The Many Adventures, And Spankings, of Princess Lyra: Chapter II:

The Many Adventures, And Spankings, of Princess Lyra:

Chapter II: A Narrow Scrape and A Hard Scrap

By Yu May

Princess Lyra rested on her heels, breathing hard as sweat dripped down her brow. She had tried to sit, only to discover her backside was still a bit tender from Master Kael’s earlier chastisement.

Suddenly, the ornately-carved oaken doors of the fencing hall creaked open, and Lyra saw the slender figure of her mother, Queen Indiu, daughter of Lugaid, as she strode into the room. The Queen carried a mewling babe in her arms, the prince Fiachu, her only son, and the youngest of King Niall’s fourteen sons. With a strange dignity, Queen Indiu pulled her breast free from her robe, and suckled the babe to quiet his cries.

Though only in her late thirties, Queen Indiu’s golden hair was just starting to show a few thin streaks of silver. She was a full hand’s breadth shorter than her teenage daughter, and had none of her husband’s nor her daughter’s athletic build. King Niall could trace his lineage back to the heroes of the Fianna, the noble band of giants who fought alongside Fionn mac Cumhaill. So it was no wonder that the Uí Néill dynasties would later gain fame for bearing many tall sons, and a handful of tall daughters.

And though the little queen was neither as tall nor as strong as her spirited daughter, Princess Lyra never hesitated to submit to her mother’s authority. Lyra knew from experience that Queen Indiu, being less strong of arm, was all the more determined to let her guiding hand of chastisement fall upon her daughter’s seat of learning, until Lyra’s lesson had been thoroughly learned.

Leaping to her feet, Lyra clasped her hands behind her back, her cheeks blushing slightly as she realized she’d been caught squatting.

Queen Indiu stood eye-to-eye with her daughter, smiling gently. “Dearest Lyra. I trust your lessons are progressing well?”

Knowing what was coming, Lyra shifted uncomfortably, her gaze dropping to the stone floor, her voice uncharacteristically meek. “Yes, Mother. Master Kael has been…very thorough.”

The Queen raised an eyebrow. “Thorough, you say? And have you been a good student, my dear? Or have you been testing your instructor’s patience again?”

Lyra shuffled her feet, both her pride and fear warring with her sense of duty. Finally, she took a deep breath and met her mother’s gaze. “I…I disobeyed Master Kael, Mother. I practiced my fencing alone, without supervision. He…he had to give me a spanking, before I relented.”

The Queen nodded once and turned to look up at Kael, “Is this true, Master Kael?”

Kael stood with his arms crossed, his expression unyielding. “It is true, my lady. As Lord Niall requested, I treated her as I would any other student.”

The Queen sighed. “It seems my daughter still requires a firm hand from time to time, even at her age. Very well, Princess Lyra. Since you’ve freely confessed your disobedience, I will carry out your correction on Father’s behalf. Tonight, before bedtime, you must prepare yourself, both in body and in spirit, to accept another spanking.”

Lyra’s eyes widened, and for a moment, her face seemed to flash hot with fury. But then she squared her shoulders and nodded, her eyes resolute. “I understand, Mother. I know I deserve your correction, and I will obey.”

Master Kael stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Your Highness, I beg you not to punish Lyra on my account. Upon my oath, I swear that the punishment I administered was just. I am satisfied that Lyra has been sufficiently disciplined. I trounced her as hard as I’d trounce any errant squire.”

The Queen held up a slender hand. “I appreciate your concern, Kael, but this is a matter of royal honor…and a matter for mothers and daughters. Lyra freely chose to submit to the rules of your fencing hall, and she knowingly chose to break them. But she also knows full well my rules for my children. And if any of Lyra’s instructors must chastise her, for any just reason, then Lyra can expect the hand of correction to fall upon her, before the sun falls upon that same day. Is that not true, Princess Lyra?”

Lyra cleared her throat, and curtsied to her mother. “Yes, Mummy—erm—yes, ma’am...”

Then Lyra spun on her heels to face Kael, her voice steady. “...Master Kael, thank you for coming to my defense, but Mother is right. I not only disobeyed you as my master, but also my mother and father, and I should be punished accordingly. I trust the Queen Mother to be fair.”

Queen Indiu took Lyra’s hand between hers, patted it. “Yes, Lyra. Now, you must be brave, and face justice. You will march straight to bed, without supper, where you will remain confined for the rest of the night, and await my arrival at sundown.”

Kael knelt. “Forgive my impudence, but if the Princess is to train with me tomorrow, will she not need to keep her strength up?

The Queen held up her nose, but her soft smile returned. “Very well, Master Kael. I will forgive your impudence. Princess Lyra may join us to sup first…though I’ll have to paddle her all the more soundly instead. Are you prepared to accept these terms of surrender, Shield-maiden Lyra?”

Lyra’s stomach gurgled, and she held it ruefully. “Aye, Mother. As Master Kael always says, better to take a stroke to the arse than to the stomach.”

…

Lyra contemplated her boots as she made her way down the long stone corridor that led to the dining hall. She felt the impending doom of her coming punishment like a weight hanging over her. A spanking before bed was a common enough affair that Lyra wouldn’t have paid it much mind, except for her mother’s mention of an additional “paddling,” which Lyra knew bode ill tidings for her arse. Perhaps Mother planned to use an implement as a weapon of war to harry Lyra’s “rear flank,” Lyra wondered if she would be feeling the Queen’s personal, wooden hairbrush this time, or perhaps a hefty wooden spoon from the kitchens, or maybe something even worse. 

But Lyra also felt a strange lightness in her steps. She hadn’t yet managed to land a single hit on Master Kael, but her defense against his last onslaught gave her hope that she might survive as a swordswoman, perhaps long enough to land a hit on him herself one day. At least she knew she wasn’t just a dainty, royal flower to be coddled, which was exactly what Lyra had hoped for when she had requested instruction in true swordplay as her fifteenth birthday present. Though she wished that her backside didn’t have to absorb quite so much of the harsh treatment. 

Lyra found the dining hall occupied by only a few servant-girls, and a lady in a black gown and veil. With a glance at the woman’s hefty walking stick resting on the bench, Lyra guessed she must be a humble old widow, and made the customary greeting with a quick bow. “Céad míle fáilte.” A hundred, thousand welcomes.

Then, Lyra quickly took her seat, and started playing with her plate. There was a platter of herbed cheese and flat bread to act as sops for the coming meal.

Then the widow lifted her veil, and Lyra started as she recognized the widow as her grandmother, the queen dowager Cairenn. Though Cairenn was clothed in the manner of the Milesian race of conquerors, she was famously a princess of the neighboring Saxons, and her wild mane had earned her the nickname Cairenn Chasdub, or “Cairenn of the Curly Black Hair” upon her arrival at Castle Tara. Now in her fifties, Cairenn’s famous black hair had faded to a dusty iron grey. “You know, a hundred thousand welcomes are all well and good, but I’d trade them all for a single kiss from my grand daughter.”

Lyra leapt to her feet, and quickly kissed her grandmother on both cheeks. “Seanmháthair Cairenn? I didn’t recognize you! Why are you dressed for mourning?”

Cairenn returned the two kisses, then brushed a gnarled hand against the bosom of her black dress. “It has been twenty years to the day since the passing of High King Eochaid, and the day your father first undertook the doughty trials of Queen Mongfind.”

Lyra nodded, remembering the story. The thing about being the Princess of a High King is your family often figures prominently in the best heroic tales of adventure. After the death of his father, Prince Niall had endured many tasks set for him by his wicked, sorceress stepmother, Queen Mongrind of the White Hair (and the Black Heart). 

Queen Mongrind had claimed the sovereign right to choose the next male successor to the throne, but favored her own sons over good Prince Niall. The late Queen Mongrind had been fond of concocting impossible challenges for Prince Niall to prove his worth, using black magicks whenever possible to tip the scales in favor of her own sons. But when Prince Niall somehow triumphed, against all odds, Queen Mongrind would find some legalistic excuse to deny him his victory, and set the princes upon yet another deadly quest.

Lyra’s favorite was the time Queen Mongrind challenged the princes to enter the workshop of a legendary blacksmith, and retrieve the item which they believed held the highest value. After her own sons quickly emerged carrying various famous swords and helms and hammers, Mongrind had sealed the blacksmith’s shop and set it ablaze with hellish fire.

Not being the sort of man who would ever admit defeat, Prince Niall had broken down the door with the blacksmith’s anvil, and declared that it held the highest value of all, for by it the master blacksmith had wrought all his works, and by it Prince Niall had saved his his own life, and the lives of his blood brothers.

In a fury, Queen Mongrind had declared the contest void, and charged the princely brothers with rescuing the lost Princess Rígnach ingen Meadaib from the clutches of The Loathy Lady, a dark fairy queen who dwelt in the dark forest for ages past.

When the Princes arrived, the fairy turned out to be an ancient, wrinkled hag, who explained that the next true Queen of Ireland could only be freed from her prison with a passionate kiss of true love…which was to be given to the decrepit crone herself, and none other. Mongrind’s sons had refused. Two of Cairenn’s older sons, being shy, had given the old lady a polite peck on the cheek.

Then Prince Niall had kissed the Loathy Lady with such passion, she had collapsed into a wrinkled bag of bones, revealed herself as both the long-lost Princess Rígnach, and announced that, by Law of the Fair Folk, she also held the sacred title of the Sovereignty of Ireland. 

And so, Prince Niall of the Nine Hostages won the heart of his first wife and the High Kingship of Ireland all at once. Not even Queen Mongrind could find a loophole in fairy law.

 

All this to say, the dowager Queen Cairenn could always tell Lyra a thrilling bedtime story, at least on the nights Lyra wasn’t getting a well-deserved bedtime spanking.

Lyra kissed her grandmother again, this time on the lips, with none of the reserved formality of the first two kisses. “Grandmother, may I sit with you? I am in sore need of company this eve.”

Queen Cairenn rose gracefully from the long bench, and gestured to let Lyra sit beside her. “Sore indeed. Nervous about what’s coming tonight, are we?”

Lyra’s eyes widened, and she glanced around the table, hoping none of the servants had overheard. She looked around her room, and to her horror, noticed a handful of castle guards were taking their positions at each corner of the hall. A new group of male-servants were milling in, carrying trays for the first course of the banquet.

As she felt her face burning red, Lyra hissed, with a note of pleading in her voice. “Grandmother, please, not here!”

Cairenn’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Oh, come now, little lamb. None of your brothers have arrived yet. And even if they had, there’s no need to be embarrassed. A little proper discipline never hurts—or rather, it does no harm. What hurts the bottom helps heal the heart. ”

Lyra groaned, burying her face in her hands. “But…who told you that I was in trouble?”

Cairenn shrugged. “No one told me. It was obvious from the look on your face while you were playing with your plate.”

Pouting, Lyra peeked an eye from behind her hands. “Must you tease me about it?”

Cairenn gently patted Lyra’s head, “Worrying about what’s coming to you won’t change what is to come. But have no fear, your secret is safe with me.” 

Slowly, Lyra slumped her head against her grandmother’s breast. “Assuming mother hasn’t told anyone.”

Cairenn stroked her granddaughter's hair. “Well, if I catch your mother blabbing about it at supper, I promise to spank her myself, then and there. And you can tell Queen Indiu I said so.” 

Lyra snickered at the absurd mental picture of her Queenly mother being spanked bare-bottom before the royal court. “I think Mother might object to an affront made to her royal–erm, dignity.”

Cairenn playfully patted Lyra’s bottom. “And an old Queen Mother still has certain rights, even if she chooses not to exercise them.”

Lyra sat up, suddenly recalling the last time Grandmother had exercised that maternal right on her own rump, when Lyra was still a toddler. Lyra had long forgotten what had caused her temper tantrum, but she remembered that whatever it was, she had deserved every smack. Lyra smiled ruefully. “I suppose a spanking might make for an entertaining show, provided I’m not the one on the receiving end.”

“Speaking of which, I understand that the Archdruid, Mog Ruith Lochru, has arranged for a traveling caravan to perform for us tonight. I’m told they are the finest masters of their craft now living. Maybe it will take your mind off your present trials, at least for a time.”

Lyra slumped in her seat, feeling a warm prickle as her seat pressed flat against the hard surface of the bench. Hours had passed since her first spanking from Master Kael, and the soft tingling in the shape of his handprints still lingered. “I hope so, Grandmother.”

Lyra sighed, and forced herself to sit up straight, hold her head erect, and greet the gathering courtiers as if nothing was bothering her. With fourteen royal brothers in the family, several now married and with children of their own, supper was a noisy affair on even the dullest days. 

But it was a comforting sort of noise. Lyra hoped that even if the secret of her coming spanking was known, it may have been just as quickly forgotten. 

Queen Hindiu arrived after her sons, with prince Fiachu snoozing against her bosom, cradled in a sling around her shoulders. Hindiu sat at the left side of the King’s empty chair, near Princess Lyra, then leaned over to whisper. “Don’t worry, Lyra. I haven’t told anyone about tonight’s discussion.”

Cairenn hummed, gripping her walking stick. “A wise decision, your highness, one worthy of a wise queen who aims to sit well upon the throne.”

Queen Hindiu stiffened as she noticed her mother-in-law. “I hope you do not disapprove, Queen Mother?”

Cairenn wrapped a hand around her granddaughter’s shoulder, and winked at her daughter-in-law. “Of course not, Queen Hindiu. I’d let you know if I did…In private, of course.”

Lyra was positive she saw her mother stiffen slightly, but whether Queen Hindiu was nervous or amused by the grandmother’s words, the Queen carefully hid any hint of it from showing on her face.

Finally, Cairenn smiled, with no trace of teasing nor mockery. “But you must perform your duty as Lyra’s mother. I understand that well enough.”

Exhaling, Queen Hindiu nodded, and returned the smile. “Thank you, Queen Mother. I will strive to pass on the lessons you’ve taught me to your grandchildren…with a loving hand.”

“What more could a grandmother ask? See, this is why I always liked you so much better than Niall’s first wife, the Fairy Queen. They have such strange notions of parenting in the Sídhe. Far too foreign.”

Lyra snickered into her glass of light honey-wine. For a blessed moment, it felt like her life would go on like this forever. As long as she was with her family, no lasting troubles would ever come to her.

Then the double-doors slammed open unannounced, and a bearded man strode into the dining hall, almost seeming to glide along the stones without steps. His robes seemed to billow from a strong wind, though the air was still in the hall.

Even the babes went silent.

Lyra knew he was as a druid from his grey robes, and as he emerged from the dim hall, Lyra recognized him: Archdruid Lochru. His gnarled face seemed to have been carved roughly from white stone, by a once-master sculptor who’d finally started to decline with age. 

Lochru stared at each face in the room, his eyes wide and unblinking. As Lochru’s gaze lingered on her, Lyra felt her spine tingle. She always had a strange feeling that Lochru stared only at either young women…or the youngest children.

Finally, Lochru opened his thin, scar-like mouth. His voice was eerily deep, dark and sonorous, and his tongue lingered over each of his words. “And does Niall of the Nine Hostages not deign to join our merrymaking?”

Queen Hindiu cleared her throat. “Welcome, Lochru. Forgive us our too-empty hall, for the High King, our beloved father, is away on urgent business.”

Queen Mother Cairenn banged the butt of her stick smartly against the stone floor. “Yes. Tending to the needs of his Nine Hostages, most likely.”

Lochru’s head swiveled to glare at Lyra’s grandmother, then again at Lyra. “A pity that His Majesty must miss tonight’s performance. We welcome pilgrims from holy Egypt, who have traveled far to pay homage to Niall Noígíallach, noblest living son of the race who conquered even the Tuatha Dé Danann. For as we of the Druidic Order of the Grove have kept watch over the Stone of Fál, preserving the secrets of its magic, handed down to us from the Atlantean Circle….”

“By the gods,” thought Lyra, “once he gets his jaws pried open, he never stops talking.”

“…so too have these wise men of Egypt guarded the mystic arts of the ancient Pharaohs, taught to them by the red god Seth, lord of the desert storms. They are called, in their own tongue, the Hekau-en-Hent. The Magicians of Delights. The Sorcerers of Pleasure. Tonight, you will witness the same spectacular arts which were performed to the wonder of none other than Marc Anthony and Cleopatra themselves. Bid welcome, children of Neill, to these, our most auspicious guests.”

Then, as Lochru glided to one side, a dimness fell over the room, as though from a red sunset, though it was still mid day. 

But the strange light seemed to emanate not from the windows, but from the open doors themselves, a light that added only to the sense of darkness. 

Suddenly, there was an explosion of crackling fire, and misty silver clouds belched into the hall from the black corridor. Finally, a troop of dancers and musicians emerged from the sparks and smoke, scantily dressed in flowing linens of blue-green. One of the men, wearing a black mask with the face of a dog, was juggling curved knives, another held up a torch and breathed fire, and two dusk-haired, sun-tanned women tossed sickles back and forth to one another, as they skipped and spiraled along the floor on opposite ends of the performing troop.

As she smelled the stinging smoke, Lyra started awake, and focused on the dancers before her, shocked by their half-naked state of dress. But as the soothing music started to swell, Lyra felt her mind wandering. The dance was certainly lovely, almost hypnotic, but Lyra had been hoping for something a bit more rousing, like a peasant reel. She also had a feeling that, if the smoke and sparks had indeed been passed down since ancient times, that only meant the Magicians of Delight probably hadn’t learned any interesting new spells in the past thousand years or so.

The dog-masked man caught his blades with a flourish, and they seemed to vanish in midair, before he bowed low, and produced six of them again at once. While pinched between his fingers, the curved blades resembled the claws of a lion. “And now, queens and mothers-of-kings, princes and princesses, we have prepared a gift for you, the noble House of Niall. You shall be the first, the last, and the only souls now living, to witness this spectacle. For as each mortal soul must be laid on the scales of Osiris to stand the test of his judgment, so too do our very lives hang in the balance as we present to you, the deadliest of our ancient arts…The Dance of Blades!”

The tone of the music shifted, as the drums slowly built in intensity, and the masked man began to juggle his blades. But this time, the two dusky women, stood on either side, tossing their sythes back and forth. Lyra supposed that they were twins, apart from the fact that one was dressed in red and the other in purple. The masked man lightly stepped back and forth in time to the music, dancing out of the path of the flying scythes which passed within an inch of his arms on either side with each throw. 

The fire breather spat flames at the masked man’s chest, but he ducked backward, catching two of the tumbling knives, and rolled back up to his feet. Two more women drew narrow black daggers, and tossed them past the masked dancer. As the rhythm of the music increased to a faster tempo, the masked man caught both black blades, one in each hand, and tossed them aside to another pair of dancers, without dropping any of his own curved blades.

As Lyra yawned, she thought dreamily about how she wished this banquet was over, so she could finally get her coming spanking over with. She hoped Father would surprise her with a sudden return home, though it also meant he would have to learn of her disobedience, and administer Lyra’s bedtime spanking himself. 

As she felt her eyelids growing heavy, Lyra prayed for her father to come home, and hold her in his arms, before carrying her off to bed.

Then, Lyra had a strange vision. In her day dream, she saw her father taking off his knotted belt, to horsewhip her, of course. 

Yes, thought Lura, that was probably what she would get as her punishment for deliberately disobeying Master Kael. 

Queen Hindiu was standing at one side of her bed, holding a hairbrush, while Seanmháthair Cairenn stood at the other side, thwacking her hefty walking stick against her palm.

Then Lyra glanced down, and saw that she was completely naked. 

Fair enough, though Lyra, as she crawled onto her soft, downy bed, and lay on her stomach across a pillow. If King Niall was back home, it only made sense for him to personally ensure that his favorite, trouble-making tomboy of a daughter was properly punished. And it was only right for her mother, and her grandmother, to reinforce the lesson. 

Somehow, as Lyra obediently lifted her hips to present her buttocks for chastisement, she felt perfectly at peace. So long as Lyra knew her father loved her, she could never be afraid, not even of the longest, hardest whipping of her life. And despite all the trouble she caused for her parents, Lyra had never once suspected that they didn’t love her, even when they chastised her.

Then, another oddity: she heard the crack of the belt, but felt no pain—but, then again, Lyra did feel pain, only not at the right spot. It was her head that hurt, not her backside. And as Lyra became aware she was dreaming, she heard another voice screaming, “Wake up! Wake up, man!"

Lyra gripped tight to her bed. That was Master Kael’s voice. “But…I’m not a man?”

“Get down, now!”

As she heard another crack from the belt across her backside, Lyra snapped out of her stupor, and found herself back in the dining hall. She turned, and saw a castle guard collapsing against the wall, foam frothing from his mouth, clutching at the hilt of a black dagger sunk deep in his stomach. 

Then, Lyra saw Master Kael flying through the air over her head. 

But no, he was not actually flying. 

As she came fully awake, Lyra realized he was diving. And as Lyra turned her head to follow him, she glimpsed a curved, crescent-bladed knife hanging in mid air, directly in front of her mother, who sat peacefully with her eyes closed. 

But no, the knife was not actually hanging in mid air.

It was flying–aimed straight at Queen Hinhiu’s chest. Tight against her bosom, the sleeping queen still held the infant Prince Fiachu.

Then, Lyra saw Master Kael tackling the Queen’s throne to the ground along with the mother and child, and Lyra heard the sound of a metal blade cutting through flesh and bone. 

With a scream, Lyra stepped up onto the table. “Murderers! Guards, to arms!” But as she reached for her sword hilt, she felt her fingers close on nothing. 

Then, she seemed to see and hear everything around her, all at once. Her grandmother was lying prone on the floor, her walking stick out of reach. One of the dancers rammed the choking castle guard against the wall, and pulled away, ripping a second knife out of the dying man’s throat, along with the first blade in his stomach. One of the fire-breathers aimed a blast of flame at another guard’s face. A musician held his flute to his mouth and blew into it, pointing the tip at one of the guards, who gasped as a dart pierced his neck, and dropped to the floor, frothing at the mouth. Fiachu was wailing on the floor. Archdruid Lochru was cowering under the table, muttering incantations. And all thirteen of Lyra’s elder brothers lay slumped in their chairs, but whether in a death-like sleep, or in the eternal sleep of true death, Lyra knew not.

At the center of the chaos, the dog-masked juggler held up two of his curved knives, one in each hand, now dripping in blood, howling a wolf-like war cry. “Death to the blasphemers!”

The juggler’s arms seemed to blur, and Lyra glimpsed the curved blades spinning towards her toward her eye and heart, like two crescent moons. Then she saw a golden plate shot through the air, like a full harvest moon, knocking aside the two blades. Master Kael was back on his feet, the assassin’s knife blade buried in his left shoulder up to the hilt. “Princess! Defend yourself!”

Quickly, the old soldier snatched up another golden plate, and hurled it like a discus at the dog-masked assassin’s face. The dog-faced assassin reeled backwards as the golden plate struck his face.

Then, Master Kael drew his short-sword with one hand, ripped the knife out of his shoulder with his free hand, and tossed it lightly toward Lyra.

With a start, Lyra caught it. To her right, she saw the fire-breather holding up his torch, aiming a blast of flame at one of her older brothers, before Master Kael charged through the flame and cut the fire-breather in two with a downward stroke to the shoulder. A dancing girl rolled from under the table and swung a sickle at Master Kael’s calf, before he jumped out of reach.

Clutching the knife tight in her trembling fist, Lyra turned to see the dog-faced assassin recovering from the blow to his face, before he flourished his fingers, and two fresh blades appeared in his hands. Lyra snarled. “Come and get me, cur!”

As the sound, the dog-faced assassin’s red eyes fixed on her. Lyra was tempted to charge straight at him and aim a stab for his heart, but something about the way the masked man held his knives gave her pause. She’d never used a knife for cutting anything but meat in her entire life. 

Two words screamed in her head. “Defend yourself!”

And as the masked assassin leapt at her, Lyra deflected his first strike, tensing as she realized too late that her usual parry technique wouldn’t work with a curved blade. Before the assassin’s first strike slipped past her block, she fell backwards off the table before it could slit her throat, and felt his second blade slicing across her tunic, where her heart had been only a moment before.

Lyra tipped over the long bench as she tried to break her fall, before she landed hard on her rear end. The masked man reappeared as he leapt up to the table and tossed a knife at her eye. Lyra rolled to her left, trying to block the spinning knife with her own blade, only to feel a thin line sliced across the exposed flesh of her right palm. 

With a gasp, Lyra stopped her roll, and saw her grandmother’s collapsed form beneath her. With a roar, Lyra spun and threw her knife at her attacker, knowing without sight that he was about to spring down on her for the killing stroke.

The masked man flicked his wrist to knock aside Lyra’s weapon with his own blade, and jumped off the table, trying to land his full weight on Lyra. Lyra twisted and tried to land an upward kick with her left leg to his solar plexus, but she was no match for his mass. Lyra screamed as she felt her leg jammed backwards, but her kick was just enough to knock the masked man back by a few inches. Instead of crushing Lyra’s chest with one stomp as he had intended, he only managed to pin down her right arm.

Grabbing onto Lyra’s leg, the assassin tried to slice her hamstring, but his knife slipped on the leather straps of her caligae sandals. Nevertheless, the knife cut through two of the leather straps and traced a line along her calf and lower thigh. Lyra screeched and tried to pull her foot away, before landing another kick. Her hands scrambled across the floor, looking for the lost knife, and her fingers closed on something solid: her grandmother’s walking stick. Swinging blindly, Lyra clonked the assassin across the side of his skull. With a snarl, he released his grip on her leg, clutching the smashed remains of his mask.

A piece of the crumbling mask fell away, revealing a dark, painted eye that blazed with hatred. “Bitch! I’ll gut you for that!”

Then he held his knife high in both hands, aiming for Lyra’s belly. Lyra pressed her knees against her chest, praying her legs would block the blade from cutting her entrails.

But before the assassin could strike, there was a flash of light and a rush of wind, and he froze. The black mask tumbled backward, along with his head, and the rest of the assassin’s body crumpled to the side, twitching. It reminded Lyra of watching a chicken running around, flapping its wings, after its head was cut off. 

Lyra caught a glimpse of a tall, powerfully-built man with a mane of ruddy hair standing behind the table, where the assassin’s body had been only a moment before. Lyra’s eyes shone with tears of joy. “Father?”

Instantly, King Niall spun and cut down another of the performing men.

With dawning comprehension, Lyra recognized that Father must have heard her cries and cut down her attacker. Lyra sprung to her feet, her legs trembling, and held up her grandmother’s stick like a sword. In the center of the dining hall, two dancing-girls, the scythe wielding twins, dropped their weapons, and cowered before Kael, hugging each other. They both squealed at once. “Mercy! We surrender!” 

Kael pulled his sword out of the chest of the last of the male assassins, then pointed it at the shuddering twins. “Who hired you?”

The twin in red pointed at the feet of the masked man under the table. “You j-j-just killed him!”

King Niall’s voice boomed. “Foolish girl! Who sent you to assassinate my family?

The twin in purple cried, her voice strangely childish. “It was—we don’t know! P-p-please! He made us do it!”

Kael didn’t lower his sword. “Hands in the air, as high as you can reach above your heads!”

Lyra stepped up onto the table. “I can help you tie them–”

Without taking his eyes off the surrendering assassins, Kael barked at Lyra over his shoulder. “Stay back, Princess. If you take one more step, I’ll tan your hide after I kill these two!”

The twin assassins assassins both wailed at once. “Please! Don’t kill us!”

Kael silenced them both with a booming roar. “Shut up! If you value your lives, then do exactly as I say…Now, lie facedown on the ground, slowly. Hands stretched all the way in front of you, where I can see them.”

Nodding furiously, the two twins complied, whimpering as they pressed their faces against the stone floor, lifting their rumps in the air behind them. One of the last surviving guards whipped off his rope belt, and knelt to bind the first twin’s hands behind her back. 

Keeping his sword point fixed on the captives, Kael undid his own leather belt, and handed it to the guard. “Use a two-loop knot. Then bind their forearms, all the way to the elbows, if you can.”

Wiping sweat from her brow, Lyra glanced around the room, quickly counting noses. With a sigh of relief, she saw her family slowly waking up, unharmed. “The assassins must have planned to kill the guards first, then slit our throats while we slept,” thought Lyra. 

As the guard finished binding them, the twin girls’ voices grew shaky, and tears spilled down both their faces. The red twin blubbered. “Sp-spare us! We beg of you!”

The purple twin whined. “Waaah! We’ll do anything!”

Kael shook his head. “High King Niall will decide your fate. If you submit to his judgment, and tell us everything you know, he may well deign to show you mercy.”

Kael glanced over his shoulder, then bowed his head. “My Lord? What would you have us do with these assassins?”

King Niall stroked his blood-red beard. “That will depend on whether they obey you, Master Kael. If either of these desert snakes so much as bares her fangs at you, cut them both down. But for now…take the prisoners to The Spanking Room.”

The two twins blinked, and looked at each other.

The red twin glanced back at Cael, hunching her shoulders. “The Spanking…Room?” 

The purple tilted her head, like a curious puppy. “What is…‘The Spanking’?”

Princess Lyra snickered, then noticed both Master Kael and the twin assassins looking at her. Holding her head high, like a well-mannered Princess should, Lyra spoke calmly.  “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. A spanking is nothing to worry about, really.”

[End of Chapter 2]

[Coming soon!]

The Many Adventures, And Spankings, of Princess Lyra

Chapter III: A Good Scolding, a Good Scrubbing, and a Good Spanking