As Kastiel and his companions reached the gates of Vistvilla, the city's busy sounds became louder with each step. The stone walls loomed high above, decorated with bright paintings depicting scenes of commerce and celebration. As he stepped under the archway, he was immersed in a wave of warmth, accompanied by the rich odors of spices and roasted meats wafting through the air. The market area spread before him like a tapestry of color and energy, with booths bursting with items from far kingdoms and merchants calling out alluring deals.

Kastiel wished the party goodbye and left. He strolled onto the cobblestone streets, the hard stones feeling cool beneath his boots. People crowded around him, with dealers trading frantically, youngsters dashing between the mob, and the odd musician playing bright melodies that danced on the wind. Brightly colored banners flew overhead, calling his attention to the colorful assortment of businesses and pubs that lined the streets. The excitement of trade permeated the air, mixing with the laughter and talk of the city's residents.

Kastiel's eyes narrowed as he studied the faces around him, apprehensive but interested. Among the crowd, he noticed a group of ladies gathered beneath a scarlet lamp, their laughter echoing like bells in the nighttime air. The appeal of the Red Lantern Quarter was unmistakable, its notoriety attracting him like a moth to a flame. Nonetheless, he resisted temptation and walked with considerable difficulty away from the women.

With a deep breath, he pressed on, navigating the crowds.

"Kas!" a bright and pleasant voice yelled out, breaking through the market's commotion. He looked up to see a lady standing in front of him, her hair in a wild cascade of dark curls surrounding a face that lit up with recognition. It was Arabel, a childhood friend from his clan, her eyes twinkling with mischief and nostalgia.

He smiled as he said, "Arabel." As they embraced, the bustle of the city temporarily subsided, leaving the two of them alone in a comfortable cocoon.

"You look different," she observed, taking a step back to assess him. "You're stronger, but your eyes have shadows. What've you been up to?"

“Just surviving.”

Arabel paused for some time, then after scrutinizing Kastiel once more, hugged him again, this time a lot tighter. Kastiel felt lighter as her arms tightened around him. This time, he noticed the intense smell of ‘Queen’s Crown’ all over her. She always wore this special perfume made with jasmine, ambergris, bergamot, rose, and a touch of vetiver, mostly worn by the queens of the northern kingdoms, but Arabel smuggled these from there.

“Ah, this fucking smell,” Kastiel said with a teasing grin.

“Don’t you dare insult it. You know how hard it is to smuggle this shit from the north?”

“Shit is shit, doesn’t matter where it’s from,” Kastiel snorted.

Arabel punched him hard on his right shoulder. They both laughed hard.

“Let’s get some wine,” Arabel said.

The heavy wooden door of the tavern creaked as it swung open, revealing its dimly lit interior. The smell of roasting meat and stale ale wafted in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of wet wool and unkempt travelers. The walls were worn, and the surfaces were rough, with a few tapestries hung haphazardly.

Stolen story; please report.

There was bantering all around the tavern, punctuated by the clanking of tankards and laughter. A group of rough-hewn farmers sat hunched over a table in the far corner, discussing the tax laws of their respective kingdoms. A troubadour sat across the table from where the innkeeper was placing orders for the barmaid to pick up and deliver to the customers. His one leg was propped upon a small stool, drawing the bow across the vielle’s strings. His fingers moved deftly along the neck, plucking out a heartbreaking, romantic melody.

The floor, though uneven, had cracks and gaps between the wooden planks, most of it covered with hay, so it was warm underfoot. The sporadic clomping of boots could be heard as the patrons came and went. Upstairs, the creaking sound of floorboards signaled rooms that offered little more than a thin mattress and a blanket for a night’s rest.

Kastiel and Arabel sat near the troubadour. The barmaid approached their table and wiped it clean.

“What can I get for you today, sir?”

Kastiel glanced at Arabel, who was sitting across from him. She shrugged. “Ale,” he said, drumming his hand on the table. “Give me your strongest, and I hope it doesn’t come with a side of regret.”

The barmaid chortled. “That’ll be the Red Briar Brew. Strong as a bull, smooth as a bard’s lie.”

“We’ll have that.”

"Just the ale, or are you hungry as well?"

“We’re good.”

The barmaid hurried off, her apron streaked with spilled ale, muttering the orders under her breath.

The troubadour, with a mischievous smile, chimed in. "Red Briar, eh? That stuff will either make you dance or sleep, sometimes both.” He tapped his own tankard, which he had now placed on their table. "Pour me one too, will you? I’ve earned it after that masterpiece."

Arabel raised an eyebrow. "Masterpiece, huh? Didn’t you flub a note in the middle?"

The troubadour gasped in mock offense. "Flub? My good sir, that was improvisation. Art is meant to surprise." He clapped Arabel on the shoulder. "But don’t worry, I’ll drink enough to forgive your lack of taste."

“Get your fucking hands off my body, you codpiece-crusher!”

The humor in the troubadour’s face vanished. The grin twitched as he withdrew his hand, slow and deliberate. “Ah,” he murmured, raising both palms in mock surrender. “Oh, come now, I meant no harm. Just a friendly—”

Arabel’s gaze remained icy. "Touch me again, and you'll be playing that vielle with one hand."

"Message received, my lady. No need to bring violence into a simple misunderstanding."

"Careful, troubadour," Kastiel said lazily. "She means it. I’ve seen her follow through."

"How about I make it up to you both with a round of drinks? No more wandering hands, just good company and fine ale," the troubadour said.

Arabel glanced at him as he took his seat, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly and her jaw clenched as she gritted her teeth. Slamming a fist on the table, she said, “You are as annoying as a fly in the barrel of wine.”

The troubadour, his face falling for a brief moment, gave a quick nod. "As you wish, my lady," he said softly, trying not to show the disappointment on his face. But before he could retreat entirely, Kastiel’s voice cut through the tension.

The barmaid, with a sway of her hips, approached the table, her tray laden with tankards. She set them down with a firm but gentle thud, the froth almost spilling over the edge.

“One more ale,” Kastiel ordered.

"Sit down, troubadour, it’s fine," Kastiel said, his tone casual as he leaned back in his chair, swirling the ale in his tankard. He shot Arabel a glance, then turned back to the troubadour. "A bit of company won’t hurt. You’re buying, after all."

The troubadour’s face lit up, and a grin spread across his face. “Ah, that’s why they say ‘Wisdom skips the woman’s doorstep,’” he said, raising his tankard toward Kastiel.

Kastiel glanced at Arabel and saw her rolling her eyes. He laughed at her. He liked seeing her get mad.

“You are a work of art… well, what’s your name, oh magnificent troubadour?”

“Elias d’Avignon. I’m sure you’ve heard this name before, as I’m quite famous across all lands, and they say even the wind whispers my name across all kingdoms.”

“Name’s Kastiel, and my companion here is Arabel. And of course! Your fame precedes you. I’ve heard your ballads whispered by the winds themselves.”

“I think I’ve landed on the wrong footing here, but let me apologize to you once again, my lady.”

“Fine,” Arabel said.