Jasper & Aisling: Prologue (special preview)

Aisling came walking briskly down the hall, just wanting to get somewhere she knew, somewhere safe. Then again, what was really safe for her these days? Ever since her uncle and cousin had taken over her family’s kingdom, she was no more than a prisoner. 

She came to her door and opened it, walking inside she felt some relief, some strain lift away from her chest. She closed the door behind her, bracing against the handle and let her shoulders sag.

She had been there for so long with fear. Before, home had been what she called this place. Nowadays, it was a prison. She learned the way her uncle ruled with lies and dicete. Learned how to lie to even Reginald to chirp and sing for them. A bird in a cage, she would later think of bitterly. All had been liars, and all of them better at it than her. All but one, who never lied. He had been there, for all of Aisling’s sufferings. Had seen her avoid Reginald’s hand, had seen her struck by it. It had been this supposedly cruel man who had convinced Reginald that her face was not worth slapping. He had given her advice she took as cruelty, later finding it forged and tested truth.

Beginning to stride to the comfort of her bed Aisling was made aware she was not alone in her room. Someone was huddled in the corner with his hood around him. He stiffened with a grunt and sat up, his cape charred and reeking of sour wine. His eyes caught her small lantern, and yet they still seemed so dark and far away. It was Lord Jasper of her uncle’s ‘Beauties Regiment’, an army made of nonhuman soldiers. It was a cruel regiment, but not because of the men in it, but because of the way Reginald ran it. Lord Jasper was lizardfolk, a massive man who led the Beauties. He was often around as Reginald had made him his personal guard. 

Lord Jasper put on a frightening act, something that Reginald encouraged. He looked horrible in his armor, but Aisling had found the visage underneath the helm could curdle any soul. He was burned horribly in youth, and now, his face was melted and pulled taut around the left side. The eye there was a narrow slit, and his mouth was constantly cut back in a horrible sneer. 

Right now though, Aisling found he looked more pathetic than frightening. His armour was dingy with the chest plate hanging loose and back pieces nearly off. His cloak was stained, burnt, and the pungent odor of sour wine wasn’t the only thing wafting from it.

He gripped and ungripped at his knees, hands bare. his shoulder plate and jerkin still intact. “Not up for staying with the hens?” He growled, a sick sardonic smile crossing his face.

Aisling jerked, pressing herself against the door even harder. She saw him, made out the face that had tormented her. Wasn’t it bad enough? She thought to herself. Why does he have to be here too? She quivered, her knees shaking, and she slid down, falling to the floor.

"What are you doing here?" She managed to whisper out as he rose from the ground. Even from where she was, she could smell blood. She could smell the fire. She could smell him.

Jasper wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and as he walked towards Aisling an empty bottle skittered from his feet and under the bed. "I’ve come to take you away. Take a song, and make off with you from this bloody sodden shit-hole you see as a gilded cage." He gripped her arms, pulling her up, wavering slightly.