One final night of freedom. Supposedly. He’s at least making an attempt to enjoy himself on the eve of his wedding, riding off his father’s estate to the city under cover of night to be alone with his thoughts and a tankard of ale. At least at the local taverns, nobody bothers him with matters of nobility or purpose or expectation. A wedding, to a person he’s never even so much as laid eyes upon in his life. Set by his parents, of course, as all nobles do, but the fact of duty doesn’t make it any less unappealing.

He takes a sip, swallowing down the bitterness. A cloaked figure sits beside him, likely not finding anywhere else in the busy tavern. Already flushed from drink, more amicable than usual, Leon tips his cup in acknowledgment.