The Prince’s Punishment

The Prince’s Punishment

By Yu May

[Note, this is a fan fiction set in the universe of Aether: Book of Mao by MaoMaoShaoran. It takes place immediately after the events of chapter III, and sometime during the events described in chapter IV. It’s therefore not canon, but my personal interpretation of the world and characters. I have written it so that it can be read on its own, though reading the first 4 chapters of Aether: Book of Mao provides the full context.]

Prince Shaoran of the Mao tribe kicked his feet, his legs dangling from the back of the wooden cart. Shaoran’s life-long companion, Poro the spirit-cat, nipped at Shaoran’s collar, mewing plaintively. “Come along, you lazy kitten,” said Poro, in a whisper that only Shaoran could hear.

Shaoran yawned and gently nudged Poro away from his collar. “Not now, Poro. I’m too busy dying of boredom. I just wish something exciting would–”

As the entire cart jostled, Shaoran felt himself jolted into the air, only to land back down, his bottom slapping hard against the wooden surface. Shaoran whined as he rubbed his tailbone. “Mrah! Curse this stupid cart.” 

Then Mao heard the unmistakable sound of Master Banji’s low, booming laughter. “Rah, har! Serves you right for loafing around. Perhaps it’s the Goddess’s way of telling you to get up off your rump.”

Mao’s cat ears twitched, then he quickly pulled his hand away from his rump, blushing. “Not everything has to be an omen from the Goddess, Banji.”

The cart bounced again, but this time Shaoran caught himself roughly. Banji seemed unbothered as he swayed along with the motion, but he raised a single, thick eyebrow. “Master Banji, you mean.”

Shaoran quickly made a curt bow, out of habit. “Forgive me, Master Banji. I meant no disrespect.”

Banji huffed, but his smile was warm. “I’m not offended. But you’re going to have to watch the formal niceties in public. All the other princes are going to be watching you closely. Especially that Hattori brat.”

“Well, then I ought to speak with the other Princes. Aren’t you always saying the key to mastering any art is practice?”

Banji pulled aside the canvas cover slightly. Shaoran could just make out the massive ushi’s wooly backside as it pulled the cart. Banji sighed. “Not much risk of an assassin targeting you in broad daylight. I suppose you’d better make an appearance. It reminds the other Princes that you’re not afraid to be out in the open.”

Shaoran lowered his cat ears, then started as Poro clawed her way onto his lap. Shaoran relaxed as he stroked Poro behind her ears. “Who would want to hurt us, Master Banji?”

“Common thieves, orcs, caravan guards who’ve had a little too much to drink. And those are just the outsiders. Any of the Lords of the other tribes would jump at the opportunity to claim the role of ‘protector’ for clan Mao…assuming the sole Prince and heir had an unfortunate accident, or just went missing.”

“But, Master Banji…aren’t you Lord of the Banji tribe?”

Banji twitched, like a cat eyeing a mouse, his eyes searching the young Prince. “Yes. And along with that title, came a duty. It is the fate of a Lord to serve his house, whether for good or ill.”

Shaoran pouted. “Well, suppose you didn’t want to serve my house? Suppose you wanted to run away and join a traveling carnival?”

Banji stood, his stance steady even in the rumbling cart. His silver ears brushed the top of the canvas wagon covering. “Then I would be a poor Lord indeed. Look for an opening, and take a leap.”

As Shaoran stood, Poro mewed, and climbed lightly onto his shoulder. “We’re not going to stop the cart?”

Banji pulled aside one of the canvas flaps from the back of the cart. Behind them was a long line of lumbering carts, and other cat-kin, walking alongside their beasts of burden. “And hold up the entire caravan? No, I want the other Princelings to see just what you’re capable of.”

Shaoran swallowed, tightening the belt that held his wooden sword and sheath. If he didn’t time his jump well, or if he aimed poorly, there was a chance he could get run over by a cart. If he was lucky, he might just crash face-first into a random traveler. “But…wouldn’t mother spank me, if I tried this at home?”

“Yes. But Lady Hoshi put you under my charge. So, I say you can do it. It’s no different than fencing. Don’t look for an opening. Just be ready, until the opening comes to you. I’ll go first. That should part the crowd.”

Poro hissed softly, digging her claws into Shaoran’s shoulder. Shaoran stroked her, feeling his legs stiffen. “I don’t…”

Banji patted the back of Shaoran's shoulder, then leapt lightly from the back of the cart. He landed so softly, it was as if he had been casually strolling along the caravan the whole time, well away from any of the other carts. Banji uncurled his white tail, which had been wrapped around his waist like a belt. 

Shaoran saw the crowd behind them start to naturally part as they spotted Banji’s tall, imposing frame. No one wanted to run into someone Banji’s size, not even the lumbering ushi.

Spotting eyes on all sides turning toward him, Shaoran swallowed a lump in his throat, and leapt toward the open space created by Banji. Remembering the last time he’d fallen on his rear end attempting this stunt, Shaoran twisted in midair, catching himself on one hand to break his fall. Poro clung to his neck, then relaxed, purring. 

Master Banji didn’t pause or look down as he strode alongside Shaoran. “Not bad. Now walk, Princeling. Head held high, so they can see.”

Shaoran followed Master Banji for a few hours. They overheard two caravan guards having a heated argument about the ongoing trade war with the Aether Imperium, but Shaoran couldn’t follow the details. After an hour of walking, Shaoran’s legs ached, but even that was better than the monotony of riding the cart. When they arrived at the watering hole, the caravan halted so the servant-merchants could attend the exhausted ushi.

A crowd started to gather on the far end of the caravan, under the cool shade of a grove upwind from the stinking beasts, and Shaoran spotted the banners of seven out of nine of the ancient tribes of Nyathan. “There’s the banner of the Hattori clan…Do we have a banner, Master Banji?”

Banji shook his head. “I’ve never understood the urge to carry a colorful sign that tells the whole world exactly where you are. Your royal seal will be enough to prove your rank, if anyone asks.”

Shaoran sighed with relief as he reached the cool shade. “Master Banji…if the Prince of the Mao Tribe were to sit down to catch his breath, would the other houses think him to be weak?”

Banji shook his head gently, so that only Mao could see. “No, but sit like you’re at a royal dinner, not like you just got finished with sparring. Pretend that you have all the time in the world. See those nine seats arranged in a circle? They’re always put out by the servant-merchants for every caravan, whether or not the Nine Lords are present.”

Shaoran tried his best to look like he wasn’t relieved as he approached an empty bench and sat, imagining he was balancing a book on his head to keep the correct posture. Master Banji stood silently at Shaoran’s side, and quietly handed him a water canteen. 

Shaoran sipped at the water, resisting the urge to chug it down. Then his ear twitched as he heard a childish voice, and turned to spot a young cat-kin girl, seated with both of her parents on one of the Lord’s seats. “Mommy, do orcs live in caves?”

“Yes, dear, sometimes. They’re called nests.”

“Well, I saw caves in the mountains all along the road. Are any orcs going to come out of them?”

The girl’s father chuckled. “No, dear. The Aether Imperium cleared them out long ago.” 

The girl twisted on her seat, and spotted Shaoran. “You…you’re the Prince who went missing, then came back.”

The girl’s mother stiffened, then planted a quick love tap on her daughter’s backside. “Miā, mind your manners!”

The fur on Miā’s tail stood on end as she felt the swat. “Please, forgive me! I am Lady Miā daughter of Prince Miitt, by his wife, the Lady Miu. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?

Shaoran felt a lump in his throat. “I am Prince Shaoran, first son of the House of Mao. And, yes, I’m the one who went missing…before I started my second life.”

Miā immediately forgot any rules of courtly etiquette. “Does it feel strange, coming back to life? I’m still only on my first life.”

Shaoran nodded. “It’s sort of like…waking up from a long sleep. I remember how to do things, like walk and talk. I remember that I had a mother and father, before I woke up. But when I woke up, it was like I was meeting her again, for the first time.”

Miā nodded. “And what about your bodyguard? He looks like he’s lived a ton of lives!”

Miā’s father, Prince Miitt, chuckled nervously. “Oh, dear! Miā, you really mustn’t address a servant!”

Shaoran glanced back, and realized they were talking about Master Banji. “Oh, allow me to introduce my teacher. Master Banji, Lord of the Banji Tribe.”

Prince Miit’s mouth hung open. “Ah, you are Lord Banji? Won’t you have a seat? The servants have prepared one for you.”

Banji shook his head. “No, thank you. I prefer to stand. And, Lady Miā, to answer your question…I have lived eight lives.” 

Tilting her head, Miā flicked her ears as she peered at both Banji and Shaoran. “You both have four ears? Two like mine, and another two like the man-folk. Did you always have four ears? Even in your first life?”

Lady Miu stifled a squeal, and patted her daughter’s behind, whispering angrily. “Miā! It’s rude to ask someone about their deformities!”

Shaoran casually brushed aside his hair, uncovering his human ears. “Yes, I’ve always had these. I’m not sure why. Master Banji? Do you have any insight?”

Banji sighed. Clearly, he preferred to be thought of as a humble bodyguard, and not a Lord. “The Lords of Banji and Mao have often had dealings with the Aether Imperium, since ancient times. It wasn't considered unusual for cat-kin to marry man-folk from time to time, even among the noble houses.”

Prince Miitt cleared his throat. “Yes, though, even in such…exotic marriages, it was still rare for a child to be born with four ears, two of each bloodline.”

As Prince Shaoran Mao conversed with Miā’s family, a cloud covered the afternoon sun, and a cooling breeze blew away the stifling summer air.

Then, Shaoran felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Poro snapped her head up from his lap, hissing. Shaoran turned, and saw a familiar face approaching the Lord’s circle. 

Prince Gisei of the Hattori clan.

Shaoran scowled as he remembered Gisei’s cruel, parting words from the council meeting: “Cute ears, freak.”

Then, Shaoran felt Banji nudge his shoulder with the hilt of his sheathed sword. “Easy, Prince Shaoran. Even the Hattori brat has to behave himself, with so many nobles watching.”

Gisei strolled past Shaoran, then seated himself on the opposite side of the circle, brushing his black bangs aside with one hand, and his black cat tail aside with his other hand, before he sat and crossed his legs with a flourish. Gisei looked Shaoran right in the eye, before turning his attention to Prince Miitt. “Prince Miitt, you brought your family? How sweet of you. Now you can all share in the hardships of life on the open road, together.”

Prince Miitt dabbed at his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. “Little Miā begged me to bring her along. She likes to read romantic stories. You know, rustic circus performers who become heroic adventurers and save princesses trapped in castles?”

Gisei purred, then glanced right at Shaoran. “How very droll. I feel like everywhere I look…I can spot a circus freak.”

Shaoran almost leapt to his feet, but felt Banji’s hand pressing firmly down on his shoulder. Shaoran hadn’t even noticed Banji’s hand resting there, until that moment.

Prince Miitt looked awkwardly from Shaoran to Gisei, beads of sweat tripping down his brow. “Ah, perhaps you have not formally met? Allow me to introduce Prince Shaoran of House Mao. Price Mao, this is my friend and peer, Prince Gisei, of House Hattori.”

Gisei smiled softly. “Yes…we’ve met.”

Prince Miitt nodded. As the awkward silence dragged on, he finally nudged his wife, and picked up his daughter. “We should get back to our carriage. The caravan will be ready to make another trek soon enough.”

Gisei twiddled his thumbs. “I’ll see you at the front of the caravan, Prince Miitt.”

After Prince Miitt, Lady Miu, and Miā had excused themselves, Gisei, Shaoran, and Banji were the last noble lords left at the circle. Finally, Gisei broke the silence. “I’m surprised to see you out and about, Prince Shaoran. I was starting to wonder if you had taken ill.”

Shaoran stroked Poro gently, trying to calm her nerves, as well as his own. “I wanted to take the air and see if I could spot Aether on the horizon.”

“I suppose you’ll be glad once this miserable trip is over.”

“Assuming we can settle the trade dispute with Aether.”

“Oh? Looking forward to the negotiations? Good chance to catch up on your beauty sleep.”

Shaoran gripped his knee. His mother had made it clear that Prince Shaoran had only been invited to the trade negotiations as a spectator only, to represent the house of Mao. Shaoran took a deep breath. “All of the Nine Tribes depend on open trade with Aether. I plan to pay careful attention. It would be dishonorable to do otherwise.”

As he twirled a curl of black and red bangs around his finger, Gisei purred. “Yes. I imagine your mother would give you quite the smacking if I told her you were dozing off. Is it true she still spanks you, even at your age?”

Shaoran felt his face flash, but Banji interrupted Gisei with a gruff growl. “Yes. As she should. There’s no shame in a Princeling learning to accept discipline…no matter how old they are. Wouldn’t you agree, Prince Hattori?”

Gisei pressed his lips into a tight, thin line. “I…I wouldn’t know.”

Banji smiled. “Of course.”

Gisei’s nostrils flared, before his eyes flicked back to Shaoran. “Well, you needn’t worry. When I plead House Hattori’s case to the Aether Imperium, they’re sure to see that free trade with Nyathan benefits their people, as well as ours.”

Shaoran nodded. “That’s all I want. What’s best for our people.”

Gisei casually scratched below his cat ear, at the spot where a human ear would be. Without human ears, Gisei had a distinctly more angular, cat-like face. “Ah…yes, your people stand to benefit as well. A pity we have to mix with the low-eared folk of Aether, even if it’s only for trade.”

Shaoran shot to stand up, roughly brushing aside Banji’s hand. “Why do–”

As Poro dropped off Shaoran’s lap, she startled and clawed at his pants, scratching his bare legs. “Woah! Watch it!” hissed Poro.

Shaoran flinched, and as he gently set down a furious Poro, he noticed Gisei stifling a laugh at the sight. Shaoran felt his cheeks burning. “Why do you insult me? I’ve never wronged you.”

Gisei’s cat-like pupils narrowed to slits. “I have never once insulted you, princeling.”

“Don’t lie. The first words you spoke to me were an insult.”

Gisei thumbed at a dagger hanging from his waist. The silvery blade glinted as it caught the sunlight. “A Prince will not stand to be called a liar, boy. Lord Banji, you’re a witness. Did you not hear Prince Shaoran Mao call me a liar?”

In a blur, Banji suddenly stood between Shaoran and Gisei. “No, I did not. I heard Prince Shaoran Mao exhort his fellow Prince to not tell lies. I never heard him call you a liar.”

Gisei pressed the dagger back into its sheath. “I suppose having four ears must make it difficult to hear correctly. But as Prince Shaoran Mao is only a boy, I suppose I can overlook the comment. It would be a different matter, if he were a man.”

Shaoran gripped at the wooden practice sword at his side. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Shaoran froze as Banji twisted to glare at him, his eyes stern. Finally, Gisei’s laughter broke the tense silence. “A wooden sword? You simply must spar with me…It will be good practice for when you’re old enough for a proper duel, with true blades.”

Shaoran faltered. In the instant it took for him to glance back and forth from Gisei to Banji, Shaoran guessed exactly what Banji was going to say to him later. “You’ve made your own bed. Now lie in it.”

Shaoran gripped his wooden sword. “I accept.”

Gisei slowly unsheathed his dagger. “Lord Banji…would you happen to have a second toy sword? I only carry a dagger with me.”

Banji drew his own wooden practice sword from its sheath with a practiced motion, then held it aloft with both hands. “Be careful…A bokken is not a toy.”

Gisei pouted as he accepted the wooden sword, then stepped back to test its weight. “Incredible. Its weight is perfectly balanced…Come along! There’s a patch of solid, even ground just at the base of the hill.”

As Shaoran marched downhill beside Banji, he leaned close to whisper. “Sorry, Master Banji.”

“Sorry for what, Prince Shaoran?”

“Well, for walking right into Gisei’s trap.”

“You didn’t fall for his trap. He was hoping you’d call him a liar to his face. In which case, I’d have had no choice but to spank you right then and there, plead with Prince Hittori on my hands and knees to overlook the bad manners of a foolish child, and offer to let him spank you himself, in front of the entire assembled caravan, rather than demand a duel to the death to satisfy the insult to his honor.”

“Aren’t you going to yell at me?”

Banji shrugged. “There are only two possible outcomes. Either you hold your own against Prince Gisei, in which case you gain much face. Or he batters you around until he’s satisfied, bringing great shame upon you and your entire clan, and teaches you a lesson in humility you’ll never forget. Either way, you’ll live. Assuming his plan isn’t to knock your brains out and claim it was an accident.”

“Hold my own? So you don’t think I can beat him, outright? Don’t you believe in me?”

“Shaoran Mao, you are the single most dedicated student I’ve ever trained in the art of fencing. And if you don’t lose focus…you can hold your own against Gisei Hattori.”

As they reached the foot of the hill, Gisei leapt high in the air, somersaulting before he alighted softly on the side of a wooden cart, his voice booming over the murmurs of the crowd. “Come one, come all! For a friendly sparring match between two noble Princes of Nyathan. Fear not, for we wield only wooden swords today! Never have you seen true fencing, until you have seen it practiced by a Lord of the Cat-Kin.”

By the time Gisei had hopped back down, a murmuring crowd of cat-kin and man-folk merchants had already started to gather. Poro, who was wise beyond the capacity of any common house cat, pranced away from Shaoran, and settled herself down neatly at the sidelines.

Banji tossed a coiled rope at his side to an astonished cat-kin servant-merchant. At a single gesture from Banji, the onlooker nodded and began to lay the rope in a circle to mark the edge of the battle ground.

Then Banji quickly stepped into the center of the patch of even ground that represented the arena. “The match lasts until the first clean blow is struck. Only the head, the wrist, and the body are legal targets. No strokes to the throat, nor below the belt. If a combatant is knocked to the ground, or forced out of the ring, the match will pause immediately. If it happens twice, the combatant is disqualified and their opponent declared the victor. A mutual strike is considered a draw, and the end of the match. You will both obey all my commands. Agreed, Prince Shaoran Mao?”

Shaoran took a deep breath as he drew his practice sword, and held it at the ready. “Yes, Master Banji.”

Banji turned to face Gisei. “You will both obey all my commands. Agreed, Prince Gisei Hattori?

Gisei sniffed, and took up the ready stance. “Agreed, Lord Banji.”

In a flash of light, Banji drew his own sword, a true steel blade, and pointed it between the two princelings, tapping the flat of his blade smartly against each of their swords in turn. “The match does not begin until you both touch your swords, together, like so! The moment your swords touch, you may not turn back, without surrendering.”

Banji sheathed his sword and stepped back from the ring. “At the ready.” 

Among the cat-kin, the art of fencing had evolved to match their light footed build. It was not exactly like any art of sword-fighting practiced by the larger men-folk, though it bore similarities to both western and eastern schools of fencing. The cat-kin favored elegant, controlled strokes, matched with their uncanny ability to balance.

Shaoran stepped into the circle, feeling the eyes of the crowd following him as he circled clockwise to approach his foe. 

Gisei held still for three whole seconds before casually swapping his sword into his left hand and circling counter-clockwise, taking Shaoran by surprise. Even before the match had officially started, Gisei was already looking to throw off Shaoran’s footing. Shaoran paused, then backtracked, desperate to keep enough ground behind him to allow the possibility to retreat without being knocked out of the ring. But the moment that Shaoran glanced behind him to gauge how much room he had…

CLACK!

Gisei snapped the tip of his sword against Shaoran’s, then flicked his wrist to aim a thrust at Shaoran’s chest. Shaoran awkwardly deflected the thrust and stumbled backward and to the side, trying to keep out of Gisei’s range. But Gisei only pressed his advantage, smiling as he aimed two quick attacks. The first was aimed at Shaoran’s head, while the second seemed to be aimed at Shaoran’s throat. Shaoran swung wildly to block the first, then anticipated the incoming blow to his throat. 

But Gisei’s second stroke was a feint. His eyes shining, Gisey checked his blow and ducked, twisting his sword to aim a clean strike at Shaoran’s sword arm. Shaoran twisted away, and felt the flat of Gisei’s blade glance against his sword arm. 

Banji’s booming voice halted the fight. He examined Shaoran’s arm and shook his head. “Not a clean stroke. Again. To the edge of the ring.”

Gisei huffed. “Perhaps I should have one of my vassals act as a referee.”

Banji nodded, looking completely unbothered. “It is your right to request it, if you prefer the judgment of a vassal over that of a Lord.”

Then, to Shaoran’s complete surprise, Gisei actually blushed. “I…meant no offence, Lord Banji.”

“No offence taken, Prince Gisei. When you are ready, you may begin.” Banji marched to the edge of the circle, catching Shaoran’s eye as he went, and drew his sword. 

Shaoran understood the meaning hidden behind Gisei’s look. “Mind your footwork, princeling.”

This time, Shaoran was ready for Gisei’s left-handed sword fighting stance. The traditional strategy was to meet your opponent in the center of the ring, giving you both roughly equal terrain to work with. But now that he had a feel for Gisei’s confident offence, Shaoran didn’t feel like letting Gisei dictate the flow of the second round.

Instead of circling counter-clockwise to match Gisei, Shaoran instead entered into his standard offensive stance and made a bee-line toward Gisei, hoping to throw him off balance by facing him head-on. But Gisei didn’t so much as blink, before they touched swords.

As Shaoran tried to press forward offensively, he realized that Gisei was easily deflecting his attacks…and Gisei seemed completely unconcerned that he’d been forced into the most awkward possible position, at the very edge of the ring. Some of the crowded spectators, who had been standing too close to the rope boundary, gasped and stumbled back as the two princes’ swords whizzed in front of them.

Shaoran controlled his breathing, relying on his muscle-memory the times Banji had switched to a left-handed grip, just to throw him off balance. “You never know when you’ll have to fight off a left-handed assassin,” had been Banji’s wry comment, while pummeling Shaoran. Shaoran felt his painful memories of those lessons deep in his bones, and was grateful for them.

As Shaoran pressed his attack, Gisei was finally forced to retreat, stepping backwards along the rope barrier like a tight rope walker.

Shaoran spotted an opening and thrust forward, roaring a war cry. “Kiyaa–”

As Shaoran aimed his thrust, Gisei twisted out of the way and spun around, landing the flat of his wooden blade square across the center of Shaoran’s defenseless bottom. Instantly, Shaoran’s war cry became a cat-like squeal of pain. “Kiyaa-haaaaiii!”

Shaoran tripped and flopped forward and out of the ring, clutching his backside with one hand, his sword flying from his grip as he fell against the ground. Ignoring the bellows of laughter from the gathered crowd, and the aching sting from his own backside, Shaoran snatched up his sword and twisted onto his back, expecting another strike. Banji had always placed more emphasis on “gutter fighting” than “formal sparring” in their training sessions.

But Gisei was only laughing along with the crowd. “I think I aimed that one a bit below the belt. So it doesn’t count. But can you continue, Prince Shaoran?”

Shaoran bit his lip, trying to blink back tears, still keeping his sword trained on Gisei, like Banji had taught him. “...I’m not hurt.”

“Then why are you still rubbing your bottom?”

Shaoran felt all four of his ears burning hot as he heard the laughter of the crowd, but as he stood, he kept his eyes fixed on Gisei, his sword still held aloft. Shaoran remembered something Banji had once told him, “Never assume your enemy cares about polite fencing club rules.” On that occasion, Banji had pretended to surrender in the middle of a match, only to land a surprise stroke that left a bruise on Shaoran’s shoulder that lasted for a week.

Gisei suddenly stopped laughing as he noticed Shaoran spring back on his feet, still keeping up a perfect guard.

Banji’s voice barked with such commanding force, it silenced the laughter of the crowd. “Halt! Both of you, to opposite sides of the ring! If Prince Shaoran is knocked down, or steps outside of the ring again, he forfeits the match.”

As Banji spoke the last words, he strolled toward Prince Shaoran, and bent low to whisper. “Relax. It’s only a sparring match.”

“But you told me to never think of it as a sparring match when I’m fighting an enemy.”

“Exactly. But this is a sparring match, not a real fight. Think about it…And watch your back!” Banji reached around and planted a playful clap on Shaoran’s bottom, eliciting a few childish giggles from the spectators who noticed. The giggling sparked a fresh roar of laughter, and Shaoran winced, from both the fresh sting and the laughter at his expense. 

Then, something clicked, and Shaoran understood. This wasn’t a real fight. After all, if Gisei had wanted to kill him, and pretend it was a terrible accident, he’d have just knocked Shaoran’s brains out with that last strike. Shaoran had been fighting. But Gisei…was playing.

Gisei laughed, then called above the crowd. “What’s the matter, Prince Shaoran? Is teacher unhappy with your performance? Perhaps you’ve been promised a spanking, after our little match is over?”

“Yes, Prince Gisei. If I lose to an opponent as unfocused as you, I expect Banji to do his duty and spank me, right here, in front of everyone.”

Gisei’s eyes blazed red as the crowd burst into a fresh roar of laughter. Shaoran smiled, until he glanced at Banji’s stoic face and thought about the words that had just come out of his mouth. Shaoran remembered his Mother’s final words of warning before they parted: “I’ve given Banji full permission to discipline you in my stead.”

“Well, serves me right, if I lose,” thought Shaoran.

Gisei shook his head and took his stance, scowling. Shaoran tried to visualize the attack Gisei would take. 

By now, Shaoran knew Gisei was better than him offensively, and defensively. But Gisei was also angry. Shaoran saw himself as Gisei, coming in for a quick, devastating kill.

The moment their blades touched, Gisei sidestepped, whipping his blade down, aiming for Shaoran’s shoulder blades. At the last moment, Shaoran twisted and swung, so that Gisei’s blow caught him full across his right shoulder with such force, it sent Shaoran staggering to the ground. Gisei leapt back, roaring with triumph. “Kyah!”

“Halt! It’s a draw!” called Banji.

Gisei snarled, strolling up to look Banji in the eye. Despite being a foot shorter than Banji, Gisei managed to stand firm. “What? He collapsed again! And I landed a clean stroke!”

“So did Prince Shaoran.”

“Where? I didn’t feel…”

Gisei glanced down, and as he felt his stomach, he found a tear in his silk gown across his belly. Beneath, he wore chain link armor. Gisei pouted, then turned to face the crowd. “Prince Shaoran landed a clean blow to my stomach. If we had real swords…it’d have been a lethal blow…I accept the draw.”

Banji nodded. “How sporting. I warned Prince Shaoran to watch his back. Next time…”

Banji clapped Gisei firmly across his rump. “...You’ll have to watch your front, Prince Gisei.”

Gisei yelped, before rounding on Banji. As the chuckles of the crowd were replaced by polite applause, Gisei finally sheathed his wooden sword, and bowed to Banji. “Yes, Lord Banji. Thank you for officiating our match. Are you all right, Prince Shaoran? Can you stand?”

Prince Shaoran winced as he stumbled to his feet, gripping his shoulder, then bowed to Prince Gisei. “I’m fine, Prince Gisei. Thank you for your concern. I am honored.”

Gisei looked down, unable to meet Shaoran’s eyes. “...Yes. It was…a fine match. Thank you, Prince Shaoran…please excuse me.”

With a final Bow, Prince Gisei turned and marched away quickly, holding his head high. He glanced back over her shoulder, once, before disappearing into the crowd, ignoring the spectators as they slapped his back.

Banji shook his head as he bent low to whisper in Prince Shaoran’s ear. “In a real fight, that blow would have cut off your arm. You might not have survived.”

Shaoran winced as he bent low, and let Poro climb onto his uninjured arm. “And Prince Gisei?” 

“He would have died, slowly, over the course of several days. But he might have managed to finish you off, while you were down. If it were a real fight.”

Shaoran nodded, then smiled at Banji. “You told me not to think of it as a real fight. I knew that attack was suicidal, but only in a real fight. You’d have tanned my hide if I ever pulled that stunt in one of our ‘gutter fight’ matches.”

Shaoran’s eyes suddenly popped open, and he glanced down nervously at his bottom. He could still feel the throbbing welt left by Gisei’s sword stroke. “You’re…not going to spank me, are you, Master Banji?”

In all their years training together, Master Banji had never once struck Prince Shaoran, outside of fencing practice. There had been plenty of warnings, but the duty of chastising Prince Shaoran had always fallen to his Mother, Hoshi.

Banji finally smiled. “No, Prince Shaoran. Not unless you think you need one, to teach you not to pick pointless fights.”

Shaoran nodded, pressing close to lean on Master Banji. “I…still feel so foolish. If Gisei had wanted to kill me, he could have done so, even with a practice sword. And I walked right into it.”

Banji patted Shaoran’s shoulder, stroking the spot where Gisei had left a deep bruise. “You took a risk. A wise Lord must learn to take risks, when his reputation is challenged.”

Shaoran paused, and looked up at Banji. “And do you think I took a wise risk, Master Banji? Or a foolish risk?”

“I think you were very fortunate that Prince Gisei didn’t insist on a duel to the death, to satisfy his sense of honor. Do you think you handled his taunts as well as you could have?”

Shaoran hung his head, then shook his head. “No, Master Banji. In that case…please chastise me, soundly…in the same manner Mother would discipline me, if we were home.” 

 

Banji held up Shaoran’s chin to look him in the eye. “Are you sure, Prince Shaoran? I don’t like to see you punished. It’s like a formal match. Once you’ve demanded it, there’s no backing out.”

Shaoran felt tears welling up in his eyes, and nodded. “Yes, Master. It’s not about punishment…it’s about discipline.”

Banji sighed, patting Shaoran’s shoulder. “I see…In that case…”

Banji raised his voice, so that it boomed over the watching crowd. “Prince Shaoran Mao! That was a disgraceful display of swordsmanship. I know you’re capable of much better than that. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Shaoran stood at attention as he sensed all eyes turn on them, then, realizing Banji’s intent, Shaoran bowed low. Of course, if Master Banji had to punish Prince Shaoran, there was no way it wouldn’t be overheard by eavesdroppers, even in the privacy of their covered wagon. Better to have the whole camp know the truth, then to have rumors spread. “Forgive me, Master Banji! I was sloppy, and undisciplined! I will strive to do better!”

Banji crossed his arms. “Yes, I know you will. Because I’m going to give you a reminder, tonight, of the price of failure. March, soldier.”

Shaoran’s face burned as he felt the eyes of the crowd on him. But he felt oddly comforted. Whatever the strangers in the caravan thought, he knew that Master Banji wasn’t ashamed of him. 

He even spotted Prince Miitt, Lady Miu, and little Miā watching him sympathetically. Miā held up her hands, as if in prayer. “Please…don’t spank him too hard, Lord Banji.”

Shaoran winked. “Don’t worry, Miā. Master Banji is never unfair with me.”

A shrill voice arose from amidst the crowd, then Prince Gisei shoved his way into view. “What’s going on? Who’s getting…punished?”

Prince Gisei froze as he recognized Lord Banji and Prince Shaoran. Finally, Gisei shook his head, baring his pointed fangs. “No! You can’t be serious! Prince Shaoran did nothing wrong!”

Banji narrowed his eyes. “I am his fencing master. I decide what a fair effort in the ring looks like, for Prince Shaoran”

Prince Gisei’s eyes shone, as he blinked back tears. “...But…There was nothing shameful about that draw! That was the greatest fight I’ve ever had!” 

“And that doesn’t matter. Because I know Prince Shaoran can do better.”

“Don’t you dare shame him for losing to me!

“Prince Shaoran did not lose to you.”

Prince Gisei stammered, then quickly wiped his eyes as he noticed his tears forming. “B-but–”

Shaoran straightened himself. “No, Prince Gisei. Master Banji is right. And he is only performing his duty, as my instructor. Please do not interfere.”

Prince Gisei took a deep breath, then stood aside. “Very well. Forgive my impertinence, Lord Banji…And Prince Shaoran…thank you again, for a splendid match. You are the finest swordsman I’ve ever faced.”

Shaoran bowed slightly, just enough to show Price Gisei the proper respect due to a fellow Prince. “Thank you, Prince Gisei. I hope we may cross blades again, when I am older, and have finished my…” Shaoran swallowed as he nearly let slip the dreaded word, “Spanking.” “...finished my training.”

With a final bow, Master Banji escorted Prince Shaoran to their covered wagon. As dusk fell, the sky turned a vivid shade of indigo blue.

Once they were inside, Banji closed the curtain, and kneeled in the center of the wooden floor. “I’ve never punished you in this manner before, Prince Shaoran. How do your mother and your other instructors go about it?”

As the reality of what was about to happen finally sank in, Shaoran held his hands demurely in front of him. He suddenly felt no different than he did at home, whenever his mother announced that it was time for a spanking. “One of my tutors used to smack me with a wooden ruler, when I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I don’t own a ruler. Perhaps I should use your wooden training sword? Would that be fitting?”

Shaoran tensed as he felt pang from the throbbing welt left by Prince Gisei’s earlier sword stroke. “Perhaps…you could instead use your hand? That’s how Mother always punishes me.”

Banji nodded, and gestured to his lap. “I recall she puts you across her lap…and bares your bottom.”

Shaoran clenched his bottom at the horrible thought. “Must we do this…precisely as Mother does it at home? You could just spank me over my shorts!”

Banji shook his head. “I don’t want to bruise you, Lord Banji. If I can see…the target, I will know to stop if I’m striking too hard. That is the reason why your Mother insists on you undressing yourself, is it not?”

 

Shaoran let out a whimper that was half a whine, and half an agreement. “Yes, Master Banji. You are correct. Please, allow me a moment to prepare myself.”

As Banji turned his head to look away, Shaoran quickly kneeled, slid down his shorts and undergarments so they rested just below his bottom, and lay down across his teacher’s lap. “I am ready, Master Banji. Please do not hesitate to spank me soundly, as you would if I were your own son, and not a Prince. Mother often says I require a firm hand…If…if I may be allowed to hold onto a cushion, it will help me resist the urge to struggle.”

As Master Banji handed Shaoran a travel pillow, the little prince clutched it tight to his chest. Shaoran tensed as he felt Master Banji’s rough, calloused hand rest on his soft, quivering backside. Then Master Banji patted Shaoran, gently. “Yes, Lord Mao. Remember, you yourself had the courage to ask to be disciplined. When you believe you have been punished enough, you must order me to stop.”

Finally, as Shaoran exhaled, he felt his tension melt. “Thank you, Master Banji. Please…spank me.”

As Master Banji landed the first resounding slap, Shaoran gasped, and dug his fingers deep into the silk fabric of the pillow. After the second swat, Shaoran felt a scream building deep in his chest, which he barely managed to swallow as he clenched his jaw tight shut. But after the third smack, Shaoran roared, loud enough that he was sure half the caravan would surely hear. 

By the fourth stroke, Shaoran felt tears welling up in his eyes, and squealed as he felt a delayed reaction. Not only was Shaoran acutely aware of the fresh sting, but the lingering effects of the first three spanks had already started to build to a fiery burn, and the welt left by Ginsei’s sword strike seemed to scream at him in fresh agony. 

And by the fifth spank, Shaoran melted into tears. Master Banji spanked slowly, giving Shaoran plenty of time to catch his breath, but Shaoran did not stop the spanking. Every time he was tempted to scream at Master Banji to just stop, Shaoran instead sank his head into his pillow, until he caught his breath and pleaded with Master Banji to continue. Finally, Master Banji began to increase both the strength and tempo of the paddling, determined to show the same endurance as his student. After enduring well over 100 spankings, Shaoran’s cries built to uncontrolled, racking sobs. As Master Banji slowed down the furious pace of the spanking, he aimed two ferocious blows at the lower part of Prince Shaoran’s bottom, the sit spots, where the lower buttocks connected to the upper thighs. Shaoran reared, snot dribbling from his nose along with the tears staining his cheeks, and gasped. “Enough! Please, no more!”

Master Banji stopped immediately, gently stroking Shaoran’s back. “There, there, my Prince. It’s all over.”

Shaoran wiped his eyes on the cushion, sniffling. “I’m sorry, Master Banji…I just…I couldn’t take any more! I’m too frail…I’m too weak…”

Master Banji lifted Shaoron up off his lap, before pulling him into a hug. “You are not weak, Prince Shaoran. What you did took great courage.”

As Shaoran sank into his teacher’s shoulder to return the hug, he whimpered something that was a mix of a formal offer of eternal gratitude, according to proper courtroom etiquette, and a babyish cry. In the end, Shaoran finally managed a simple thank you. 

Then, as Shaoron felt the cool, evening air chilling his glowing red bottom, his eyes popped open. “Uh…Master Banji? May I get dressed now?”

“Of course you may.”

Shaoran felt the cheeks on his face burn red, to match the cheeks on his bottom, as he quickly pulled his pants back up. “...Half the caravan probably heard me crying. And by now, the entire caravan must know Prince Shaoran Mao was given a spanking tonight, don’t they?”

Master Banji shrugged. “Perhaps. But let them talk. It will only add flavor to the story of your excellent performance in the ring. That’s the part they’ll remember. Now, kneel and reflect on what you have learned today, little princeling. I will leave you to meditate in peace.” 

Shaoran nodded as he kneed down in the seiza position. The moment he rested his weight down onto his aching bottom, Shaoran squeaked, then stiffened his lip, like Master Banji had taught him to do before engaging in combat. “Master Banji, thank you for spanking me.”

“You are welcome, Lord Mao.”

But as Shaoran peeked over his shoulder, he saw Lord Banji had disappeared out of the back of the wagon, without making a sound. Bowing his head, Shaoran fought past the urge to rub away the lingering sting and soreness in his hindquarters, and reflected on his battle with Gisei, trying to recall all of his enemy’s tactics. Shaoran had a feeling they would meet again.

And as he smarted from the spanking, Shaoran offered up a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess. He had the best fencing instructor in the world. When the day of reckoning came, Shaoran knew he would be ready.

The End