There was a satisfying sheen to the hastily polished cuirass, the finely wrought metal reflecting the flickering candlelight from the bedside lamp. Hints of the first dawn rays were peeking through the mostly shuttered window, meaning she was almost certainly going to be late. She cursed as she buckled the cuirass into place and straightened her uniform beneath. An exquisitely tailored midnight black tunic, its edges intricately embroidered in royal Beaucourt purple and, she noticed with dismay, the faintest wine stain visible at the collar. The firelight flashed as she raised a gauntleted hand to attach the matching purple half cape over her left shoulder.

“Looking sharp Captain Adoran, ma’am!” came a laughing voice. She turned to find Emmaline (or was it Amaline? or Emma?) standing beside the bed, nightshirt askew, Ashyn’s sword belt at her side and helmet haphazardly placed on her head. She snapped the worst attempt at a military salute Ashyn had ever seen.

Ashyn couldn't help but smile but quickly wrestled it back into a scowl. "At ease, soldier," she growled, striding over to stand before Emmaline. Ashyn was half a head taller and had about thirty pounds of muscle on the little barmaid, but Emmaline stood resolute as Ashyn towered over her.

"I’m going to have to order you to turn over your helmet and sword. You’ve been charged with lascivious conduct unbefitting an officer of the Queen’s Guard, and wanton fraternization with your fellow soldiers.” Ashyn stepped closer, then reached up to pull the helmet half off Emmaline. Ashyn held it in place, leaving Emmaline’s eyes covered, as Ashyn pulled her into a kiss. They were shortly interrupted by the deep ringing of the palace bell, signaling the the official arrival of the day.

Ashyn cursed again and pulled away, deftly relieving Emmaline of the helmet and placing it upon her own head. The she laughed and began unbuckling the sword belt from Emmaline’s waist.

“Immediately reoffending after conviction... clearly the previous punishment was insufficient.” said Ashyn as she roughly pulled the belt off Emmaline.

“I’ve heard corporal punishment is the only thing that gets through to these no good criminals” Emmaline said, an utterly unconvincing look of contrition painted across her face.

The bell rang again and Ashyn sighed in frustration, turned from Emmaline with difficulty, and strode towards the door to her chambers, hastily buckling her sword belt.

“You’re welcome to stay a bit, and help yourself to anything you need, I’ll see you... around?” she called over her shoulder as she pulled the door open and hurried out. The mocking “aye Captain” was cut short as the door shut behind her.

Ashyn leapt down the spiraling stairs two at a time as she hastened towards the great hall, one hand clutching her scabbard to prevent it clanging against her greaves. She flew around the limestone newel at a speed that allowed her to only partially prevent herself from colliding headlong into a beleaguered scullery maid. The woman yelped and stumbled back, her outstretched hand grasping at thin air, as the broom she’d been carrying clattered down the stairwell.

With practiced ease Ashyn’s gauntleted hand flashed forward and caught the falling woman, smoothly pulling her back to her feet. She let out her tensely held breath in a thankful sigh then said, “Apologies milord, I should be more careful” eyes downcast, “but many thanks for catching me, just the same.” 

Ashyn paused, her hand still clasped around the woman’s forearm, then exclaimed, “Martine?”

Martine’s contrite and demure demeanor instantly dissolved into exasperation.

“Oh. It’s you.” she sighed dramatically. “Late to your own Accolade, no doubt the result of difficulty extricating yourself from clutches of last night’s conquest.” She sniffed, then wrested her arm from Ashyn’s grip and bent to retrieve the fallen broom.

“My sincerest apologies my lady, for this, and last week’s… unfortunate collisions.” said Ashyn, chuckling awkwardly, “I really must be going though, as you said I’m running late, good day!” She began trying to squeeze past Martine, who let Ashyn past with an exasperated sigh.

She pulled up short as she reached the base of the spiral staircase and saw the furious visage of her mother waiting at the bottom. She stood imperiously, hands clasped behind her back, her immaculately cleaned, but undeniably aging, gown of deep wine provided a dark backdrop for the ostentatious array of glittering jewelry. 

“I’m sure you think this is funny.” said Baroness Therese Adoran, voice haughty and commanding. “I’m equally sure I don’t have to remind you, Ashyn Octavia Adoran, what this posting means for our family. Every last string to pull I had left in this court went towards maneuvering you into this position and if you…” she growled as Ashyn began to move past her “fuck. it. up. there’ll be no one there to catch you when you fall.”

Ashyn simply muttered, “Yes, mother.” then strode past and down the corridor, straightening her posture as she approached the two armed and armored sentries blocking the massive double doors to the great hall. They looked from Baroness Adoran to Ashyn, glanced at each other, then refocused forward, snapping to attention as she drew close.

“Ma’am, they’re ready for you.” said the left guard, nodding respectfully to her as the two stepped smoothly to flank the doors.

She stopped before the ornate mahogany doors, delicate silver inlay decorated the ancient and imposing set. She took a deep breath, blew it out with a sigh, and pushed her way into the great hall.

The heavy double doors groaned open as Ashyn straightened, taking in the enormous Great Hall stretching out before her. Soaring vaulted ceilings, massive marble pillars, an imposing throne flanked by rows of the Prince’s Guard, all glittering as the morning sun streamed through the intricate stained glass windows adorning every wall.

The Prince himself sat coolly atop the equally austere white marble throne, its hard lines mirrored in the angularity of the Prince’s face. Just cresting his mid twenties, the youngest scion of the Beaucourt dynasty was the quintessential Prince; striking features, black hair coiffed elegantly, and clad in an immaculate officer’s uniform. A dark purple jacket with silver accents, a sparkling silver circlet, and a wine dark half-cape draped languidly over his left shoulder. Prince Vyrrin Beaucourt locked eyes with her from across the hall and for an instant she could’ve sworn she saw them widen in surprise before the aloof expression slid back into place.

She had, of course, seen Prince Vyrrin many times during her tenure as a member of the palace guard, but the meteoric nature of the rise to her new position meant this was likely the first time he had really looked at her.

He rose instantly as she entered, standing straight backed and completely still, hands clasped behind his back.

“You’re late.” he said, his voice high and clear, echoes of “late” slowly dissipated throughout the hall as she hurriedly strode forward. The other knights of the Prince’s Guard stood motionless at attention, but Ashyn felt judged even through the impassive façade of their visored helmets.

She came to a stop and snapped to attention ten paces from the throne, aligned perfectly with the guards furthest from the Prince.

“My apologies, your grace.” she said, eyes downcast, head slightly bowed. The Prince sighed haughtily and stepped down from the raised dais of the throne to stand before her. Even with his heeled boots and her inclined head Prince Vyrrin had to look up at her, his slender build appearing almost diminutive before her imposingly muscled and armored figure.

He seemed completely undaunted by the mismatch, however, inclining his chin slightly to make direct eye contact with her.

“I do not require your apologies, only your competence and your obedience. See that I never again have reason to doubt either, lest you become the shortest tenured Captain of the Prince’s Guard in history. Now kneel.”

“Your grace.” she said, dropping to one knee before him. There was ringing of steel and a flash of reflected light as the Prince drew his saber, holding it perfectly straight before his chest.

“Do you, Ashyn Adoran, before your comrades, your Prince, and your country, take the Oath?” he intoned, voice strong and clear, face impassive as he stared down at her. She raised her head to look up at her Prince.

“I, Ashyn Adoran, before my comrades, my Prince, and my country, do hereby swear that I will always be faithful and bear true allegiance to my royal charge, Prince Vyrrin Beaucourt. I swear to well and truly serve His Grace for the remainder of my life, for only in death will I be kept from this Oath.” she said, her voice steady as she unflinchingly held the Prince’s gaze.

“Then I, Prince Vyrrin Beaucourt, by the power vested in me by Her Majesty, Queen Tania, do hereby name you Captain Ashyn Adoran of the Prince’s Guard, with all the rights and responsibilities therein.” said the Prince, slowly lowering his blade to rest on her shoulder before swinging it high, then sheathing it.

“Rise, Captain, and take your place.”

She stood back to her full height and nodded to the Prince. He nodded back, then spun and stepped back up to his place on the throne. Ashyn strode forward and stopped at his right hand, then turned and stood at attention. She blew out a silent sigh, then steeled herself for the day ahead.