Fairy Tale Ending

The knife slammed down, sending a spray of blood onto the maids apron. She cursed under her breath, cleaning its edge with her rag.

“ASH!” The shrill voice made her flinch, and she hastened her pace, bringing the knife down again and again with a practiced hand. “AAASH! Where is the chicken? I needed it FIVE MINUTES AGO!”

“Sorry Ana! I’m coming,” Ash called back, hoisting the bloody poultry into her arms as she made her way to the stove.

“You weren’t daydreaming again, were you?” Ana chided, mincing onions for the soup.

“It’s not daydreaming. It’s training,” Ash whispered, but she ensured that nobody heard her. “Of course not!” she said, louder.

“Good. You know how much Dri hates it when you space out.” Ash flinched involuntarily, her fingers brushing the scar that ran from her eyelid to her chin. Last year, when she was lost in her head, Dri had taken a fire poker and run it down her face to “teach her a lesson.” As irritating as Ana could be sometimes, Dri invoked genuine fear in Ash. It was just the three of them, girls barely out of their teenage years, kitchen maids for the palace staff. And, though Ash disliked her company, they were the only family she had ever known. Ana and Dri were sisters and held their place in the palace because their father was the head chef. Ash was just a girl of the streets who had happened to be at the right place at the right time when the chef was looking for some extra help in the kitchens. As grateful as she was to have a roof over her head, Ash couldn’t help but hope she was destined for more.

The tap-tap-click of footsteps that haunted Ash’s nightmares echoed down the narrow staircase leading to the kitchens, and Ash stirred the stock pot with renewed vigor.

“Darling sisters! Dinner is going well, I presume?” Dri flounced into the room, her shoulders wrapped in a scarf that looked oddly familiar to Ash.

“Is that…” she started, but was cut off by a venomous look from Dri.

“Ugh. You’re too nosy… but if you must know, this is the queen’s finest scarf for parties!” Ash groaned inwardly, knowing all too well how Dri’s knack for stirring up chaos would be blamed on her if the scarf wasn’t returned soon. Ana piped up from beside her, a fragile voice wavering in the dusty air.

“B-but, the kingdom isn’t having any parties for at least another month”

“Oh, sweet sister, that’s only what the nobility wants you to think!” Dri’s impish sneer deepened, her eyes glittering with a cold malice. “As I’m sure you know, the darling prince is of age to be married.” Ava froze, hope written plainly across her face. Dri continued, sounding as haughty as ever. “Tomorrow night the palace will host a lavish party in hopes of finding the prince a worthy suitor. Surely the queen will not notice a few lovely kitchen girls amidst the swirling gowns and festivities!” Ava was practically bouncing up and down now, her eyes shining like those of a child.

“This is it, Dri! All we have to do is show the prince how worthy we are of the throne, and we will never have to work again,” Ava giggled, twirling in a circle. The two of them were breathless with excitement, filled with hope at the thought of escaping their own pitiful lives, but Ash was silent. “What’s up with you, Ash? This is the best news of our entire lives!” Ava squealed, grinning. Ash bit her lip, struggling to meet Ava’s hopeful eyes.

“Ava, this is great. It really is. I’m happy for you… but do you really think the prince would choose a kitchen girl over nobility? They have been trained their entire lives to rule a kingdom. It’s not that I think you wouldn’t be a good ruler, I’m sure you would be amazing, but he is not going to choose you.” Ash choked out the words, hating the way Ava’s face crumpled with each invisible blow. She disliked uttering such things, but tried to convince herself that it was for the best. Ava would be devastated when her dreams of being a princess didn’t work out. At least now she wouldn’t be surprised.

“Don’t listen to her, Ava,” Dri spit, venom lacing her tone. Dri grabbed her sister roughly by the arm, yanking her towards the laundry room. “We are going to the ball. Now, lets get dresses.” Ava looked back towards Ash one last time, eyes brimming with tears, an expression of utter betrayal on her face. And then, she was gone, into the depths of the castle. Ash felt her eyes begin to water, but blinked quickly before tears could fall. She was stronger than her tears. She pawned the soup off onto another maid, and slipped out of the kitchen door, disappearing into the night air. Ava may not understand, and Dri may not want to, but she had no desire to become a princess. She was not qualified for the position, nor did she wish to be. Her passions lay… elsewhere.

The whine of metal scraping along metal echoed from the courtyard far before Ash turned the corner. The sound itself was unpleasant, but its cause left currents for excitement racing down her spine. Just before she rounded the corner Ash pulled her helmets vizor over her face, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The other soldiers nodded to her, well accustomed to her late night visits.

When Ash had first come to the palace she would slip out the back door often, anxious for some time to herself. It wasn’t long before she stumbled upon the King’s Guard training, and was instantly captivated. She would watch them train for hours from behind the hedges that surrounded the courtyard, mimicking their swift movements with her clumsy arms. It wasn’t long before they found her, but the fierce knights she was so fearful of had no need to punish a curious child. She became a kind of pet project for them, a few tips here, a sparring match there. In five years her nightly visits had left thick calluses on her once soft fingers and her mind filled with swordplay. She would never be that sweet, innocent little girl again, and perhaps that was for the better.

Ash staggered her feet in a familiar stance as she drew her blade from the sheath at her hip, filling her lungs with the smoky night air before releasing her breath quickly, lunging forwards at her opponent and twisting back, her dance lit only by moonlight. A minute passed, maybe two, but before long the blade of her sword kissed the soft skin of his neck, pressing firmly against his windpipe.

“Say it,” Ash whispered, her voice deadly. “Say. It.”

“Fiiiine,” the man across from her whined pathetically. “Uncle.”

“Yes! Take that,” Ash grinned, sheathing her sword.

“Aww. You’re no fun anymore,” the knight complained good naturedly, climbing to his feet. “So, when are you going to join the guard? We all know you’re qualified.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Ash muttered. “You can only join the guard if the commander approves it, and that will never happen.

“Ah. Daddy dearest dosen’t want his illegitimate daughter to become a coworker?” The knight questioned, nodding towards the gaurd’s bunkhouse. That’s gotta stink. Well, I best be going. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Ash grumbled, wrapping her hands in cloth padding before walking to a training dummy. She began warming up, letting her fists slam against the leather casing of the bag.

She was so intent upon the movements that she almost missed the feather light sound of unfamiliar footsteps on the courtyard behind her. Almost. She pivoted, drawing her sword as she took in the figure standing behind her, black robes rendering them almost invisible in the darkness. She hesitated, willing him to speak, but all was silent. Then, his blade was snaking through the air, glinting in the moonlight as it was thrust towards her chest. Ash blocked it inches before it met her flesh, aghast at the nerve of this new stranger.

He parried her blows effortlessly, writhing in the darkness like mist. Impossible to capture. Ash stumbled backwards, drawing air into her lungs. This was no longer a playful spar. She would die here, in this courtyard, if her guard slipped for even a moment. Her attacks became quicker, the blade coming alive in her hands. She couldn’t help but feel like her entire life had come down to this moment. They circled one another around the courtyard, hunters poised to strike. Then, she saw her moment. For a fraction of a second he glanced backwards, sizing up the courtyard, and she was upon him, knocking his sword aside with the very motion she had done hundreds of times previously. It clattered against the marble, the sound carrying a note of finality.

“Mask. Off,” she hissed between labored breaths, holding the tip of her sword to his chin. He slowly lifted the black fabric, hands shaking, though he was trying hard to hide it. He cast the material aside, and it was as if time itself had frozen. Ash’s mind raced, trying desperately to comprehend the man in front of her. She sank to one knee, forehead resting against the cool cobblestones. “My prince. I’m sorry,” she whispered, knowing all too well that her life was now in his hands. To raise a hand against the next ruler of the kingdom, let alone a sword, was a crime punishable by death. How could she have ever made a mistake this grand?

“Don’t apologize. After all, my identity was unbeknownst to you. Please, rise,” he said softly, retrieving his mask from the floor. “Anyone capable of beating me in a duel undoubtedly is worthy of a place on the royal guard.”

“I’m honored, sir. Truly. But my father… “ Ash started, lapsing into silence when her fathers cruel face flashed across her mind.

“Ahh, yes. I overheard your conversation with the knight earlier. I cannot promise you a fairy tale ending, as such things are creatures of fantasy, but I can assure you this much. In spite of everything, you have no need of my protection. The world is a frightening place, but the fire in your eyes is just as terrifying. It is the look of someone who will burn anything in her way on the road to success. Welcome to the Royal Guard, but know that your story doesn’t end here. Darling, this is only the beginning.