The pair turn to greet him, soon as a wave of frustration permeates the room. The origin point is the very man before them. The thoroughly angry tavernkeeper, exaggerates his breath, speaking in a rasping tone. "Did you both have to destroy my bar in the process? Do you know how costly running a tavern has been? I mean this isn't even the first fight, this would be the fourth in a week!" His volume increases towards the end, the pitch ascending higher.

The man's anger sputters from every word, and they both look at each other with awkward expressions. Sevran nods his head only slightly, a creak in his neck forcing his gaze to the ground. Lifting his eyes back, his look soon turns empathetic. "Sorry, Ethan we have made a bit of a mess haven't we." He apologises, casting his gaze across the tavern. 

Sevran looks around at the carnage, dead bodies, damaged furniture and bloodstains covering the floors and walls. He sighs, the sight of such things becoming all too common these days. Turning to Yvette, his expression fades from weariness to concern. She flashed a disinterested look, rolling her eyes like a petulant child. Sevran now slightly annoyed steps forward and approaches Ethan dropping his stern posture, as if the mere distance of the man made him uneasy. Like a stag standing his ground against a lion. He remains firm, attempting to not show an ounce of fear.

Sevran lingers for a moment, reaching down to his coin purse and lifting a few gold and silver coins. "Sorry again Ethan, I believe this should pay for the damages." He states, placing the coins in his palm.

Ethan’s surprised face made way for a wide grin. Sighing for a moment before delivering his remark. "Thank you, that should do nicely." Expressing his gratitude and taking the coin in hand. 

Sevran peers at the wide eyes of the now pleased Ethan. Contemplating for a moment, verbalising his thoughts. "It was a silver coin each, to dispose of bodies, correct?" He asked.

Still inspecting his coins Ethan tears his gaze from his newly acquired wealth. "Yes, I believe it is still silver to dispose of a body, quietly." He assures, clenching his fist, the coins within making a rattling sound. 

"Well then I believe this should conclude our business for tonight, you know what you have to do?" Sevran shifts back to an air of professionalism, his smile quickly vanishing.

Ethan nods in agreement, watching his patrons flee towards the exit. Stopping just a few paces away Servant turns to meet Yvette. With a single look, she quickly sheaths her dagger and follows him outside.

Leaving the establishment and descending the staircase, they both can turn a soft-spoken voice. The words echoed from the young man, not three feet away. Appearing to be the young tavern cleaner, speaking at such a low volume they can barely hear.  "Excuse me, my lady." He mutters, barely above a whisper.

Despite the volume, Yvette greets the young man. Recognizing him as the one the brigands were assaulting. Appearing as a green-eyed boy, just to her side. She noticed the small bruise grazing his pale, left cheek. The reddish hue caused visible pain, indicated by the soft shrieks.

His shy presence became known, his hands neatly folded and pressed down. Yvette turns to the boy and walks towards him. "Yes, what is it?" She asks. 

From the boy's expression, dropping his jaw and generally being a fidgeting mess. He could barely keep himself together. In the end, he sighed summoning up enough courage to speak. "Thank you, I don't... I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stopped them." He thanks her, his voice trembling.

Noticing this Yvette moved to stand before him. Her terrifying presence inches closer and his gaze drops to the ground. With a blank stare, she lifts her hand, placing it on his left cheek. Lightly caressing, he winces in pain, her thumb rubbing against the bruise. Her expression changed noticeably, a frown making its way. Her lips squeeze together, the concern now evident. Lingering for a moment, she moves to speak. "What's your name?" Her soft tone reaches his ears.

Lifting his gaze and peering into her dark hazel eyes, enamoured by them. The young man struggles to speak, starting to stutter. "I'm... I'm Joren, my lady." Finally able to reply, his shyness comes full force.

Observing the odd behaviour, her mischievous smile alights. A slight chuckle resounds, finding his antics amusing. Retracting her touch, she speaks. "Joren, that's a fine name." She commented, a smile taking form. "Does that hurt?" She asked, a tinge of motherly concern seeping in. 

Lightly touching his own bruise, quickly retracted so as to not look too weak. The moment passed before he sheepishly gave a half-hearted reply. "No, it's... It's fine, it doesn't hurt." He lied. 

His gaze affixed to the cold ground, neither convinced by the voracity of his words nor ignorant of the pain on his cheek. Noticing his lack of confidence, she grabbed his shoulders, his face paled at the sudden closeness.  

"It does hurt, do not deny it. Remember it, remember the pain as if it was a long-lost lover. Never forget it, if you can do that. Then you won't forget what you're going to do, to the next person who tries to give you another." She monologued, trying to act insightful and hitting the mark. 

Deserving her chilling statement, her eyes gleamed with fury. Her anger slowly receded. The subject of her statement pulls her pulse ever higher. Slowly but surely, her heartbeat descends to the depths of Zen and finds peace, only for a moment. 

"Yes, my lady, I will." The young man exclaimed, harnessing his willpower to mean it. 

Her smile was warm and sincere, she tilted her head to the side playfully. Her attempts to lighten the formerly serious mood were working. "I'm no lady.” She decreed as if the term was anathema. “It was nice to meet Joren, I hope we meet again." She delivered her final words, turning away, the young man now at her back.

Walking over to meet Sevran, she immediately spirits past him. "I do believe someone, has a little soft spot for the lad." He comments sarcastically, just as she crosses his path.

Moving further past, she stops in her tracks, turning to meet his gaze. "Quiet." She declared annoyance evident etched into her one-word reply.  

Sevran instead smirks before embarking with her. They both make their way down the street. Joren watching from the distance smiles before lingering for only a moment. Turning to the wooden door and entering the tavern. 

Sevran and Yvette continue walking side by side, keeping even pace with each other. Turning to meet her, he asks the obvious question. "So, what were you doing at the Tavern? Were you following me?" He queried, alluding to her potential stalking.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Shifting her gaze to the inquisitive assassin, she stops mid-step to reply. "I was bored in that house. I thought of taking a stroll and ended up at a tavern, that's all." She replied with a seemingly plausible explanation, at least she thought so.

His eyes glimmer with recognition of her falsehood, and immediately he presses for answers. "You followed me, didn't you?" With a mischievous grin, he asks what he already knows.  

"You got me, so what were you talking about in the back room?" She admits, not even trying to hide it anymore. Feigning ignorance, she asked a question with an answer she already knew.

Exhaling a tired sigh, Sevran decided to fess up. "A new job has just come through. Want to help me kill some nobleman?" Sevran asks as if the question was something innocuous.

With a confident expression, Yvette contemplates her response, but only for a moment. "Sure." She agreed with a single word, not a second thought passing through her mind.

With a cold gaze, she looks back at the malevolent grin now stretching across his face. Both then turn their gazes to the street, making their way back to the house.

Two days later.

The rattle of a cold metallic doorknob echoes throughout the room. Appearing as if someone is desperately grasping the other side. A moment goes by and the doorknob once moving with gusto, suddenly turns still and silent. A sigh is heard resounding through the door, along with the sound of fabric swaying back and forth. The sigh turns to words, mumbling through the portal of wood and metal. It is revealed to be the entrance to Yvette's room. 

"Damn it." The voice mumbles.

The sway of fabric continues to sound, ever so faint. Another moment goes by, and the rattle of the doorknob begins again. With a sharp turn, the door swings open. Within, is revealed to be Yvette, her long brown hair, pulled back behind her shoulders. She wore an aqua-coloured ball gown, completed by a belt decorated with leaves accentuating her waist. A similar decoration wraps around her collar with a burgundy string holding it to the side. Exiting her room, and adjusting her dress, she turns to the left, moving quickly towards the staircase. Stopped for a moment, her foot firmly planted on her trailing dress. She stumbled comically, only regaining her footing by sheer luck.

Ascending with an annoyed expression, mumbling to herself in frustration. "Damn it, I hate dresses." She remarked, glaring at the beautiful gown like it was the object of her disgust. 

Sighing deeply, mustering the courage to venture out in this torture device. Turning to the left and making her way to Sevran's room. She reached the door and started knocking, several taps on the wood before a voice is heard.  

"Come in!" Sevran's voice resounds, beckoning her inside.

Grabbing the doorknob, she opens the door inward and enters, closing it behind her. Entering she noticed Sevran to the right, seated at his desk. His short hair is combed and pulled back behind his ears. Wearing a dark buttoned doublet, accompanied by some burgundy leather pants and dark shoes. Leaning over with his palms placed on the desk. His gaze cast down at the contents of his desk. Several parchments are scattered across the table, seemingly haphazard and without order.

Turning his head to acknowledge her presence, he immediately ascends to greet her. With their gazes met, Yvette turns to inspect her dress. "I hate this, dresses are ridiculous." She remarked sourly. 

Gesturing to her sides, flashing an annoyed expression. Sevran stared back and looked her up and down before smirking. "I think you look beautiful." He commented, an ever-growing smile widening on his cheeky face.

Pacing her in response, she rolled her eyes, turning to the left. He moved closer, placing his hands on her arms, and adjusting her dress. Once done he commented on her appearance. "We're going to a royal gala to kill a person attending. So, we should probably make sure we don't stand out." He stated.

She responded with a smile, directing her to the desk. Moving towards the desk, situating themselves next to each other. Both gazed downward at the scattered parchments. Looking down Sevran raised a sketch of their target. Gripping the parchment, he presented it to her. The sketch detailed a middle-aged man with a grizzled complexion and a short beard surrounding his cupid bow mouth.

"This is our target his name is Lord James..." He stated, pointing at the sketch. Before he can finish, he is interrupted.

"Lord James Ecbert." Once the words exit her mouth, Sevran turned his sceptical gaze to her.

Glaring to the side, he rose from the table, turning to face her. Sighing for a moment he spoke. "How did you know the target's name, I haven't mentioned it once before now?" Curiosity and concern started to comingle. His thoughts sparked through his skull, contemplated for a moment.

Yvette paused for a moment; her previous statement felt like a grave misstep. The otherwise perfect pace, with the moment now gone, she finally gave her tenuous reply. "I heard you say it before, didn't you?" Making her reply she attempted to deflect a tedious amount of suspicion.

Ironically the very act of indifference began to spur greater investigation. Squinting his eyes, he peered back at her, with a desire to know more. "No, I didn't... I have not mentioned the target's name until this very moment. I also haven't written it down either, do you recognise him?" Sevran asked inquisitively, inspecting every facet of her expression.

Trying to notice the slightest twitch and every mere glance of her beautiful hazel eyes. Her eyes widen at the final statement, her mind latched to a few trivial words like a vice. Now gripping that question, she provided a reasonable answer. "Yes, I have met him before, during my time in the capital many years ago." She spoke with a straight face, desperately trying to withhold much of her true face.

Sevran continued to inspect her, her words turning to silence. The moment passed in an awkward state, requiring ice to break the thick tension. Looking back at her, he chuckled with a fake version of excitement. Prompting anticipation from the now fearful women, standing straight after lying. "You're lying." Sevran spoke in an odd tone, a strange mixture of persecution and excitement.

Peering into her obviously deceitful eyes, he continued to critique her deceptive capabilities. "I would work on that if I were you. A deception is a key tool in this business, we can't give away the game before the game is done... Shan't we." Speaking again his eyes full of glee, catching her in a lie spurred him to probe further.

A moment passed, now encircling her at a slow pace. "So, your lying, but how did you know this man's name? I haven't uttered it, the only place I did... Ah, you were eavesdropping on the conversation." Stopping his pacing, he remarked.

Leaning back onto the desk, his palms keeping him upright. He smiled mischievously, his little foray into being a detective. His gaze moved to the roof and then back to her. "But how did you hear it, that back room is pretty much soundproof unless... Of course, Orpheus." His eyebrows constricted, speaking aloud. Peering further into a deeper place of thought, his mind turned to the possibilities.

He paused just at the end; the image of Orpheus flashed across. Looking back at her smirking face, he continued, narrowing towards the undeniable truth of the situation. "Orpheus gave you some form of reconnaissance magic, that annoying prick." His voice heightened in frustration, his gaze darting to the right.

She continued to smirk, pushing herself forward, and bringing her palms in front of her. Starting a slow clap, as if to congratulate him. She clapped for a few seconds, dropping her palms to her side and giving a reply. "Well done, I guess you're not just a pretty face." She stated sarcastically, her words reach his listening ears, causing him to dip his gaze with a short-lived smile.

Lifting his gaze back for a moment, tilting his head to the right and returned his own sarcasm. "So, you think I'm pretty, I'm flattered, my lady." The sarcastic tone continued to rise.

With her now thoroughly annoyed gaze, her words became sharp and jagged. "I am no lady; I'd appreciate you getting that through your thick skull." She firmly stated.

Witnessing her wrath, he respectively agreed to the request. Bringing the conversation back to a prior subject, he panned to the right and then back at her. "So back to the matter at hand, I don't suppose you're going to tell me what kind of magic Orpheus gave you?" He asked.

"No." She answered immediately with a stern and quick shutdown word, no tact existed.  

In response, he tilted his head to the left, delivering his reluctant reply. "Well, I suppose a girl has got to have her mystery, as anyone should." Finishing his sentence, he turned to the left. Grabbing the rolled-up parchment sealed with red candle wax. Indented in the wax is the figure of a crown.

"What's that?" She queried, eyeing the parchment.

"It's our invitation to the royal gala, for Lord Harold Davenport and Lady Elizabeth." He replied, smiling cheekily.