A Sexy Immortal Court

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.

"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.