~ Chapter 2: The Beautiful Brutes & Blushing Brides ~

  The sky was painted in streaks of purple and pink as large clouds floated lazily above. The sun sank gracefully into the horizon, winking at the silver glow of the full moon.

  Even as night fell, the market square only grew in commotion. It thrummed with life, its energy growing as more people spilled into the streets. Street musicians started up with a bright tune as young scholars took to debating spiritedly on the cobblestone streets.

  The educated young men delighted in showing off their wit and knowledge to the gathering crowds. For some, it was less about the intellectual exchange but rather the wide eyes of the young noblewomen who were watching intently.

  The group of Wenge serving girls stopped in front of one such show. Dressed in black and red, they stood out among the crowd. At their center was a young woman whose face was veiled. She carried a certain authority in the proud set of her shoulders, and her movements brimmed with graceful power.

  She motioned for her companions to stop. At her nod, they joined the rapidly growing crowd. Following the commotion, they elbowed their way in for a better view.

  At the center of the spectacle stood two young men. The first scholar puffed up his chest. He was Asinoro, the son of the esteemed Vellward family. His father was the head minister of the court, the right hand of the king. And if that wasn’t good enough, his sister was engaged to the crown prince, the future queen of their kingdom!

  Although his nerves simmered beneath the forced smirk, Asinoro clung to the stature of his lineage. He repeated it silently like a mantra, steeling himself for the upcoming debate. Losing wasn’t an option!

  The young man’s eyes glanced at a young noblewoman in the crowd. The girl’s long brown hair was tied back by a bright pink bow. The attendants by her side tried to drag her away but the lady insisted on staying. When their eyes met, the young woman waved an excited hand.

  Asinoro flushed. But raised his hand, returning the gesture. Oh, how he wished to impress her.

  The second scholar was Rufus Langard, the youngest son of the Langard family. His face was still round with baby fat. His pudgy form was a great contrast to his muscular brothers and towering father. The boy’s father was General Langard, the head of Eburean’s armies. Despite the numerous rumors questioning young Langard’s intelligence, Asinoro knew better than to underestimate his classmate. Rufus was known for his sharp tongue… usually a defense against the trouble he got into.

  No one would ever call Rufus or Asinoro friends, but from the academy to court events, they both had the unfortunate problem of seeing one another everywhere. Mirroring their fathers’ animosity for one another, the two boys shared a mutual disdain.

  “Tell me, Vellward,” Rufus smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief, “If a man is injured in a riding accident and can no longer contribute to society, has his value increased, decreased, or stayed the same?”

  Rufus gestured grandly to the crowd. He winked at the group of Wenge serving girls. Most of them looked away, scoffing or startled. All except for one. “What is the value of a living being that is broken?” he continued.

  “The value of someone broken?” Asinoro straightened his shoulders. His heart pounded as he felt the weight of the crowd’s gaze. “Easy. It has decreased!” The young son of Vellward crossed his arms.

  “Oh,” drawled the other boy, grin widening. “What makes you say that?”

  Asinoro knew better than to rush into the question… although it seemed quite straightforward. “Well, it’s quite obvious, isn’t it?”

  The young scholar pieced together his defense as he went. “Assuming they can no longer contribute to society, how could their value increase? If a horse has broken legs, surely you would not say its value has increased. At best, you could make glue from its carcass, but you could do that with any dead horse.”

  Asinoro pointed a triumphant finger in the air. “In fact!” He smacked his lips together. “How could you compare that broken horse to the one who has worked years more and upon dying could also be made into glue? Foolish question!”

  The crowd burst into applause, agreeing full-heartedly with the logic. The boy tried not to preen when he saw the object of his affection cheer. The girl’s voice rang the loudest, and a radiant smile filled her face.

  “What if it was the will of the gods that the horse broke its legs?” Rufus wasn’t so easily convinced. The son of the Langard snorted, “Perhaps the horse was destined since birth to one day break its legs.”

  The young man crossed his arms and added, “In that sense, would the horse not have retained the same value that it always had? That of a one-day broken-legged horse?”

  Silence washed over the crowd as they digested the retort. Eager gazes darted between the two young men, the air crackling with anticipation. Vellward versus Langard. Who would win?

  Thoughtful murmurs rippled through the onlookers. Although the son of Vellward started strong, the Langard boy raised a fair point. Was the value of living things tied to their usefulness, or was their fate set in stone?

  Asinoro sucked in a breath, jaws tightening at the challenge. Of course, that tricky bastard would use something like fate in his defense! His eyes drifted over the crowd, hoping to find inspiration for a rebuttal.

  His gaze landed on a broken bucket. The rotting wood was discolored and it bore a large hole on its side. Spilled water puddled around it. Its discarded state was a sure sign of abandonment by its owner. The scholar smirked.

  Straightening, Asinoro laughed breezily. “Ah, foolish Rufus,” he drew out the syllables for effect. “Your question was not whether the fate of the broken was destined but whether its value had increased or decreased.”

  Asinoro sauntered over to his opponent’s side. “In that sense, no matter the fate of the horse, if its legs are broken, its value has decreased.” He picked up the broken bucket, holding out the item for all to see.

  “Perhaps this bucket was always destined to be broken, but regardless, when it was whole, it aided a maid in carrying water,” Asinoro threw a smirk over his shoulder at his faltering opponent. “However, now that it is broken, it can no longer carry out that task.”

  “It’s useless now,” shrugged Asinoro, confidence fully restored. “If its value was the same, would the owner not have kept it?”

  The young man tossed the broken bucket at his adversary. Rufus flailed, struggling to catch the flying object.

  “But, alas, it is useless and tossed aside… just like your defense,” finished Asinoro. He smirked proudly.

  Face reddening, the Langard boy turned tail and stormed off, barking at the people in his way as he shoved past them. The crowd booed behind him. “The fool of the Langard family loses again!”

  Asinoro beamed. The rush of victory washed over him.

  The son of Vellward bowed, accepting the flow of praise with a wide smile. Other scholars approached to clap him on the back. They congratulated the young man on the victory.

  “He’s his father’s son, all right!” laughed one of the older boys. “How’s it feel to be the Scholar of Morning Day, Asinoro?”

  And like that, the entire street began hailing him as the scholar of Morning Day. Chants filled the square.

  “It was nothing!” Asinoro responded easily. “I wasn’t even worried, Rufus could never beat me.”

  “Wait,” a booming voice called out. The words were clear but curled with a hint of a foreign accent.

  All eyes turned towards the maid with the veil on her face.

  Despite obscuring most of her features, the veil could not hide the sharp clarity in her eyes. She had the confidence of a high-born lady but wore the clothes of a servant. The red silk although beautiful, was not made of any exquisite material, and mud-stained the wrinkled cloth.

  The other maids exchanged nervous glances, but none dared to stop the veiled woman. As she stepped forward, the crowd parted easily for her.

  Picking up the broken bucket, the maid tilted their head, eyes blazing with a silent challenge. “Care to hear my thoughts?”

  The scholar scratched his neck and chuckled awkwardly. He was not a cruel man and did not want to injure the maid's pride. But he also couldn't risk his own honor.

  “Go home before you hurt yourself, little maid,” he said softly, voice gentle but laced with condescension. “Leave the philosophies to the educated men, lest you injure your pride.”

  A ripple of laughter swept through the nearby listeners. Those close enough to catch the exchange nodded in agreement. They were emboldened by the scholar’s dismissal.

  “Go home!” someone jeered.

  Another shouted, “Stop trying to grab attention!”

  The woman glanced around at the mocking crowd. Her face betrayed no hint of distress but rather she almost looked amused. Under the veil, her lips twitched.

  A voice cut through the clamor. “Let her speak!”

  The words silenced the crowd almost instantly. Head turned, searching for the speaker. A hint of a blue cloak shimmered in the crowd, but it was hard to locate in the sea of bodies.

  The crowd hesitated for a moment before their mood shifted entirely. Whispers turned into loud encouragement as they seized on the idea. If the scholar of the Morning Day couldn’t beat a maid, what type of mighty scholar was he? The group quickly changed their tune.

  “That’s right! Let her speak!”

  “Let’s hear what the girl has to say!”

  The young scholar felt cold beads of sweat run down his neck. He stiffened as the tide turned against him.

  Stealing a glance at the maid, he couldn’t help the heavy sense of foreboding that ran through his veins. To his dismay, she seemed to be smiling beneath her face covering.

  Asinoro clenched his fists. Why did he feel like a rabbit fallen into a hunter’s trap?

  The maid set the bucket down gently, taking the boy’s silence for agreement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, her tone echoed in the square, demanding the crowd’s attention. “The question did not ask of the value of the broken to society, but of its value in its entirety.”

  “So?” scoffed a man near the back. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  The maid swept her arms out to place them on her hips, letting the silk sleeves fan out beside her. “Let us take the broken-legged horse for example.”

  She continued, “That horse can no longer be used in the fields or ridden. But… what if the horse belonged to the king?”

  The crowd stared at the woman. Where was she going with this?

  “What if,” she pressed on, “the horse was the only thing the king loved? What if its loss would drive him to despair, perhaps leading him to follow it to his grave? Would its broken leg strip it of value then?” She turned to face the young man. “Am I wrong, scholar?”

  “No!” Face reddening, the scholar spluttered, “But that is only in one instance!”

  “Not so,” countered the maid, crossing her arms. “Every being lives in relation to another.”

  “Perhaps to society, the broken-legged horse would lose its value, but which of you has not cried over a dying dog?” The maid twirled to face her audience. “An injured friend? A sick parent? Did their weakness diminish your love?”

  Some could only shake their heads in astonishment.

  “We are all connected in many ways,” her voice was powerful and filled the air with a sudden passion, burning brightly. She pounded her chest. “Our brokenness does not change that.”

  “It deepens it.”

  The crowd held its breath as the maid took another step toward the young scholar. “Between a broken horse and a well-bodied horse, which do you feel more clearly its value?”

  Asinoro pursed his lips. “The broken,” he whispered.

  “To survive, the broken strengthens and prevails because it has no choice.” The maid’s eyes were downcast as she murmured, “When the world breaks us, we must do all we can to find value where there may be nothing.”

  In the crowd, the servants and peasants who had been listening took pause. As did the trade folk who left their family behind so that they could send enough coin back home. They thought of their hardships and struggles. The brave maid’s words struck a chord, deep and resonant. Which of them had not lost something, forced to overcome and become stronger?

  The maid placed the rotting bucket in the Asinoro’s trembling hands.

  “Sometimes, a broken-legged horse who has to fight for its survival will know more than an educated scholar." She patted his shoulders, a gesture that felt strangely like both a reprimand and encouragement. "A scholar who has never lost will never learn... for he has seen too little of the world.”

  Like the first drop of rain on a dry field, a single pair of hands began to clap. Then another. And another. Soon, the sound grew as the action was followed by the entire crowd, growing and swelling as the entire square joined in. The thundering noise echoed with a palpable sense of awe.

  To his credit, Asinoro merely looked shocked.

  He froze, blinking in disbelief. Who would have expected a maid to be so eloquent and sharp? Shaking off the sting of his pride, he could only shuffle forward and offer a hand.

  "Well said, ma'am." His young smile wavered with embarrassment, but he was sincere in his actions. "It seems I have much to learn."

  Under the veil, the maid flashed a mischievous smirk. The veiled woman shook the offered hand. The grip was strong.

  Paling, Asinoro tried to hide his pained wince.

  “There is much time for that.” The maid’s gaze drifted over to the frowning noblewoman. The girl was playing with her brown hair, shooting glances at the two. The maid jerked her head towards the sight. “You have a much more important task before that."

  The young scholar gulped. He forced himself to march forward. Stiffly, he bowed low, trying to ignore the weight of so many expectant stares.

  Asinoro held out a hand to the girl, voice steadier than he felt.

  "My lady, this scholar is still young and foolish,” his heart fluttered at the girl’s giggle. He hurried to continue before his confidence was lost. “But it would be this fool's greatest honor to spend Morning Day in your presence!”

  Asinoro flushed. He didn’t mean to say that so loud! The declaration echoed in the sudden quiet.

  The girl was silent. She reached up to undo the ribbon in her hair. Face burning, she looped it around a shocked and equally red Asinoro's wrists, tying it snugly into place.

  The crowd roared. Even the maid clapped and let out a loud, shrill whistle. Suddenly, the crowd gathered around the veiled woman, pressing coins into her hands. The maid stared at the gleaming copper and occasional silver with confused delight.

  Eager hands reached out to shove more into her palms.

  "Do me next, matchmaker!"

  "I have a lady love I would like to woo, as well!"

  "Hold it!" The maid held up a hand. The crowd stilled. The young woman tilted her head in thought. After a brief pause, she announced, "Well?” She crossed her arms. “Form a line so we can do this properly!”

  The excitement and clamor reignited. A sprawling line hastily formed. The maid turned the coins over in her fingers, admiring how the metal glinted in the light.

  "Hey! What’s going on over there?” A city guard pointed his spear at the gathered crowd. "Who's causing all this ruckus?"

  At that, a group of guards approached, drawn by the commotion. Their weapons were leveled at the people, eyes filled with suspicion.

  Seeing them, the crowd quickly turned tail and ran.

  "Get away! Hurry!" someone hissed at the maid, tugging at her sleeve before vanishing into the fleeing masses.

  The sea of people quickly dispersed in different directions. The masses managed to disappear faster than they came.

  The maid stared around in shock.

  “You there! Don't you dare move!” The lead guard’s voice cut through the chaos, as he jabbed a finger at the maid. He and his men attempted to push through the people to get to her. "You're coming with us! Stay where you are!”

  The maid's breath hitched. For the briefest moment, her eyes darted towards the group of other maids who had accompanied her. They gestured widely, shouting warnings in a foreign tongue.

  “Run!” was the loudest suggestion.

  With a nod, the maid hurried off. She was a blur of motion as she sprinted into the alley.

  The guards protested loudly behind her but it was already too late. The maid tossed her bright red robe into the crowd, leaving only a plain white uniform underneath. The move allowed her to blend seamlessly into the crowd of people in the next streets. She weaved her way through them with an impressive agility.

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  The guards, weighed down by their armor, were sluggish and no match for her.

  They quickly lost sight of the veiled woman. With a sigh of defeat, they could only pretend that nothing had occurred. “Let’s go,” they grumbled.

  But that wasn’t true of everyone. From a distance, a pair of cold blue eyes followed the maid’s retreating form.

  ━━━━━━━━ ? ?? ? ?? ? ?? ? ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  The maid stumbled into the crowded tavern. In a festive spirit, many of the capital’s occupants found themselves in the company of good ale.

  The young woman picked her way through the drunk bodies. Despite running for a good half-hour, she was barely out of breath. If anything, she appeared even more spirited. Her eyes gleamed with excitement as they swept across the room.

  A fiddler perched on a corner stool. His rosy cheeks and the occasional missed note did nothing to dispel the lively air. He strummed a cheery tune, laughing as many of the patrons attempted to sing along.

  Elbowing past the drunkards and squeezing between the small tables, the young woman soon found herself in front of the busy barkeeper. The man was stout with a mop of untamed grey curls.

  She squinted at the foreign letters engraved on the wooden board above.

  The maid cursed under her breath.

  Catching sight of the new customer, the barkeeper walked over. “Welcome!” He studied the newcomer, eyes narrowing.

  Although she wore the simple attire of a servant, there was something regal about the way the young woman held herself. Straight-back and assured, there was almost a royal air about her. Perhaps a rebellious noble daughter, he mused.

  He approached with a bright smile, “What can I-“

  “The strongest you got,” demanded the young woman, voice booming, a stark contrast to her lithe form.

  The barkeeper was startled. The accent was foreign, maybe even Grasslands, but the barkeeper couldn’t find himself to take notice of that… or look away from the bright eyes glancing up from the veil to meet his.

  The barkeeper blushed at the sharp look she shot him.

  “Sure, sure thing, ma’am,” he stammered out. The man barely held himself back from saluting.

  The woman knocked on the table. “Good man,” she chuckled, settling onto the barstool with the ease of a frequent patron.

  However, a childlike gleam came into her eyes as soon as she saw the drink. Tapping the table excitedly, she hummed happily. As soon as the barkeeper set the drink down, it was snatched up. In a flash, the woman gulped it down in a single shot.

  The barkeeper gawked.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the maid let out a hearty burp.

  “Tastes like dog’s shit,” she announced but let out a satisfied sigh. She slammed her palm onto the counter. “Another.”

  The man froze. He had never seen a woman… sit so much like a man. Swallowing his shock, he scrambled to do as she commanded.

  “Right… right away,” he promised stutteringly, finding it hard to form coherent words.

  With the barkeeper gone, the maid exhaled, suddenly bored. Her fingers tapped idly against the worn wooden table. It was almost a pity. There was so much left to see in the city, but those guards had ruined her plans.

  Suddenly, a hand reached out to grasp her shoulders. The rough hold forced her to turn around.

  Tensing, her eyes lifted to meet the towering man's. What she found was something that resembled more ox than man. His muscles bulged out of his skin, and there was little space between his eyes. He snorted, steam practically coming out of his nose. When he opened his mouth, she took note of the missing teeth.

  “Scram lady.” His spittle flew everywhere as he spoke. The guttural growl did not belong to a patient man. “You’re in my seat.”

  The other patrons turned away from their conversations to stare. A few exchanged wary glances while others traded coins, placing bets on how fast the woman would run out of the tavern.

  The burly man's name was Gumly. He had been a deviant in his youth and was now a class-grade menace in his prime. He was simultaneously one of the most annoying but toughest guys in town. Needless to say, few dared to cross him.

  There was a wack.

  The onlookers reeled back like they were the ones who had been struck.

  Gumly stood there, stunned. His thick fingers lingered in the empty air where his grip had been forcefully slapped away. The sheer audacity of the move sent many onto their feet. Some even took an instinctive step back.

  “I’m in your seat?” The young woman remained seated. She crossed her arms. Maybe it was the accent, but the woman sounded more intrigued than intimidated by the giant behemoth glaring down at her.

  A vein bulged in Gully’s thick neck. “Yes,” he grunted, beady eyes narrowing. “And you better move if you know what’s good for you.” He cracked his knuckles menacingly.

  “Oh yeah?” she mused, eyebrow arching in interest. Brushing herself off, she made an exaggerated motion of leaning back into the seat. Underneath the veil, her lips lifted into an excited smirk.

  In a carefully deliberate motion, she raised both arms. One hand raised to adjust her veil, while the other beckoned the hulking brute to come closer.

  With a glint of challenge in her amber eyes, she leaned forward.

  “Make me.”

  ━━━━━━━━ ? ?? ? ?? ? ?? ? ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  Nikolai stepped up to the door, pausing just short of entering. He peered into the tavern windows.

  The veiled maid from Wenge has piqued his curiosity. Inside, he could make out shadows moving animatedly, accompanied by the low roar of voices and clattering mugs. The Ice Prince frowned at the raucous noise.

  Still, there wasn’t a choice. The maid was unusual.

  The lord fixed his cloak and eyed the doorway. He needed answers. To his knowledge, Rewanna and Chief Fadye had never been on good terms. Wenge was practically an enemy in all but name.

  But now the tides had shifted. His brows furrowed. What could have persuaded Fadye to send his heir into the heart of enemy territory? And why now? Nikolai had planned to keep a low profile while in the capital… that was until he had locked eyes with the Raven General. A sudden urgency had filled him as alarm bells went off in his head. Even now, the questions gnawed at him, pushing him into action.

  Nikolai had seen how the other maids deferred to the veiled woman. She was likely the head of their group. Plus, the debate had intrigued him. She was very well-spoken for a servant. If he was lucky, she might even be a close confidant to the capital’s esteemed guest.

  A sudden eruption of cheers and insults burst from within the bar.

  Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. What could possibly have all the patrons so riled up?

  “You dirty foreign wrench!” came a thunderous bellow. It was followed by the unmistakable crash as a table was flipped.

  Forgetting his previous hesitation, Nikolai pushed forward, pulling over the door he stepped into the chaos.

  His gaze swept around the room, desperately searching. As he took in the scene before him, he faltered mid-step. His brain faltered as it struggled to process what he was seeing.

  The maid was entirely at ease, straddling the bar stool despite the dress she was wearing. She had rolled up the right sleeve of her white uniform. The toned curve of her bicep was out on display as she propped her arm up against the heavy wooden table.

  Across from her, a muscular man more than twice her size sat slumped forward. He was banging his head against the table, muttering inaudibly under his breath. The cheers grew louder at each defeated thunk. In response, the maid merely smirked and lifted her drink to her lips.

  Suddenly, the buff man jerked upright. He raised his head and slammed his massive arm down onto the table, fingers twitching. His beady eyes locked onto the maid, a new-found determination surging through him. “Again!” he barked.

  The maid barely spared him a glance. She took a large swig from her jug of ale before sitting up, rescinding her arm.

  She raised her arms above her head and sighed happily as her joints popped. With a slow shake of her head, she laughed and leaned over to pat her opponent’s shoulders.

  “Gumly, you’ve already challenged me four times, a fifth won’t change anything,” she declared with full confidence. Her accented words lilted with something close to amusement. “Don’t be too disheartened. Where I’m from, they call me the Thumbsmasher.”

  For some reason, Nikolai and the other patrons had no trouble believing that.

  “How?” wailed Gumly, the blaring noise made some hold their ears. “How could you have beaten me?”

  The crowd shuffled back, expecting the brute to lash out. Instead, the huge man hung his head and sniffed pitifully.

  In a practiced motion, the maid gestured for the barkeeper to refill her jug. The man practically tripped over himself as he hurried forward, filling the jug as fast as he could.

  The maid smiled wide, cradling the drink. “My father is the strongest man I know,” she mused off-handedly. “And even he can’t best me in a game of smashing thumbs.”

  “Lady, please! You must help me,” Gumly fell to his knees. The sudden crash made the entire tavern tremble. Lowering his head, he reached desperately towards her. "How do I get stronger?” The man's eyes shined with unshed tears. “Please! Teach me your ways.”

  The lady chugged down her… Nikolai’s eyes glanced across her table to count the empty jugs neatly lined in a row.

  His brow twitched. Nine jugs of ale.

  Belching loudly, to the amusement of all the patrons, the maid crossed her arms. The young woman’s cheeks were barely flushed! She shot Gumly a serious look. “You really want to know?”

  Gumly nodded frantically, it was a wonder his head didn’t detach from his shoulders. The brute was practically drooling at the offer. The rest of the bar leaned in eagerly as well.

  The maid leaned back into her seat, tipping the chair so that it only sat on two of its legs. She plopped her boots on the lacquered wood of the table, ignoring the barkeeper’s pained squeak.

  “Well, Gumly,” she drawled, keeping her eyes trained on the kneeling man. “You must go out beyond your precious wall, and you must find, eleven,” she paused, holding out her fingers but then giving up when she realized she didn’t have enough. “Not eight, not ten, but eleven! Wolves! Eleven full-grown wolves."

  Straddling her stool, she continued menacingly. "And you take those eleven wolves,” she made a grappling motion, stumbling to her feet, though it was impossible to tell whether the incoordination was from the drink or sheer dramatics. “And you wrestle each of them into unconsciousness with your bare hands.”

  Gumly stared, dumbstruck, jaw hanging open. “What?”

  But the maid continued, making a vicious tearing motion. “And you must rip the head off their leader,” she stalked forward, steps slow and deliberate. “And bring it to their den to scare all the other wolves away.”

  Staring down at Gumly, she flicked his forehead. “You do that, Gum-Gum…” she murmured, voice heavy with sincerity. “You do that, and you’ll be the next Thumbsmasher.”

  Pure, deafening silence.

  The entire tavern was frozen in shock. Somewhere in the back, a jug slipped from numb fingers. The metal clattered and rolled noisily in the stillness.

  The maid looked around at the sudden shift.

  Every single patron, from the drunken brawler to the wary barkeep, watched with bated breath. Even the half-hidden lord shifted uneasily.

  Suddenly, the maid threw her head back and howled with laughter. “Ah-Haha! Haha! You should-” she gasped for breath, clutching her sides, “You should see the look on your faces!”

  Sighs of relief filled the air. The tension shattered like glass.

  Nikolai winced at the volume of the laughter. He scowled, rubbing his ears.

  The maid wiped at her eyes. “Did you really think I wrestled eleven wolves?” She shook her head in amazement, still shaking with laughter. “You’re all crazier than I am!”

  Following her lead, Gumly and the others began to laugh as well. A few even doubled over, smacking their knees for being so gullible. That’s right. Did they really believe a woman, no matter how good at thumb wrestling, could really wrestle eleven wolves?

  The maid shook her head. “Fingertip push-ups and keep practicing. And straighten up that attitude of yours.” She leaned closer, voice dripping to a low murmur. “If I ever see you harassing another, we’ll be dueling with more than thumbs. And you won’t like that.”

  Gumly stiffened, hairs raising on his thick arms. He could only hurry to nod.

  Leaning back, the maid regarded him seriously. “You’re almost there, Gumly. One day, you might just surpass me.”

  The grown man looked seconds away from bawling his eyes out. "Really?" he said nasally, voice cracking from the unshed tears.

  “If you’re serious about growing stronger…” The woman turned to settle back in her chair, leaning her chin against her hand. “Stop by the castle one of these days. I can write up a training regiment for you.”

  The maid lifted her final jug of ale, tipping it back, only for her smirk to falter. There wasn’t even a drop left. A sigh slipped from her lips. “Got nothing better to do, anyways.”

  The hulking man’s lip wobbled.

  Gumly looked at her, awe and respect gleaming in his teary eyes. He sniffed. “Thank you, Thumbsmasher.” Hurrying to his feet, he bowed low. "I will go and start practicing now!" He declared, before scrambling to his feet and hurrying out of the tavern.

  Seeing that the show was over (and no one wanted to risk getting their thumbs smashed) the crowd dissipated. Conversations resumed as their drinks were refilled. Soon enough, the raucous energy of the bar returned and the show with the maid was forgotten for the moment.

  The maid stared back into the bottom of her cups. Her brows furrowed.

  “You’ve gained quite a reputation for your first day,” commented a smooth voice.

  Eyes narrowing, the maid’s hand fell to her side by her empty belt. Her fingers twitched over the empty air.

  Nikolai’s sharp gaze flickered down, noting the reflex. Interesting.Was she used to carrying something? A weapon, perhaps?

  Tucking that detail away, he kept his form relaxed, appearing almost lazy as he slipped into the seat next to her.

  The maid regarded him suspiciously. “And why,” she hummed, nodding her head at him, “would a beautiful man such as yourself be keeping track of me?” Despite the veil, her amber eyes burned brightly. "I assure you, I am of no interest to a handsome lord."

  Nikolai blinked.

  Was… that a compliment? Or a veiled threat?

  A certain familiarity tugged at the lord’s gut. That burning amber gaze…

  “I assure you,” the young man held up his hands placatingly. “I was a mere onlooker that passed by your debate earlier. I am merely an admirer, nothing more.”

  The maid froze. Just as suddenly, her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a spirited laugh. “Oh. Well, in that case, I admire you as well.”

  Nikolai hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

  Before he could dwell on it, the maid crossed her arms and leaned forward enthusiastically.

  Her piercing gaze searched his. “I could swim in your eyes, lord,” amber eyes glinted. “You should thank your lady mother."

  Nikolai resisted the urge to step back. Was this woman flirting with him?

  But… no. He was starting to get the feeling that it was simply how the woman spoke: blunt, straightforward, and with zero regard for how her words landed.

  Clearing his throat, Nikolai attempted to focus back on the task at hand. “Thank you?” he choked out.

  He didn’t miss how the maid observed him silently before turning back to her seat.

  “You said it was my first day. How did you know I just arrived?” Her words were thrown out flippantly, but Nikolai noticed the way her grip tensed around her empty jug. Almost as if waiting to use it as a weapon.

  The young man shrugged, opting for the truth. “I watched the Wenge delegation arrive earlier.” He paused before adding, “And your accent is familiar.”

  The maid’s hand lifted, covering her mouth as if just realizing her accent had given her identity away. She peered at him, the question clear in her uneasy expression.

  “Don’t worry,” Nikolai said softly. “Most wouldn’t notice. I only knew because I am from Feldgrau. Sometimes your people come to trade at the Great Wall.”

  At that, the maid perked up. She burst forward, leaning into his space. Her face crowded near his.

  Nikolai stiffened but held his ground. He would not be intimidated!

  “You are from the land of the Great Wall?” Despite their closeness, her voice was booming.

  Nikolai winced internally. Was she always this loud? Still, he managed a short nod.

  Taking pity on him, the maid retreated back into her own space. She let out a thoughtful hum.

  “Feldgrau… So that’s what it’s called,” her fingers tapped lightly at the wooden table. “We always just called it Demonland,” she snorted at her own joke.

  It took everything in Nikolai to school his expression into one of indifference. He let out a dry laugh. “You have quite the sense of humor, Miss-” He cut himself off abruptly. “I apologize, I did not catch your name.”

  The woman blinked, thrown off by the request. Then, rather suddenly, her cheeks darkened. “Ah, you want to know my name! Uhm,” she paused, scratching at her hands. Her voice, for once, dropped close to a normal volume. “Well, it’s um… Oh! It’s Iliana!”

  Nikolai’s breath caught as his entire frame stiffened. Iliana. His mother’s name.

  Did the maid know who he was? His eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

  Unperturbed, the maid nodded eagerly. “My name! It’s Iliana. I am part of the general’s… uhm, entourage.”

  Swallowing hard, Nikolai let out a slow, considering hum. Did such coincidences really exist in the world?

  “My mother,” he said carefully, watching her reaction, “was named Iliana.”

  The maid's eyes widened in what looked to be genuine surprise… but it was hard to tell as she quickly looked away. “Is it a common name in this kingdom?” she mumbled, almost bashful. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “Not exactly,” Nikolai exhaled. A blank mask fell over his face. “It was the name of the late queen. Although, I’m afraid she’s more of a cautionary tale than someone most aspire to be.”

  The maid pressed her lips into a thin line, looking as if she was about to object. Her brows knit together in quiet thought.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” she started. “I’d always been told that the late queen was a great woman.” There was genuine sorrow in her voice.

  “Great?” Nikolai chuckled bitterly. “I wouldn’t repeat that to anyone else in the capital.”

  “I am curious who exactly has told you such things. It’s not a common sentiment.” But even as he spoke, he noted the sleepy glaze settling in the other’s eyes. He had to hurry.

  “If it is any consolation,” he added, voice lowering, “those of Feldgrau hold her in kinder regards.”

  The maid straightened. “That is right! You are from Demon-“ she coughed, hastily correcting herself, “I mean, Feldgrau.”

  She paused, dropping her gaze to stare down at the table. A moment later, her hands flew up to shield her flaming face. "Stop looking at me so intently."

  Even with the veil, Nikolai could make out the faint pink dusting her cheeks. For someone who was usually so brash, the contrast was…

  He froze

  Cute.

  His expression stiffened, mortified by his own observation.

  “Say, do you know the Lord of Feldgrau?” asked the young woman.

  Said Lord of Feldgrau was promptly dragged out of his spiraling thoughts.

  “In a way,” he offered vaguely. “But not terribly well.”

  “So he’s stingy with his appearances,” the maid sighed, resting her chin in her palm. “Then, can you tell me about the land? How are the people?”

  Nikolai was slightly taken aback by the question. Few outside of Feldgrau were actually interested in teh borderlands.

  “It is… not an easy land,” he admitted. “The people have suffered, and they have had to overcome much. But they are strong people. A good people.”

  He was unaware of the warmth in his voice and the quiet fondness on his face. But the maid fixed intently at the expression, entirely intrigued.

  “In Feldgrau, things are simpler,” Nikolai shook his head in mock defeat. “If someone says they hate you, they hate you. But if they see you as a friend, they would sooner take a stab to the heart than betray you.” He admitted, “Betrayal is paid back tenfold while loyalty, when earned, is taken to the grave. It takes a while to get used to, but it is not a bad thing, I don't think."

  He thought back to the rolling green fields and the small villages that were dotted throughout the land.

  “Winters are harsh, springs are hot. But the last snowfall and the first harvest...” Nikolai trailed off, lips quirking. “It’s the most beautiful sight in the entire world.” His voice took a hardened edge. “And I would do anything to protect it."

  "I too would defend my people till the death," murmured the maid. She spoke like she understood the steady passion and protectiveness that thrummed through Nikolai's veins.

  Who was she really, he wondered. The more they spoke, the less he seemed to know.

  A soft silence enveloped them.

  “You are very fond of it,” the maid commented. "Feldgrau, that is."

  The lord cleared his throat. “I suppose I am.” Taking a sip of the ale, he threw a questioning stare in her direction. “So, Iliana, why the fascination with Feldgrau?”

  To his surprise, the young woman was not set off by his question. Instead, she seemed confused. Amber eyes regarded him curiously but didn’t seem to find what they were searching for.

  “I figured it would be obvious,” The young woman said at last with a shrug. “I’m from Wenge. You’re from Feldgrau.”

  Nikolai’s brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”

  There was a pause as both waited for the other to elaborate. After a quiet staring match, it was the maid who broke the silence with a small sigh. She tilted her head.

  “You really don’t know?” The young woman stared at him, still baffled at his confusion. “I thought it was common knowledge.”

  Nikolai’s finger curled slightly around the jug. A rush of anticipation ran down his spine. This was it. The answer he had been searching for.

  “The General is marrying into your land.”

  Nikolai choked. The world tilted for a moment as his drink went down the wrong way. But his burning throat was nothing in comparison to the whiplash of the information he had just acquired.

  “Wenge and Feldgrau are to be united through matrimony,” she said plainly.

  WHAT?

  Wenge Maid: Thank you for reading! ????

  (Smiles flirtatiously at Nikolai)

  Wenge Maid: Come on, just say it...

  Nikolai: (looks confused, raises an eyebrow) Excuse me?

  Wenge Maid: (grinning, steps closer) Do it! ??

  Nikolai: (scratches his head) You’re welcome to leave a comment, or even just say hello, if you feel like it...

  Wenge Maid & Nikolai: See you next time! ????