"I would advise you not to scream," Ashen told him as his blood oozed in between her fingers. Her voice was hushed, as if telling a secret "I have another one of these, remember? It's in my other boot. If someone comes for you, it will be Peder. I would really enjoy killing him.  I might make it last a little longer, prolong the enjoyment of it. Sadly, with you, I only have until midnight."

"Why?" he asked hoarsely, groping at his front. His eyes, no longer tainted with blue, were wide with shock and fear. He was petrified as she wretched her blade out of his chest.

Ashen walked circles around him, admiring her work. Emlen gasped when Ashen plunged her sword back into the same spot.

 "I have waited eight years, trained eight years, to finally kill you, your majesty," she said with a sneer as she sliced into him. "I wonder, do you prepare so much before your murders? Before your assassinations?" Emlen started to fall forward, but she stopped him.

"It's almost midnight. You had better die quickly."

He tried to cry out, but he had no breath left. The prince fell forward onto his face. She removed his handkerchief from a pocket in his suit jacket and used it to clean the blood off her hands. She grabbed the chain around her neck and used it to pull out a small, crystal-like shard of glass. Clutching it, she cast a simple concealing enchantment that hid the sword from view—it was not going back into her boot so dirty.

After a moment's hesitation, she concealed and took Emlen's sword too. She hadn't seen it since he stole it. Clutching it, his blood making her fingers slick, she remembered the day vividly. She remembered the look on his face when he plunged his old sword—a plain one with a green velvet coated hilt, the idiot—into her mother's torso.

Ashen closed the door behind her. With a smile, she thought of the formally drab room with its formally drab floors. The blood would make them a little more colorful, she thought.

She moved like a blur across the ballroom, avoiding nearly everyone. She glanced around and saw Peder walking briskly towards her. He couldn't know yet, or they would have run into each other on her way out, which meant he wanted to find Emlen for the announcement. It was midnight now; she had taken too long. She dodged him and ran to the front gates. He followed her.

Running as fast as she could in her heeled boots, Ashen stopped just outside the palace doors. Peder was catching up to her, and calling for her. If the guards heard and came running . . . she couldn't take that chance.

She whirled around, whispering a muffling spell. It would prevent anyone from hearing them.

Peder reached her and eyed her suspiciously. She smiled at him.

"You seem quite determined to speak to me, for someone who dislikes me so," she said.

His eye narrowed. The eye patch was a little unsettling. She had only ever seen one other person with one, and he had died at the hands of the man whose sword she clutched in her left hand.

"It is time for the announcement," he stated. "You must know the reason for this ball. Just because his majesty showed an interest in you doesn't mean he won't . . ."

He trailed off. He was staring at her hand. She had kept them mostly hidden by her gown. She glanced down surreptitiously. No blood was showing, other than on her sword, and he couldn't see it.

Could he?

She faked a frown. "Are you alright, Captain?"

"I was just thinking it might be wise to have you escorted out by a guard, in case any of your previous attention hounds show up."

He was lying. His elbow had gone taut. She was usually quick to determine someone's tell. She guessed that he was ready for a fight.

He had been immune to her charming spell. He could most likely see the swords.

She smiled, then swung at him. He pulled his sword free of its sheath just in time to block. It was a decent block, for a rushed one. Their blades parried badly. She didn't want to imagine what he could do with ample time.

The answer came quickly. He spun and swung down at her feet. She blocked his blow effectively, turning her defense into an offensive strike that narrowly missed his ear. In fact, a drop of blood told her she had nicked it after all.

Usually, Ashen took everything into an account in the possible event of a fight. This time, however, she had neglected something important. Her sword, covered in blood, had a slippery blade. Drops of the prince's blood slid down to the hilt. She almost dropped it when her opponent slammed it too hard. Peder's eye widened, realizing this.

Rather than striking her sword again, which she could have predicted and easily countered, Peder hit her wrist with the flat of his sword. A small line of blood appeared when his blade had been. He pressed hard and more blood bubbled at the surface of her skin. She scowled and swung at his chest. His blow had distracted her though, and she missed. Her bad aim, the excessive force of her swipe, and the increase of blood around her hand cultivated in the extreme loosening of her blade. The next time she went to parry, the sword slipped from her hand.

She went to bring up Captain Hook's sword and stopped. She ducked a blow from Peder and hurried down the steps. In his surprise to her retreat, he didn't immediately pursue her. He began to call for the guards—in vain—as she leapt into the carriage that had brought her there.

How long will it take him to have horses mounted? Ashen wondered.

She leaned forward and opened the curtain that let her speak to the driver. Her friend, Smiegal, her father's first mate and hers as well, was sitting there, the charming spell wearing off of him too, not that he needed it. With dark hair, dark, soulful eyes, a muscular build, and a fine face to go with his lovely body, he had no trouble appealing to women. They couldn't be too careful though, so Ashen had used the spell.

"Ashen," he said, not looking at her, "is it finished?"

"Aye, it is, but we have to get back to the ship."

She didn't let herself panic. The plan was still working greatly, even with the loss of her sword. If it continued to run this flawlessly . . . Well, she couldn't afford to think that far, not with so much at stake.

"Are you strong enough for the spell?"

"Kind of you to worry after me, but I'm fine."

Smee, as Ashen affectionately called her first mate, stopped the carriage. They were not far from the harbor, but didn't want to risk being caught. They released the horses, letting them be free. Smee stroked the carriage and it began to revert back into its original shape, a birch tree. Once there was no trace of the carriage ever being there, Ashen, reaching into the front of her dress, finding her pendant, whispered the return spell.

She pictured the ship in her mind. It was a large ship, quite capable of overpowering most trading vessels. She could see the flag, black, with crossbones. Rather than a skull above them, however, it was a hook, a warning to other pirate ships about who was on board. Lastly, she thought of the writing on the side of the hull, the engraving The Jolly Roger.

Ashen was suddenly sitting with Smee on her bed below the deck of her father's ship, now hers. The familiar salty scent of the sea filled her lungs. With a sigh, she collapsed onto her bed, closing her eyes and letting the creaking of the old wood lull her into serenity.

Sadly, none of them, especially her, could afford to rest. As long as they were in Viridian waters, they were in danger. She sat up rather reluctantly, stuffing her pendant out of view into her dress.

"What should I tell the crew, Captain?" Smee asked. Now that they were back on her ship, he resumed his habit of calling her by the title her father had previously held, and the one she herself now held.

Looking up at him, Ashen said, "Tell them it's done. The Prince of Viridian is dead and we need to get to safe waters."

"Should we set a course for Ebony?"

"Aye, tell the crew."

Smee nodded and left her alone.

Immediately, she stripped down to her undergarments. A whisper of a spell turned her new, heeled boots into their true form. Her dress, which had regrettably cost a small fortune, would be pawned off at the first trading post they happened across. Ashen stuffed it into one of many loose floorboards for the present time. She put on a plain black outfit and her boots, a style which she preferred to gowns of lace and silk and mile high heeled slippers.

Using a mirror she'd recently acquired, she successfully removed the powdery-substance that had been the charming spell. Most of the men who had seen her at the ball would not recognize her without it, as it had changed her appearance almost entirely. For someone more fetching, it would have only perfected their less desirable features. More work was needed, though, to make her appealing.

She was not ugly, but she made little to no effort to be pretty. A pirate captain didn't need looks; they needed skills and wit, which she had more of anyway.

Ashen's only fear was Peder. He had, somehow, been immune to her enchantment. Only magical beings had a better immunization to them. They weren't completely foolproof; otherwise Peder wouldn't have let the prince run off with an Azure. But he had not been utterly transfixed by her, which was what the spell usually did. If he was somewhat invulnerable to her magic, it was possible he would recognize her. She doubted it, but it was better for them to get out of Viridian immediately.

She heard footsteps at the door and withdrew her sword. A male's voice chuckled and she recognized it. She hadn't heard it in years, eight years.

"George," she exclaimed, dropping the mirror and rushing towards him. They embraced tightly.

"Are you alright, Ash?" he asked, using her childhood nickname. She hadn't heard it in years either, not since her mother Arrow had died.

She stared at him, looking for some sign of physical change. His appearance was the same: light red hair streaked with a subtle graying, brown eyes, and a scar running down the right side of his face.

"I did it, George," she told him excitedly, still waiting for some sort of change. "I finally did it."

He didn't smile; hearing that your daughter had become a murderer was never reason for delight, even in their lifestyle. He did seem to be doing better, though, which Ashen hoped meant she truly had done a good thing.

"Where is your sword?" he asked, noticing she had only one.

Grimacing, she admitted, "I had to leave it behind."

His face fell and she knew he was disappointed. Her heart beat faster. He couldn't be angry, could he?

"It's alright," he told her. "You can make another."

Her eyes widened. When he had lost his blade, his unique sword, he hadn't remade it. He refused remake a sword that had failed him. She had expected him to think she would believe the same.

But he didn't.

Suddenly remembering Emlen's sword, she smiled and walked over to where it lay on the bed, no longer concealed.

"I did recover this, though," she said, still smiling. She whirled around, showing it to him. He took it gingerly. She had been a little worried about his reaction. She had worried that he would no longer want it, just as he had not wanted to remake it.

To her relief and joy, the corner of his mouth twitched. It was not an outright smile, but it was closer than he had come in years. Ashen could not help but smile herself. She extended his sword to him.

"Captain James Hook," she said, using the false name he had given himself years before, "you're a pirate again."