Calvin walked through the lively streets, his steps slow but deliberate, his sharp gaze scanning the surroundings. The chatter of merchants and laughter of children filled the air, but Calvin's focus was elsewhere. His eyes locked onto a small procession further ahead—a young woman in a flowing royal gown, surrounded by five heavily armed bodyguards.
She was the king's daughter, her graceful stride catching the attention of everyone around her. Beside her stood a man holding a bouquet of flowers, his posture confident, his expression warm. Calvin's expression turned cold as he observed the scene, his sharp mind already piecing together the implications.
He stepped toward a nearby man who appeared to be idling near a stall, adjusting a satchel slung over his shoulder. Calvin tapped him lightly on the arm, his tone polite but commanding. "Excuse me, sir. That man over there, speaking with the princess—do you happen to know who he is?"
The man followed Calvin's gaze, squinting slightly before nodding. "Aye, that's Kenelm Wembleye. He's the leader of Dragon's Roar. They're… well, let's just say they don't see eye to eye with your group, the Protectors."
"Ah, I see," Calvin replied, his voice calm but with a faint edge that hinted at his thoughts.
The man chuckled nervously, as if sensing the shift in Calvin's mood. "Yep. Kenelm's a bit of a hero around these parts, though, what with all the stories about his daring exploits and all."
Calvin's lips curled into a polite smile. "Thank you for sharing that, dear sir. Here, for your trouble." He handed the man a few coins, the faint clink of metal barely audible.
The man beamed, bowing his head in gratitude. "Much appreciated, m'lord. You have yourself a good day."
Calvin gave a slight nod, watching the man walk away before turning his attention back to the princess and Kenelm. His demeanor shifted once more, the warmth vanishing as his gaze hardened into a cold, calculated stare.
Kenelm was speaking animatedly, his gestures fluid as he presented the flowers to the princess. She smiled graciously, her laughter light and melodic, but Calvin saw something else in the scene. Something strategic.
His eyes lingered on Kenelm, dissecting every movement, every word exchanged. Then his gaze flicked to the princess, her presence commanding even among the bustling crowd. For a fleeting moment, his lips twitched, as if a smirk were trying to form, but it never fully materialized.
"Interesting," Calvin murmured under his breath, his voice carrying a weight that no one else around him could hear.
He turned, slipping back into the flow of the crowd, his movements unhurried yet purposeful. The city streets buzzed around him, but in Calvin's mind, the pieces of a far greater game were already shifting. Calvin strolled through the lively streets, his gaze sharp and calculating. The whispers of the crowd, the clinking of metal coins, and the faint scent of roasted meat filled the air, but none of it distracted him from the thought running through his mind.
"Princess," he murmured softly to himself, his voice barely audible amid the bustling marketplace. "You shall be mine… but first."
His attention was drawn to a figure standing tall among a gathering of nobles: Visier Tostig, the trusted advisor to the King of Tootall-Doodle. A sly smirk crept onto Calvin's face as a plan began to form.
He adjusted his posture, his gait turning confident yet casual as he approached Visier. The man turned, his ornate robes flowing around him, and his curious eyes landed on Calvin. "Well, well, I didn't expect to see someone from the Brittlefrost Kingdom here. You must be a Protector, no?"
Calvin chuckled lightly, tilting his head in feigned amusement. "Oh my, and I didn't realize the king's advisor could look this… striking."
Visier raised a hand to his lips, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Stop it, you're going to make me blush."
Calvin leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to sound intimate. "Why should I? A man of your stature deserves to hear the truth."
Visier laughed softly, though his gaze lingered on Calvin with renewed interest. "Aren't you the leader of the Protectors? Calvin, if I'm not mistaken."
Calvin hesitated for only a fraction of a second before shaking his head, a charming grin spreading across his face. "No, no, you must be mistaken. I'm… J."
"J?" Visier repeated, his brow arching in mild confusion.
"Yes," Calvin said, his tone playful yet convincing. "J is my name, though I suppose I can't blame people for comparing me to the greatest man alive—Calvin." He flashed an easy smile, his confidence radiating effortlessly.
Visier chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, my apologies then, J. But I must say, you do carry yourself with a certain… charm."
Calvin leaned in closer, his smile growing warmer yet more calculated. "Tell me, Lord Visier, do you find me… attractive?"
Visier blinked, momentarily taken aback by the directness of the question, but his lips curled into a faint smile. "Well… yes, I do."
Calvin's eyes glimmered with a hint of amusement as he tilted his head. "Then why aren't you asking me to… indulge in something more intimate? If you desired, I'd let you have me however you pleased. Anything at all."
Visier's breath caught, and he took a small step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Anything?"
Calvin leaned in, his lips brushing against Visier's ear as he spoke. "Anything. For a price."
Visier pulled back slightly, his intrigue now laced with curiosity. "A price, you say? How much?"
Calvin tapped his chin thoughtfully, his expression playful. "Hmm… twenty thousand."
Visier nodded without hesitation. "Done. And I'll arrange for us to have a private place for the evening."
Calvin's smirk widened, his plan unfolding perfectly as he followed Visier through the crowded streets. His movements were smooth, his demeanor unshaken, but his thoughts were anything but idle.
The dimly lit bar bustled with life, the air thick with the scent of stale ale and roasting meat. Laughter and the occasional thud of a mug against a wooden table punctuated the steady murmur of voices. A trio of Protectors sat at one of the far tables, a mix of gruff camaraderie and guarded tension hanging over them.
Barrick, the stout, bearded warrior, raised his mug and took a long swig, wiping the foam from his beard with the back of his hand. He set the mug down with a loud clunk, his gravelly voice cutting through the background noise. "So, Loris, how many times have you actually saved Calvin's ass out there?"
Loris smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. His dark brown hair glinted faintly in the firelight as he tapped a finger against the table. "More times than I'd care to admit. The man's a brilliant tactician, but he takes risks that would make a gambler blush."
Garven snorted, leaning forward as he toyed with the rim of his mug. "Sounds about right. Calvin's got the kind of confidence that could make a dragon second-guess itself. I mean, the man's got vision, but damn, does he make our lives harder in the process."
Barrick laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the table. "Vision? More like a death wish. I swear, one of these days, he's going to charge straight into a battlefield and expect us to keep up."
"You'd follow him, though," Loris pointed out, his tone even.
Barrick shrugged, his massive shoulders shifting under the weight of his plate armor. "Of course, I would. He's got that... presence. You know what I mean. You don't want to let him down, even if it kills you."
Garven raised his mug in a mock toast. "To Calvin. The bastard who'll probably get us all killed one day."
The group chuckled, the sound lighter than before, though it carried a note of truth.
Seraphina sat quietly among them, her slender fingers tracing the rim of her untouched mug. Her violet eyes flicked between the men as they spoke, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Barrick noticed her silence and nudged her arm lightly. "You're quiet, Sera. Not like you to let us do all the talking."
She offered a faint smile, her gaze dropping to the amber liquid in her mug. "Just listening. You three seem to have plenty to say."
Loris leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "That's not like you. Something on your mind?"
Seraphina hesitated, her fingers tightening around the mug for a moment before she released it. "Nothing worth troubling you with," she said lightly, though her voice lacked its usual warmth.
Barrick frowned, his brow furrowing. "You've been like this ever since we got back. If something's bothering you, you'd better speak up. You know we've got your back."
Garven chimed in, his tone teasing but not unkind. "Yeah, Sera. Don't let all that big brotherly wisdom of Barrick's go to waste."
She chuckled softly, though it sounded more like a reflex than genuine amusement. "I'll be fine. Just tired, I guess."
Barrick didn't press further, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his drink.
The conversation shifted, the men swapping stories of past battles, training mishaps, and the absurdities of life on the road. Garven recounted a particularly embarrassing tale of falling into a trap meant for wild boars, earning hearty laughter from Barrick and a faint smile from Loris.
"I swear, it was camouflaged perfectly," Garven protested, his hands gesturing wildly. "You wouldn't have seen it either, Barrick."
Barrick shook his head, grinning. "Not a chance. My instincts are too sharp for that."
"Sharp as a butter knife," Garven shot back, earning another round of laughter.
Seraphina listened quietly, the noise around her fading into the background. Her gaze drifted to the flickering candlelight, her thoughts elsewhere.
As the night wore on, the group's mugs began to empty, the conversation ebbing and flowing like the tide. Loris leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes scanning the room idly. "Place is quieter than I expected tonight," he remarked.
Barrick shrugged. "Most people are probably still licking their wounds from the last skirmish. Can't say I blame them."
Garven nodded, his gaze flicking toward the bar. "Speaking of wounds, I could use another round."
He started to rise, but the creak of the bar's main door opening drew everyone's attention. The warm light from the hearth spilled across the newcomer's figure, casting long shadows across the floor.
The room seemed to pause, the noise dimming as heads turned toward the entrance.
Loris straightened in his seat, his hand moving instinctively to the hilt of his sword. Garven's usual smirk faded as his sharp green eyes narrowed, studying the figure. Barrick shifted in his chair, his massive frame tensing slightly.
Seraphina, too, turned to look, her fingers finally leaving her untouched mug. Her expression was unreadable, her violet eyes fixed on the figure standing in the doorway.
.