Chapter 5 - The Brawl [Part 2]

  Just as she began to relax, three men sauntered over from a corner table, ale sloshing in their mugs. All three of the louts had bronze badges on their chests. The tallest of the trio, broad-chested and sporting a thick, uneven beard, nodded at the sword leaning against the wall beside Seraphina. “Quite a bit of metal you’ve got there,” he said, swaying a bit on his feet. “Makes me wonder if a little slip of a thing like you can handle it.”

  His companions snickered, one adding, “Might be because she really wants something else with something so big.” Their laughter echoed through the tavern, drawing a few curious stares.

  Seraphina narrowed her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush. She turned her gaze from the men to her wine. “I can assure you, gentlemen, I’m quite capable of handling my own affairs—and my sword. Now, if you wouldn’t mind...”

  Her tone was clear: she wanted to be left alone. Unfortunately, they ignored the hint. The tallest one pulled out a chair and dropped into it with a heavy thump, while the other two crowded around. Their dusty armor and the overwhelming smell of stale sweat made Seraphina wrinkle her nose involuntarily.

  “Aw, don’t be so cold,” the bearded man drawled, leaning forward with a grin that showed far too many teeth. “We just want a bit of company. You look like you’re all on your own. Lonely like. We’ll keep a girl like you company.”

  Seraphina took a calming breath and glanced around the tavern. The few other patrons paying attention seemed more entertained by the scene than concerned for her. She knew she needed to handle this herself.

  “I’m quite content with my own company,” she said in a level voice, opting not to meet his gaze as he was beneath her. “I suggest you go back to your table.”

  One of the shorter men snorted. “Feisty, isn’t she? Maybe she should buy us a round as a sort of peace offering so we get along better.”

  Seraphina bristled. She would not draw steel in a common tavern if she could help it—especially not in a place like this. Still, she refused to be intimidated.

  Before she could snap back, the serving maid appeared with a tray in her hands. The aroma of savory stew filled Seraphina’s nostrils, reminding her she had not eaten a proper meal in hours. Seraphina’s stomach rumbled in a very unladylike fashion, causing the men to chuckle. The maid looked uncertain as she placed the steaming bowl in front of Seraphina, clearly noticing the tension at the table.

  “Anything else for you, sir, I mean, miss?” the maid asked softly, her gaze flicking nervously from Seraphina to the adventurers and back.

  Seraphina gave a tight smile and shook her head. “No, thank you. That will be all for now.”

  As soon as the maid left, the largest man spoke again, his tone overly friendly and mocking. “No, thank you. That will be all for now,” he said, mimicking her tone. “You speak right fancy. So, come on then, tell us—where’d a fancy girl like get a sword like that? Bet it’s more for show, eh?” His laughter was tinged with challenge.

  Seraphina raised an eyebrow, letting the man’s rude remarks wash over her. She reminded herself that she was here to understand the lower classes, not necessarily to pick fights with them. Still, her patience was wearing thin.

  Clearing her throat, she fixed the bearded man with a calm but icy stare. “I’ve no interest in conversation with the likes of you.” She lifted her spoon, dipping it into the stew as if nothing else in the room mattered.

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  Despite her dismissive tone, the men did not budge. They remained where they were, leering at her like a pack of stray dogs circling a fresh scrap of meat. Seraphina forced herself to take a measured bite of the stew, determined to maintain composure—even if it meant enduring their unwelcome presence for a while longer.

  Seraphina bided her time, waiting for an opening. As if hearing her plea, fortune soon answered: Sir Frest pushed through the common room door. He paused at the threshold, eyes sweeping the room until they fell on his lady’s predicament. He rushed to her side.

  “Ah, there you are, Sir Frest. A little late,” Seraphina said, her tone clipped and displeased.

  The three leering men bracketing her table shifted their attention from Seraphina to the newcomer. Sensing her moment, Seraphina’s hand shot out. She seized the tallest man by his greasy hair and slammed his face into her still-steaming stew. Scalding broth sloshed across the table, and he spluttered in stunned outrage.

  His two companions gaped for an instant before survival instincts spurred them to draw steel. But Frest, a veteran of countless tavern scuffles, was swifter by far. In a single fluid motion, he whipped out his blade, and before the men’s hands found their hilts, the flat of his sword cracked against one thug’s temple. The man dropped like a sack of grain.

  The remaining ruffian, wielding a heavy mace, roared and swung at Seraphina. She raised an armored forearm with practiced ease, blocking the blow in a resounding clang. In the same heartbeat, she snapped her arm forward, catching him across the jaw in a backhanded strike that sent him reeling.

  From somewhere across the room, a tankard hurtled through the air and crashed into another table. The ripple of violence spread in seconds—fists flew, chairs splintered, and curses mingled with the clamor of spilling drinks. An almost jubilant, reckless chaos descended on the tavern.

  ***

  When the violence ended, only Seraphina and Sir Frest remained standing. The noblewoman flipped a stray lock of hair from her face and surveyed the carnage. Groans of the injured rose all around. Her lips curled in a slight, satisfied smile.

  “I daresay, Frest, I may have worked up quite a sweat,” she mused. One of the men, struggling to crawl away, passed too close. Without looking, Seraphina snapped out her foot and kicked him in the head. His body went limp.

  Frest cast a wary glance about. “My lady,” he said calmly, “a noble of your standing must really refrain from frequenting places like this.”

  She shrugged, affecting a tone of airy carelessness. “A bit of excitement never hurt anyone—well, aside from these fools.” She gestured vaguely at the unconscious and the dying. “Now, be a dear and pay the proprietor for the damage. Sort this mess out.”

  Frest’s gaze dropped to the bodies. “And... the blood price for these men?”

  Seraphina’s voice turned cold. “Have the first three who accosted me sent to the tannery. I want their hides.”

  The knight let out a shaky laugh, half-hoping she was jesting. “You can’t be serious—”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do not make me repeat myself, Sir Frest. You know how I am when forced to repeat myself.”

  He swallowed hard and gave a tight nod. Seraphina continued, voice smooth. “As for the rest of them, we owe nothing. This was self-defense. If any so-called guards of this city object, remind them they dared lay hands on Duke Anatoli de Sariens’ daughter. If the enforcers of the King’s justice prove difficult, remind them that my father would have no qualms razing Meridian to the ground for this insult.”

  “But some of these were members of the Adventurers’ Guild…”

  “I believe I told you to sort this mess out. I do not want to have to deal with details every single time there are small problems.”

  At that, the barkeep and the serving maid peered out from behind the bar. They wore identical expressions of abject terror.

  “You there!” Seraphina called sharply, causing both to recoil. She tapped her foot impatiently. “My man will handle the damages. He will be generous and we will compensate you for your discretion... Unless you fancy Sir Frest here to come up with a more permanent solution.”

  They nodded in desperate unison, eyes darting from Seraphina’s radiant smile to the blood-drenched floor. A hush fell over them as the noblewoman and her Knight surveyed the aftermath—a now silent testament to Seraphina’s viciousness and cruelty.