the poor deckhand to start to scarper in the direction of the exit. “And send Sally in! I don’t care if she’s sleeping, I need someone who’s not completely incompetent.”
“Of course, ma’am.” The orcish sailor could only nod hastily as she darted out the door, though not before William’s eyes alighted on the thornlike tattoo about her throat.
A slave, he thought, fist tightening under the table.
He schooled his expression after a second, once more returning to the same sort of placid disinterest he usually wore at social events.
And though he could see Karla wore the same, he could tell from long experience that she wasn’t exactly happy about the orc’s presence either.
There were no slaves on the Ashfield estate, mercifully, what with them being positioned on the abolitionist side of the political landscape. More as a result of geography than anything else, but there was no denying that the house as a whole held a certain level of disdain for the practice of slavery as a result – seeing it as uncultured and backward.
A sentiment much of the rest of Lindholm didn’t share, unfortunately.
The captain glared after the fleeing slave for just a moment, before giving both William and his aunt a put upon smile.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, young master. Some days it can feel almost impossible to find good help,” Captain Nemoa – as she’d introduced herself – apologized.
William nodded absently. “Perhaps it might be easier if your workers were motivated more by remuneration and less by bondage.”
The elf just chuckled. “Ah, an interesting perspective, but one I can’t help but feel stems just a little from Southern naiveté. Orcs are a violent sort by nature. If one wishes to motivate them, one must speak in a language they understand.”
“Yet you have free orcs in your crew, in addition to slaves.” Karla pointed out. “Not many, admittedly, but I saw a few nestled amongst your other human workers.”
Captain Nemoa shrugged. “An unfortunate reality of maritime trade. Skilled deckhands can be hard to come by, and thus sometimes one is forced to rely on less than perfect stock. Rest assured, the fact that those free orcs exist as a minority on my crew is no coincidence.”
Not for the first time since he’d come aboard, William found himself wishing he’d been allowed to travel aboard the Indomitable rather than this, a contracted sea-ship.
Unfortunately, he knew the Indomitable wouldn’t be allowed to stray beyond the borders of the Ashfield domain for anything short of a direct summons from the royal family. It was just too valuable to risk. Indeed, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that the thing was more valuable to the family than every member of the family.
Ignoring the not-insignificant cost in iron and wood that made up its construction, the mithril that powered the whole ensemble was in a very literal way priceless.
There was a reason why maritime trade ships still existed despite much faster flying alternatives existing. That said ships were a convenient place for a family’s third, fourth and fifth daughters with no skill at arms to be placed was just a coincidence.
“Still, let’s not sour the evening with politics,” said the woman, just as another figure arrived. A human woman who was dressed much more finely than the orc she’d just replaced. “Especially now that we have some decent serving staff.”
Putting action to words, the newly arrived brunette wasted no time in promptly setting out the evening’s meal. A pork roast of some sort with accompanying green vegetables and roasted potatoes.
A surprisingly rich dish for a ship at sea, but then this was the captain’s table, and they’d only just pulled away from port that morning.
Still, as William cut into his food, he couldn’t help but muse about how many plants and animals from Earth also existed on this world. More to the point, that they were available to him here in Lindholm – given his homeland’s distinctly renaissance era European vibe.
After all, potatoes had been a new world crop imported from the Americas back on Earth. Here, they were brought over from the Elven Homeland of Evgara by the first elven colonists.
Or invaders, if you felt like being correct.
Still, he could admit that thereafter the conversation flowed pleasantly enough, if one ignored that he was conversing with an unrepentant slaver. Despite her rather condescending demeanour, she was still a trader, and thus privy to a lot of information from across the continent.
Of course, given that his aunt was a pilot by vocation, it didn’t take long until the conversation invariably shifted around to the topic of her interest.
William listened quietly as his aunt talked quite animatedly about the North’s growing demands for more Shards over airships. Something she was quite certain was a tacit admittance that the occupation of the Sunland Marches had fully ground to a halt and that the Marcher Ladies had quietly resigned themselves to a war of attrition against the recalcitrant orcish tribes there.
William had his own opinions of course, but he kept them to himself. There was nothing to be gained by speaking up.
Not yet at least.
Still, it was a topic he could tell the trader wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about or even interested in. Which was why he wasn’t too surprised when she finally changed the topic to him.
He’d not missed the way she’d been eying him all evening – and though that was hardly unusual for a woman in this world, he had a feeling that she was after a little more than a few candid glances.
“Still, I must say your Law-Son is a handsome young man.” Nemoa finally said. “I must admit, I was a little surprised to discover he was the passenger I’d be transporting to the capital.”
William rather neatly ignored the way she was talking about him as if he wasn’t there. It was just one of things he’d learned to get used to.
And it’d be coming to an end soon enough anyway. Until then though, he’d continue playing his part.
Ignorant of his thoughts, the woman continued. “I mean, I’m aware that humans can afford to be a little more free with their men-folk, but sending him to the academy? It seems like a waste.”
Karla simply smiled, catching the subtext immediately. “Oh, it’s nothing quite so scandalous as what you’re thinking. His betrothed is also attending the academy. This is as much a chance for them to have a proper courting period as anything else.”
Sure, his aunt was carefree, but she was still nobility. And thus knew the best lies held a little truth. After all, she could hardly say that he was actually headed to the academy in an attempt to straighten him out and turn him into a proper noble.
“Honestly, I’m not sure why more houses don’t do it,” she continued. “Girls get a chance to meet their future peers there and form valuable relationships for when they rule. Why not young men as well?”
Indeed, that was honestly why most noble scions attended the academy. Not to learn how to fight, but to make connections.
And act as hostages to the royal family, he thought.
It was after all, no coincidence that the Royal Academy was located next to the national capital. Plus, a formalized and standardized education on war did actually provide significant dividends to the country’s military power. There was no term of service after training for noble scions, but still meant they returned home with at least some idea of how to command and fight during an actual war.
Something that had been far from guaranteed with the nobility of Earth.
It was a system that had already proven itself in clashes against both the Lunarin and Solites. Both of the balkanized states had suffered greatly in their last two attempts to reincorporate Lindholm into ‘their version’ of the old Elven Empire.
Nemoa sniffed. “Useful or not, I imagine most consider it uncouth for a man to learn the arts of war, even if he has no intention of using them.”
William tried not to smile at that. A feat made easier by an urge to frown at the unsubtle disdain in the woman’s voice.
Still, she’d gotten the hint that he wasn’t on the market.
Sure, a human male might have been a bit of a step down for an elf, but given that she was the fourth born daughter of a reasonably small noble house, a man of his stature – and age - would actually be quite a catch for her.
“Yes, well I suppose we’ll have to wait and see how it all works out,” Karla murmured around her glass, rather neatly bringing an end to that topic of conversation.
----------------------
“Sorry about that,” Karla grunted as she practically stumbled across the deck towards their rooms. “I mean, we both knew she’d probably be scoping you out for some kind of match, but it was still probably annoying.”
William was barely listening. Truth be told, he was rather irritated. Nemoa had spent the latter half of the evening playing footsie with him under the table. In a distinctly deniable manner of course, but she’d still managed to get him rather warmed up before they finally managed to leave.
After all, just because he wasn’t officially on the market didn’t mean there weren’t other opportunities available for a woman who spent most of her time at sea and likely only laid eyes on a man in the flesh once every few months.
Unfortunately for her, she was also a slaver, and he’d sooner fuck a sky-jelly than that elf.
The scent of the sea breeze and the cool moonlight overhead did serve to cool his ire somewhat. The sun had set while they’d been in the captain’s cabin and the ship’s wooden deck was empty but for a few night watchwomen.
Of course, just as the last hints of unwanted arousal were beginning to dip away from his thoughts, his eyes happened to alight on a nearby orc. The well-built greenskin woman looking out to sea, a slightly bored expression on her tusked features.
Older than the one that had attended the captain, her skin was also a slightly darker shade of green from time likely spent under the sun. More importantly, she didn’t have a slave-mark about her throat.
Which, as the captain had said, wasn’t totally uncommon. Just because all slaves were orcs, didn’t mean all orcs were slaves.
Lindholm had plenty of ‘free orc’ villages down South.
They were still second-class citizens relative to both humans and elves – there certainly weren’t any orc counts or above - but they weren’t universally born into servitude or inevitably taken as war-thralls like they’d be up North.
That was why he felt quite comfortable enjoying the way her decidedly loose tunic was practically hanging on by a single button. The move, likely made out of consideration of the Southern heat, exposed a large swathe of viridian green cleavage and some mouth-wateringly tight washboard abs.
Idly, she started to yawn, only to freeze in place as she noticed him looking. The sailor’s surprise lasted only a moment though, before she actually had the audacity to favour him with a saucy wink.
Which, given the difference in their social status, was more than a little risky. Especially with his aunt and protector right next to him. And though she was slightly sauced, she also had a bolt-bow slung over her shoulder.
Sure, Ashfield didn’t take orc slaves, but that didn’t exactly mean they were paragons of racial equality either.
Quite far from it.
Fortunately, the human woman hadn’t noticed her law-son being checked out by a base-born orc woman and William had no intention of informing her.
Which was why he was alone in being able to savour the stunned surprise that came over the sailor’s face when he winked back. She’d clearly been expecting him to scowl or flush and look away in embarrassment, which was why she was so taken off guard.
Then she flushed slightly, a hint of something hungry entering her gaze as her eyes continued to track him.
Savoring his small victory after a particularly annoying evening, William continued to stride on.
“You know,” he began. “If you wish to repay me for enduring a particularly unpleasant evening on behalf of House Ashfield’s reputation, you could do so by spending the remainder of it elsewhere.”
“What?”
“I mean, I’m tired and I want to catch some decent sleep. Something that will no doubt be quite impossible with your current… odour.” At his guardian’s affronted look, he continued. “I can smell the wine on your breath from here. And it was not a particularly good vintage.”
“You can’t!” Karla hissed indignantly, though not before placing her hand over her mouth.
“Plus, you snore.” He continued matter-of-factly, as if she hadn’t spoken, resisting the urge to chuckle at her expression.
“What- I do not! How would you even know that!?”
He shrugged. “I have my ways. And more to the point, I’m after a decent night’s sleep.”
It seemed their short conversation was enough for Karla to sober up a little, as she moved to stand in front of him before he started descending below deck. “Jokes aside, you know I can’t agree to that, Will.”
She gestured to the quietly watching night watchwomen around them before whispering. “I know this is your first time out in the world and it’s exciting, but I’m here for your protection. A ship full of lowborn women like this is not a safe place for an unaccompanied man. You understand that, right?”
He nodded, which seemed to relieve her – until he continued.
“I do. Though I’d point out that said danger is somewhat nullified by the fact that you, me and our dear captain are the only ones on the ship capable of flinging lightning bolts at will.” He waved his hand about. “Which makes the prospect of some degenerate overpowering me and dragging me into a dark alcove significantly less likely.”
Never mind that he was a man and this theoretical assailant would be a woman. Which admittedly didn’t mean much where orcs were concerned, but he had about hundred pounds on just about every human woman aboard.
And the only elf was the captain.
His aunt still looked resolute though, so he continued.
“Look, I’m not asking to roam the ship alone. Just some decent sleep. You can escort me to the door of our cabin yourself and then give me the key. So long as the door is locked no one is getting in without my say-so, or by waking up the entire ship trying to bash the door down.”
It wasn’t lost on him that the ship’s guest quarters had a very heavy door.
He watched the pilot mentally hum and haw for a few seconds before she sighed. “Fine. I suppose a young man deserves a little privacy. I’ll see about bunking in one of the spare officer’s quarters for the night.”
And hopefully for a few nights to come, William thought excitedly.
Outwardly though, he just gave his favorite aunt a beaming smile. “Thanks Aunt Karla.”
Moments like these, it didn’t matter to him that they weren’t actually related by blood. The woman was ‘just’ a member of his dad’s harem when he’d been alive. It changed nothing.
Awkwardness regarding her trying to ‘baby him’ aside, the woman across from him was family.
“No problem kiddo,” she said with a smile. “I know you’re a giant pain in the ass, but… I get why you might be. Besides, you’ve got a good heart underneath it all. And while stealing that Shard was a damn fool thing to do, and nearly cost our house a lot, you did save those two women.”
She reached over to ruffle his hair. “This old woman damn near died of pride seeing you flying the old thing – even if you did crash at the end.”
His eyes dipped to the deck as he muttered, “there was sea-water in the right ballast.”
His aunt just laughed. “Yeah, that tends to happen when you try to perform a sea-landing without floats. And no training. At some point in this trip you’re going to have to tell me how you learned to fly, because I know I sure as shit didn’t teach you.”
He laughed in turn as he followed his aunt below deck.
…Though not before turning back and to throw a small wave and a second wink in his still watching admirer’s direction.
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