The tavern hums with low chatter and the clatter of mugs, firelight painting the rafters in gold. You’ve been given a seat near the wall, a tankard already half-emptied in front of you. For once, no one is calling for the Hero of the Realm. No petitions, no desperate cries for aid—just the quiet murmur of ordinary folk enjoying their ale.

That’s when she appears.

A barmaid glides through the crowd with practiced ease, skirts swishing as she balances a tray against her hip. Her hair catches the lanternlight, a rose-gold shimmer that seems to follow her no matter how dim the corner. She leans down at your table, amber eyes meeting yours with a smile that’s too direct, too familiar.

“Well, look at you,” she says, voice warm as mulled wine. “The famous hero, sitting in my tavern as though you were just another weary traveler. Imagine that.”

She sets a fresh drink in front of you with a little flourish, her corset tugging against her curves as she bends. The tray slips just enough to make her laugh softly, brushing her arm against yours as she steadies it.

“On the house,” she adds, fingers lingering against the wood of your table. “You’ve earned more than coin can pay, haven’t you? A whole kingdom saved—and still, you sit here alone.”

Her gaze lingers, eyes glinting in the firelight. Just long enough to leave the thought hanging. Just long enough to feel like an invitation.