She wasn’t wrong. Everyone in town had heard of Cyran’s white-haired daughter. I just wasn’t used to the stares anymore.
We took a narrow alley that twisted between two butcher shops and emerged at the back entrance of the Rusty Tankard. It was quieter this early, the tavern not yet full of shouting voices and spilled drink. Instead of weaving through the crowded tables toward the concealed door that led to the tunnels, Solei surprised us by sliding into a corner booth near the bar.
Zander and I sat across from her, and before either of us could ask why we weren’t moving faster, the barmaid appeared. She gave us each a subtle nod and placed two tankards of ale in front of us.
I blinked. “A little early, isn’t it?”
Solei didn’t answer, and I figured that was the answer.
I took a sip. It was bitter, earthy, and stronger than I expected. Not exactly to my taste, but it settled the nerves curling in my gut. Zander raised his tankard too, eyeing the dark liquid. He took a long sip, then paused, just for a beat, before setting it down.
He didn’t comment on the taste, but I caught the slight grimace that flickered over his face. No doubt he was used to smoother vintages, something aged in a private cellar and served in crystal. Still, he didn’t complain.
“That bad?” I murmured under my breath.
His mouth twitched into a wry smile. “Let’s just say... it’s unique.”
“Welcome to commoner life, Your Highness.”
He leaned in slightly, voice low. “You make it look a hell of a lot better than it feels.”
I smirked, took another sip, and let the warmth settle in my chest while the Rusty Tankard came to life around us.
Solei leaned forward, eyes scanning the tavern as if mapping every exit, every threat. Then she pushed back from the table, her voice steady. “Stay here. I have to meet a messenger inside the palace.”
The barmaid passed by just then, dropping a worn but clean hat on the table in front of me without saying a word before moving on to serve another group. I picked it up and turned it in my hands before tugging it over my hair.
Solei gave me a look of approval, then nodded at both of us. “Stay here unless you sense trouble. You can head down to your room, if needed.”
“Your room?” Zander asked once she was gone.
I didn’t look at him as I answered. “The tunnels. That’s where I was living before I was sold to the crown.”
“You weren’t sold. You were?—”
“When you pay money for anything, including a person, that’s a sale,” I cut in, voice flat.
Zander went quiet for a moment, then tapped his tankard lightly against the table. “I want to say I’m sorry. But if you weren’t… sold to the crown, I would never have met you.”
“True.” I sighed and leaned back. “I rarely left this part of the city. Only when I was with Cyran. My hair made me too easy to spot.”
He glanced at the brim of the hat, now casting a shadow across my face. “Not anymore.”
“No. Not anymore.” I took another sip of the ale and stared at the woodgrain of the table, listening to the muted hum of morning voices rising around us.
The tavern door creaked open, letting in a burst of cool morning air and a young woman with ink-stained fingers and a satchel slung across her chest. Her dark curls bounced with each step, and her freckled face lit up the moment she spotted me. She was shorter than I remembered, or maybe I had just seen too much war to believe anything could be so small and untouched.
“Ashe, where have you been?”
I stood as she approached, caught off guard by the familiar warmth in her voice. “It’s good to see you, Maelin. I’m sure you heard that I’ve been working for the guild.”
She nodded, her expression softening into something close to pity. “I did. I’m sorry. But if you are back, I have several new books at the store. You’d love them.”
“I’ll pick them up soon,” I said with a small smile, surprised at how easily the words came.
Maelin’s eyes whipped to Zander, who was still seated, his posture relaxed but watchful.
“Who’s your friend?”
