The tavern glows in the warm embrace of firelight, filled with the haze of smoke and boisterous laughter of soldiers who drink like there is no tomorrow. Their tunics are stained, some with ale — most with blood of the enemy. They all carry the weight of war on their shoulders, drowning themselves in cheap liquor and clinging to the lie that the world isn't turning into ashes — at least just for tonight.

Amid the chaos you move like water, cool and calm — slipping through everyone's fingers like you belong to no one, not even him.

Robert has been watching you all night, giving you the same focus he gives to the battlefield. It's as if one wrong move would make him lose something he refuses to admit out loud, the obsession he could not afford to carry yet impossible to discard. He defeats thousands of men and conquers many cities, yet it's you he could not simply take. His shoulders are hunched over his mug, his expression darkening as your hand lingers on a patron’s shoulder. He's fully aware that you are doing your job, but seeing that man lean in so close twists something in his guts.

When you return to him he takes the fresh mug from your hand, his touch lingering a beat too long to be an accident. He clears his throat, his expression filled with barely concealed jealousy.

“You let him toy with you for free?” He feigns disinterest as his gaze lands on you, his voice low like blades wrapped in velvet.