Ashe and the Glass Sword

by KuroKoneko Kamen

  Ashe glanced around the club’s interior briefly, and noticed the floating candles and glowing glass globes for the first time. When Ashe narrowed his eyes at the globes he realized that inside each one was a tiny, glowing fairy. Ashe shuddered, wondering if those poor fairies were still alive. Not only were witches and wizards prejudiced against dullards, but apparently the other races as well.

  The little reminders of magic throughout the club made Ashe nervous. He was a dullard pretending to be a wizard after all. If discovered, he would be captured and enslaved by a witch or wizard in seconds. It made Ashe wonder if Julie were a witch. She did possess an enchanted carriage. Surely, she wouldn’t have risked following him to Apple Kingdom if she didn’t possess magic.

  Ashe returned his attention to Prince Snow. Ashe was envious of Snow’s fine clothes, and his flawless, scar-free skin. Snow was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’d probably never known hardship. And he’d been given an enchanted sword for his birthday that he couldn’t even use. It just wasn’t fair.

  Prince Snow Flurris had been blessed with ‘good luck’ in life. Your luck is about to run out, Prince Snow Flurris. Ashe thought meanly.

  However, at that moment one of the windowpanes of the front window shattered, and a dagger flew towards Snow’s back. The dagger missed and hit the bottle of champagne that was sitting on the table, causing it to shatter, spraying champagne and glass shards through the air.

  The witches surrounding Snow squealed in fright. “Eeee!”

  “Get down!” Snow told the witches as he pushed them down under the table for their protection. He then scrambled out of the booth and stared down at the dagger on the table with a frown on his face. “Not again,” he muttered darkly.

  Suddenly, the entire front window shattered as a figure swung through it on a rope. The figure landed lithely on the round table and glared at Snow Flurris. The man was dressed all in black and was wearing a mask over the bottom half of his face.

  By this time Ashe had stood up from his seat at the booth and was glancing around the club expectantly. Surely, the wizard guards would handle this assassin quickly. But…the guards were mysteriously absent. “What the fuck? Where the hell did those lazy bastards go?”

  “Prepare to die, Prince Snow Flurris!” the assassin declared. Snow’s eyes widened like saucers and he appeared to be too shocked to move. The assassin whipped out two daggers, held them aloft, and prepared to fling them Snow’s way.

  Shit. “Look out!” Ashe lunged at Snow and knocked him to the floor just as the daggers whizzed towards him. Ashe landed on top of Snow. “Where the hell are the wizard guards?” he asked angrily as he looked around the club.

  “I don’t know,” Snow said in a trembling voice.

  Ashe scrambled off of Snow and straightened. He unsheathed his cane sword and pointed it at the assassin in a threatening manner. If the assassin were a wizard Ashe wouldn’t be doing this, but this assassin was a human slave. Ashe knew this because he recognized the magical slave mark that was tattooed on the side of the man’s neck. The fact that this assassin was a slave meant that Ashe had a chance of defeating him in a fight.

  Ashe charged forward towards the assassin. The assassin threw a barrage of daggers Ashe’s way. Ashe nimbly dodged and blocked daggers with his cane sword, but a few daggers still snuck past his defenses. One dagger sliced into his upper arm and another dagger embedded itself in his thigh.

  A lesser man would have cried out in pain. Ashe didn’t even flinch. He was no stranger to pain. Ashe lunged his cane sword forward and impaled the assassin right through his heart.

  The assassin dropped his remaining daggers and glared at Ashe. “Hail, The League of Villains!” The man then collapsed to the floor where he remained unmoving.

  Ashe removed his sword from the assassin’s body and slashed it through the air swiftly to remove the blood from its blade before sheathing it. Ashe turned to face Snow, and offered him a hand up.

  Snow hesitated before taking Ashe’s hand and letting himself be helped up. “Uh, you have a dagger in your leg.”

  Ashe glanced down at his thigh, and noted that he did have a dagger in his leg. “Indeed I do.” Ashe grabbed the dagger, yanked it out, and tossed it carelessly aside.

  Snow winced, having sympathy pains. “Ouch. Doesn’t that hurt, man?”

  Ashe shrugged. “I’m used to pain.”

  Snow opened his mouth to ask what the hell he meant by that, but quickly snapped his mouth shut. He gave Ashe a sympathetic look instead. His savior’s skeletons in the closet were really none of his business, and the last thing he wanted to do was unwittingly insult his savior.

  Ashe narrowed his eyes at the body of the dead assassin. “We should go. This asshole might have friends out there.” Snow nodded and allowed Ashe to drag him outside of the club. Ashe mounted the motorcycle and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Get on.”

  Snow’s eyes widened as he looked at the motorcycle, but he got on behind Ashe. Ashe put the key in the ignition, started the engine, and then drove off down the street.

  Snow wrapped an arm around Ashe’s waist and grinned. “Whoo! This magical steed of yours is amazing!”

  “Thanks,” Ashe said dryly.

  “Thank you for saving my life, Stranger. Are you a hero?” Snow asked, his sapphire eyes sparkling with admiration.

  Ashe sputtered at the unexpected comment. “No. Definitely not.”

  “Oh.” Snow’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. “Well, I think you should join the Heroes’ Guild. Fantasia needs someone strong like you to protect it from evildoers.”

  “Not strong enough,” Ashe muttered to himself. “Did you know that man back there?”

  Snow shrugged lackadaisically. “Meh. I probably unwittingly stole that man’s girlfriend or something…and he wanted revenge.”

  “That man mentioned The League of Villains though,” Ashe pointed out.

  Snow let out a defeated sigh. “This isn’t the first time someone has tried to kill me. I’m cursed with bad luck.”

  “You? Bad luck? You’re Prince Snow Flurris!” Ashe sputtered in disbelief.

  “Being charming to the ladies is as much a blessing as it is a curse,” Snow said, a lopsided smile forming on his face.

  “Jilted lovers aside…why would The League of Villains want you dead?” Ashe asked.

  “I have no idea,” Snow said honestly. “It’s not like they should find me a threat. Everyone knows my magic doesn’t really work.”

  “Yes…I read about that in the Glass Gazette,” Ashe admitted. “Do you at least have the ability to swordfight? You totally froze up back there.”

  “The rumors are sadly true,” Snow said in a disappointed tone. “There’s something wrong with my magic. Spells don’t work for me. And I don’t know how to swordfight. I’m a lover. Not a fighter.”

  “If that’s the case why did your mother gift you with that sword?” Ashe asked curiously.

  “It’s for my protection from assassination attempts from jilted lovers or members of The League of Assassins,” Snow confided. “I still don’t know how to use it, and its magic doesn’t work for me.”

  “Can’t you take lessons from a swordsmaster?” Ashe asked.

  “Every swordsmaster I’ve had has tried to kill me at one point,” Snow admitted.

  Someone in the castle must want him dead. Ashe deduced. But who? “Your stepfather King Reginald…is he kind to you?”

  “Oh, yes, he’s very nice to me,” Snow said, a smile curling his lips. “He’s always buying me expensive presents.”

  “That’s…good,” Ashe said. I should really be robbing him right about now, but I’m beginning to feel sorry for him. Shit.

  “Um, where are we going?” Snow asked unconcernedly.

  “I’m taking you to Apple Castle. Am I going the right way?” Ashe asked.

  “Oh, yes, just keep going straight,” Snow confirmed.

  When they reached the front gate of the ca
stle Ashe brought the motorcycle to a stop and Snow dismounted. “Well…take care, Your Highness,” Ashe said awkwardly.

  “Wait! Don’t you want a reward for saving my life? I’ll give you anything you want,” Snow offered with an eager expression on his face.

  “Anything?” Ashe said stroking his chin as if in thought. “Then I want your enchanted sword.” Talk was cheap. People would say they’d give you anything, but they never would. Ashe was sure Snow would be the same as those insincere bastards.

  Snow blinked. “Ah, I would gladly give it to you, but an enchanted sword forged by Rapunzel will only obey the person it has been forged for. Here. See for yourself.” Snow unsheathed his sword and handed it to Ashe.

  That idiot. He’s way too trusting. Ashe thought as he wrapped his hand around the sword’s hilt. “Ouch!” The hilt of the sword had grown hot and burned Ashe enough that he’d immediately dropped it.

  Snow chuckled and bent over to pick up the fallen sword. “You see?”

  Ashe’s expression fell. “Yeah…fuck.”

  “Don’t look so disappointed. You’ll just have to get Blacksmith Rapunzel to forge one for you,” Snow said optimistically.

  “I…don’t have that kind of money,” Ashe admitted.

  Snow put a hand on Ashe’s shoulder and grinned when Ashe looked up to give the prince a questioning look. “Really? I thought you were a- never mind. I’ll pay. It’s the least I can do. You saved my life.”

  “Really? Thank you,” Ashe said. The words ‘thank you’ felt strange on his tongue.

  Snow frowned. “I’ll need to ‘borrow’ a certain map from my stepfather before we go. We wouldn’t want to go traipsing into Bones Kingdom without it. Meet me here tomorrow at noon. I should be able to sneak out of the castle while Reginald and my mother are having lunch together.”

  “Your mother is still alive?” Ashe asked.

  “Yeah, why do you ask?” Snow quirked his head at Ashe.

  “No reason,” Ashe said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d better get going. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Farewell, Your Highness.”

  “Yes, farewell,” Snow said. “And call me Snow!”

  “I’m Ashe.” He started the engine and as he rode away on the motorcycle he glanced over his shoulder to see Snow waving at him enthusiastically. What a moron. Ashe thought unkindly, but he was smiling.

  Julie had been right, Snow was kind. He was still a spoiled womanizer too, but he was kindhearted. Maybe they could even be friends- Ashe’s thoughts skidded to a halt. No. He couldn’t let his guard down.

  People were only nice to you when they wanted something from you. Or they were being duplicitous hypocrites. Ashe’s mother had been kind to him once upon a time, and that kindness had turned out to be a lie. Even Lord Tremaine and his sons had been nice to him before his mother died. That ‘kindness’ had also been a lie.

  I won’t trust him. I can’t trust him…to do so would be folly. Ashe’s smile slid off his face at the depressing thought. Ashe rode the motorcycle back to the château. He was just pulling up to the front door when he realized that he wasn’t alone.

  Standing at the top of the front steps was Lord Tremaine and his two sons. The blood drained out of Ashe’s face and his palms started to sweat. What the fuck? They were supposed to be at Apple Castle until tomorrow morning!

  An evil and triumphant smile spread across Lord Tremaine’s face as he noted Ashe’s fear with delight. When Knuckles and Picasso started to chuckle darkly Ashe knew he’d been played. A trap. It’d been a trap…and he’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. Fuck.

  Christian’s steely gray eyes raked over Ashe, taking in his fine suit, and the fact he was on the motorcycle. “Ashe, what is the meaning of this?” he drawled coolly.

  Ashe swallowed. “I…I’m sorry. Please forgive me, Lord Tremaine. I couldn’t resist taking your motorcycle out for a spin. It’s such an incredible and unique transportation device.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Christian drawled, taking out a cigar, lighting it, and beginning to smoke. “Where did you get that fine suit?” His eyes narrowed at Ashe. “Did you steal it? Is it one of Knuckles’s or Picasso’s?”

  “No! It belonged to my father. I mended it,” Ashe swiftly explained.

  “Your father’s? That explains why it’s so…shabby,” Christian blew a smoke ring out in Ashe’s direction. Ashe watched as the smoke ring hit his chest and dissipated. Christian’s gaze lowered and pinned on the blood on Ashe’s pant leg. “Get into a fight?”

  “I fell…off the bike,” Ashe lied, not wanting to reveal that he’d battled a mysterious assassin while trying to protect Prince Snow Flurris.

  “You do realize you must be punished for your actions,” Christian said in a casual tone. “I forbade you from ever riding my motorcycle, and yet you disobeyed me.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry,” Ashe said, hanging his head in a repentant pose.

  “Come along, Ashe,” Christian ordered as he spun around and began to head inside. “Don’t dawdle, and don’t forget the key.”

  “Yes, Lord Tremaine.” Ashe turned off the engine, removed the key, dismounted from the motorcycle, and made his way up the front steps. His feet felt strangely heavy and he was out of breath as he reached the top of the steps.

  Dragging his feet, Ashe followed Lord Tremaine into the house. Knuckles and Picasso were right behind him…so trying to run away wasn’t really an option. As if I’d try. Ashe thought bitterly. He’d tried to run away once. It had been futile, and his punishment for running away had been worse than his usual punishments were.

  Ashe wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. There was no ‘running away’ from Lord Tremaine’s sick, twisted brand of justice. Knuckles and Picasso meanly kicked at the back of Ashe’s legs while trying to get him to fall over.

  Christian led the way through the château until they reached a red-painted door. He stopped outside of the door, took out a key, unlocked the door, and ushered Ashe inside the room. In the very center of the room stood a St. Andrew’s cross that had restraining points for a person’s ankles, wrists, and waist.

  When secured to a saltire a person was restrained in a spread-eagle position. Ashe knew that some of the perverted nobles, who lived in Glass Kingdom, liked to use these devices during kinky play with their wives or mistresses, but Lord Tremaine liked to use it on Ashe for the purpose of punishment.

  Sometimes when Lord Tremaine punished Ashe it felt like Christian was punishing him for something else. Ashe couldn’t forget the angry, frustrated, and disappointed look Lord Tremaine sometimes gave him as he tortured him.

  Christian stalked over to a table that was covered with an assortment of leather whips. “Knuckles, strap Ashe to the X-cross with his back facing us first.” Lord Tremaine began to peruse his collection, his hand gliding over each whip in a loving manner.

  “Strip, Ashe,” Knuckles grunted.

  “No,” Lord Tremaine objected. “I want him to leave that fine suit on.”

  “Yes, Father,” Knuckles said, grabbing Ashe’s arm and hauling him over to the saltire. He pushed Ashe up against it and began to use the leather restraints to secure Ashe to the cross.

  Lord Tremaine selected an oiled, cat-o-nine whip, and walked over to Ashe. “Your punishment will be the destruction of your father’s suit. How many lashes will that take, I wonder?” Christian speculated aloud in a sardonic tone. Knuckles and Picasso chuckled darkly. Lord Tremaine raised the whip and brought it down on Ashe’s back.

  Ashe grit his teeth and refused to cry out in pain. Christian raised the whip and brought it down on Ashe’s back again and again until Ashe’s jacket was completely shredded. Next, Ashe’s shirt met the same fate. The following blow from the whip made contact with Ashe’s bare flesh causing him to gasp.

  Christian whipped Ashe’s back until red welts appeared on his bare flesh. The welts soon turned into blisters that then popped and oozed blood and pus. When Lord Tremaine’s whip made contact wi
th one of Ashe’s open wounds he let out a whimper of pain, and inwardly cursed himself for his moment of weakness.

  A sadistic smile curled Christian’s lips upon hearing that whimper, and he stepped back. “Knuckles, turn him around.”

  “Yes, Father,” Knuckles roughly untied the leather restraints. As soon as there was nothing keeping Ashe upright, he swooned. Knuckles was forced to catch his body, pull him up, and spin Ashe around before restraining him to the saltire once more.

  Lord Tremaine approached Ashe, met his eyes, raised the whip, and brought it down on Ashe’s chest. The brass buttons on Ashe’s vest flew off and clattered to the floor. It had been a really nice vest, and Ashe lamented its destruction.

  Lord Tremaine whipped Ashe’s chest until the vest and shirt were in tatters. Red welts appeared on the front of Ashe’s chest, blistered, and the bled. Tears of pain stung Ashe’s eyes. He swallowed a whimper this time. My father’s suit…

  At least, he still had his father’s cane sword as a memento. As if reading Ashe’s thoughts Lord Tremaine reached down, removed the cane sword from Ashe’s belt, unsheathed it, and revealed its blade.

  Ashe’s eyes flared in alarm. “You wouldn’t…!”

  “This belonged to your father too, didn’t it?” Christian drawled as he admired the sword.

  “Yes. Please, Lord Tremaine, don’t…” Ashe pleaded. Knuckles punched Ashe in the stomach, and he gasped.

  “I’m sorry, Ashe,” Christian said as he walked over and set the cane sword down on a wooden table. “But you must be punished.” He picked up a small hammer, and raised it up over the steel blade.

  “No! Don’t do it!” Ashe shouted. This got him another punch to the gut from Knuckles. Christian raised the hammer and brought it down upon the sword’s blade causing it to shatter. “No!” Ashe struggled against his bonds. “You bastard! I’ll…!” He bit his lower lip to stop himself from saying something he’d later regret.

  Christian set the hammer down on the table, and shot Ashe a hateful look. “You still have so much energy. I must be getting old because I’ve had enough. Knuckles, Picasso, have fun, boys. Just…don’t kill him or injure his hands. He still needs to be able to make us breakfast tomorrow morning.”