The deck of cards, worn from years of use, lay in Donall's hands as he shuffled them with practiced ease. The rhythmic flutter of the cards against each other filled the space between conversations.
Lysandra leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes never leaving Garin, the merchant leader, who wore a confident smirk. Kellan, ever the jokester, was already rubbing his hands together in anticipation, while Donall maintained his stoic demeanor, his focus entirely on the cards.
"You've played before, I assume," Garin said, his tone as smooth as silk as he watched Donall deal.
"Once or twice," Lysandra replied coolly, her smirk subtle but pointed. "You?"
"Enough to know when the odds favor me," Garin said, his silver-streaked hair catching the light as he leaned forward.
Donall finished dealing, the cards slipping across the rough-hewn table with precision. Five cards each, facedown, waiting to reveal their secrets. The rules were simple: a variation of poker, though with some local tweaks to spice up the game. Bluffing was as important as skill, and the stakes—both spoken and unspoken—added weight to every play.
"Your move," Kellan said, gesturing to Garin with exaggerated flair. "Show us if you've got more than just a silver tongue."
Garin chuckled, his fingers hovering over his cards. "Patience, my friend. The game has barely begun." He picked up his hand, his expression unreadable, though his companions exchanged knowing glances.
The first round was cautious, each player testing the waters. Garin played with an air of calm confidence, his bets modest but deliberate. Kellan was bolder, raising the stakes with playful grins and theatrical gestures, trying to unnerve the merchants. Donall, as always, was steady and measured, folding when the odds weren't in his favor and betting only when he was certain.
Lysandra played differently. Her movements were calculated, her expression unreadable as she raised, called, or folded with the same cool efficiency she applied to everything else. But her sharp eyes were always watching—not just the cards, but Garin, his companions, and the subtle shifts in their demeanor.
As the rounds went on, the stakes grew higher. Coins clinked softly as they piled on the table, the pot gleaming in the flickering tavern light. Kellan had won a few hands, his laughter loud and boisterous, but Garin wasn't far behind, his wins earned with quiet precision.
"So," Garin said, leaning back after collecting another modest pot. "Shadow Blades. I've heard you operate in the shadows, unseen until the moment you strike. Is it true you're as dangerous as the stories say?"
Kellan smirked, tossing a coin idly between his fingers. "Depends on the story. Some might say we're even worse."
"And what do you say?" Garin asked, his sharp eyes flicking to Lysandra.
Lysandra's smirk deepened as she raised the stakes, sliding a few more coins into the pot. "I say people like their tales larger than life. Makes for better drinking stories. Your turn."
Garin chuckled, matching her raise without hesitation. "Fair enough."
The tension in the room thickened as the final hand of the evening began. By now, Kellan's pile of coins had dwindled, much to his chagrin, while Donall maintained a respectable stack. Lysandra's and Garin's winnings were nearly even, and it was clear that this hand would determine the victor.
Donall dealt the cards, the flick of each one landing before the players in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Lysandra picked hers up with practiced ease, her sharp eyes scanning the hand. A faint flicker of satisfaction crossed her face before disappearing, replaced by her usual calm.
The betting began. Kellan folded early, muttering about saving his last few coins for another round of ale. Donall stayed in for a moment, then folded as well, leaving the table to Lysandra and Garin.
"Looks like it's just us," Garin said, his smile easy but his eyes calculating.
"Seems that way," Lysandra replied, her tone light but her gaze intense.
The pot grew as they raised and called, their movements precise and deliberate. Garin's companions watched closely, their faces a mix of curiosity and caution. The tavern seemed to quiet slightly, the hum of conversation dimming as other patrons cast glances toward the game.
When the final bets were made, the pile of coins in the center of the table was impressive, glinting enticingly in the low light. Garin leaned back, his smirk confident. "Shall we see if your reputation holds up, Shadow Blade?"
Lysandra raised a brow, her expression unreadable. "Let's."
Garin revealed his hand first—a straight flush. His companions let out soft chuckles of approval, one of them clapping him on the shoulder.
"A strong hand," Lysandra said, her tone neutral. She laid her cards down with deliberate precision—a royal flush. The table fell silent.
Kellan let out a triumphant whoop, slapping the table with delight. Donall allowed himself a rare smile, shaking his head in quiet admiration.
Garin's smirk faltered for the first time, though he quickly recovered, inclining his head toward Lysandra. "Well played," he said, his tone respectful. "It seems the stories don't exaggerate after all."
Lysandra's sharp smirk lingered as she stacked her winnings, the heavy clink of coins a satisfying sound against the wooden table. She paused, glancing at Garin, who was still seated, his companions muttering among themselves.
"Good game," she said smoothly, tucking a coin into her satchel. "Now, about those twenty gold pieces you owe me."
Garin chuckled, the sound rich but edged with something more. "Indeed, a deal's a deal. But why stop here?" His sharp eyes gleamed with interest. "How about another hand? Double the wager this time—twenty becomes forty."
Lysandra arched an eyebrow, the challenge in his tone unmistakable. She leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table, her fingers tracing the rim of her empty cup. "You must enjoy losing," she said dryly.
"Or I enjoy a fair fight," Garin countered, his grin widening. "The stakes are higher, the thrill greater. What do you say?"
Kellan, perched on the edge of his seat, clapped his hands together. "Now this is getting interesting! Come on, Lys, take him up on it."
Donall gave Lysandra a measured look, his brow furrowing slightly. "Careful. Men like him don't play unless they think they've got an angle."
Lysandra's smirk deepened. "Lucky for me, I'm good at cutting angles." She leaned back, feigning nonchalance. "Fine. One more hand. Double the wager."
Garin clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. "Excellent. Shall we deal?"
Just as Donall was reaching for the deck, the tavern door creaked open, and a sudden hush fell over the room. Heads turned as Prince Alaric stepped inside, his gaze swept the room before landing on the small crowd gathered near the Shadow Blades' and merchants table.
With an air of quiet authority, he made his way over, his steps steady. The murmurs of the other patrons grew softer as he approached.
"Prince Alaric," Garin greeted smoothly, standing and offering a respectful bow. "What an unexpected honor."
Alaric inclined his head in return, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the table. "I was curious about what had the Shadow Blades so captivated," he said, his tone mild. His sharp eyes flicked to Lysandra, Kellan, and Donall, lingering on the small mountain of coins in the center of the table.
Lysandra straightened slightly, gesturing to the cards. "A simple game of skill, Your Highness. Nothing to worry about."
"A simple game with a very large pot," Alaric noted, his lips twitching faintly. "Mind if I observe?"
Kellan, ever the joker, laughed. "Not at all, Your Highness. You might even learn a thing or two."
Donall shot Kellan a warning look but said nothing as he began shuffling the cards once more. Garin, his composure impeccable, took his seat again, nodding toward Alaric.
"By all means, Your Highness. It's not every day we have royalty at the table—though I regret to inform you this is not a game for the faint of heart."
Alaric's gaze sharpened, though his tone remained light. "Good thing I'm not faint of heart, then."
As Donall finished shuffling, the room's attention shifted fully to the table. Coins gleamed, anticipation thickened, and the players readied themselves for another round. Alaric stood behind Lysandra, his arms crossed, observing her with quiet curiosity.
The cards were dealt, the flick of each one landing facedown before the players. Lysandra picked up her hand, her face unreadable. Garin mirrored her calm, his movements precise. Kellan leaned forward eagerly, while Donall kept his focus on the cards.
The first round of betting began, with Garin raising the stakes almost immediately. Lysandra matched him without hesitation, her movements deliberate.
"Confident," Garin remarked, his tone light.
"Always," Lysandra replied smoothly. She glanced at her cards again, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly before her expression returned to its usual calm.
As the betting continued, Alaric's gaze lingered on Lysandra. He noted the subtle shifts in her posture, the way her fingers tapped lightly against her cards as she calculated her next move. She was clearly in her element, her confidence unshaken.
The tension at the table was palpable as the last round of cards reached its climax. All eyes were on Lysandra and Garin as the betting escalated, the pot glinting enticingly in the flickering tavern light. The stakes were higher than ever, the air thick with anticipation.
Garin, ever the picture of calm confidence, laid his cards down first: a royal flush.
The table fell silent. Kellan let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with a shake of his head. Donall frowned slightly, though his expression betrayed no real surprise. Lysandra, however, kept her composure, her sharp eyes flicking from Garin's cards to his smirk.
"Well," Garin said, his tone smooth, "it seems luck has favored me tonight."
Lysandra exhaled through her nose, her jaw tightening slightly as she revealed her hand—a straight flush. Close, but not enough. Garin's grin widened.
Kellan tried to lighten the mood. "Ah, it happens to the best of us, Lys. Luck's a fickle mistress."
Lysandra gave him a flat look before leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms as Garin leaned forward, collecting his winnings with meticulous precision.
"Now," he said, his tone taking on a conversational lilt, "as per our agreement, I believe it's time you paid up."
"Forty gold pieces?" Lysandra asked dryly, already reaching for her satchel.
"Not quite," Garin said, raising a hand to stop her. His eyes gleamed with interest as he leaned slightly closer. "I'm more interested in something far rarer than gold—a story."
Lysandra's brow furrowed, her posture stiffening slightly. "A story," she repeated, her tone edged with suspicion.
"Indeed," Garin said, his smile charming but calculated. "I've heard whispers about the Bastard of Eldren, how she became a Shadow Blade—a title not often taken by women, I might add. It's a story I'd very much like to hear."
The table went quiet, the weight of Garin's request settling over the group. Kellan exchanged a look with Donall, who said nothing but kept his sharp eyes trained on Lysandra.
"You don't waste time, do you?" Lysandra said, her voice calm but laced with a warning edge.
"Not when the opportunity presents itself," Garin replied easily. "After all, stories are worth far more than coin. Don't you agree, Your Highness?"
The group turned to see Prince Alaric standing nearby, his arms crossed as he watched the exchange with quiet curiosity. His expression was neutral, there was a sharpness in his gaze.
"A good story does have its value," Alaric said, stepping closer to the table. "But whether it's shared or not is another matter."
Garin inclined his head respectfully. "Of course, Your Highness. I mean no offense, only curiosity. The Shadow Blades are known for their skill and discretion, but Lysandra's name has a… unique reputation."
Lysandra leaned forward, her sharp eyes locking with Garin's. "Careful, Garin. Curiosity killed the cat."
"But satisfaction brought it back," he countered smoothly. "I'd wager your story is worth more than any gold piece I've earned tonight."
The tavern felt smaller in that moment, the weight of the prince's presence adding to the tension. Alaric raised an eyebrow at Lysandra, clearly interested in her response, though he said nothing to sway her decision.
After a long pause, Lysandra exhaled, her expression unreadable. "Fine," she said, her voice steady. "You want a story? You'll get one. But don't expect it to be a pleasant tale."
Garin smiled, gesturing for her to continue. "I wouldn't have it any other way."