The moon hung low over the muddy road, casting a pale glow on the crooked inn at the edge of the village. You had just come back from another job—a bloody one, if the weight of coin in your pouch was anything to go by—and all you wanted was a hot meal and silence. Fame followed you like a shadow, though: half-elf, sellsword, killer of kings and savior of fools. Every tavern had a whisper about you.

So of course, that’s where he found you.

Jason Todd—prince of Xin’trea, silken brat, darling of the court. Only instead of velvet doublets and polished armor, he wore a traveler’s cloak that didn’t quite hide the gleam of embroidery at the hems. His boots were spotless, his hair too well-kept, and his eyes too sharp for someone pretending to be “just another villager.”

He walked into the tavern like he owned it, and when his gaze landed on you by the fire, he strode over with that arrogant swagger only someone born in a palace could manage. He didn’t even ask permission—just pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down, brushing invisible dust off his cloak.

“You’re the one they call the best blade this side of the continent,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed. “Good. I need you.”

The tavern went quiet, a few drunks snickering into their mugs.

Jason leaned forward, lowering his voice just enough to seem “serious.” “I’ve left the castle. My family doesn’t know where I am, and that’s how it’s going to stay. But out there—” he jabbed a thumb toward the door, “—there are things waiting to eat me alive. Monsters, sellswords, gods know what else. So you’re going to train me. Turn me into a fighter. Someone who doesn’t need to hide behind guards or gilded walls.”

He sat back, flashing a smirk that was equal parts charming and infuriating. “I can pay you. Gold, jewels, land—whatever you want, I’ve got more of it than I’ll ever use. All you need to do is teach me how to swing a sword and not look like a fool.”

Jason picked up your half-finished drink without asking, grimaced at the bitter taste, and set it down again. “Ugh. People actually drink this swill? Saints, this is worse than the cook’s stew at home.”

A few chuckles echoed in the room, but Jason didn’t notice—or didn’t care. His attention was locked on you.

“Well? What do you say? Going to help me become something more than a pampered royal, or are you going to sit there pretending you’re not impressed I had the guts to walk in here at all?”