Quinten stopped his march a few feet away from where his friends stood and dug in his robes for the letter from his grandfather.

He broke the small seal with his thumb and felt the tension release as the scroll unwound in his palm. Pinching the top corner between fore and middle fingers, he began to read.

Q,

I am in the field but will be returning to Avoncross shortly. Join me in the morning for breakfast—there is much we need to discuss.

Bring your friends and stay close. There are those here that you would do well to avoid.

Yours,

Henry

The note was short. Anything carried by bird would have to be by necessity. A slow smile spread across Quinten's face at the news. It had been far too long since he’d seen his Grandfather.

Peering over his shoulder, the smile faltered as he realized the man’s warning may have come a little too late.

*****

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” Quinten asked, as he resettled his outer-Core robe around his shoulders.

Layla stared at him for a long moment. A mixture of emotions radiated off of her and pushed against Quinten's wall of Empathy. Fear, uncertainty, awe, each fighting for dominance, creating a jumbled mess inside of her. Coupled with the energy he’d just spent dueling, it was threatening to give him a headache.

Taking a step back, Quinten raised his hands in a calming gesture. “I understand this is a lot to process. We’ll go somewhere close and get something to eat and drink. I’m sure there is a tavern nearby, and it will give us time to talk.” His stomach followed up the statement with a loud growl, putting his own reason for the request on display.

She watched him closely. Eventually, slowly, she nodded her head and accepted his offer.

Quinten turned toward Ronan, opening his mouth to ask a question when Daphne called out to him, her voice carrying across the stable yard.

“You won. Now, what do you want, Mage…?”

Peering over his shoulder, Quinten saw one of her four friends squatted beside her, transmuting the stone back to earth and freeing the trapped woman.

“Ashford,” Quinten reminded her. “Lt. Ashford, and I haven’t decided yet.”

Sitting up slowly, Daphne’s dark hair fell forward, sticking to the sweat coating her forehead.

“That is not how this works! I can’t just walk around in your debt,” she protested.

Quinten shrugged. “I didn’t want this duel in the first place. You did. And now you owe me.”

A long silence passed between them, hazel eyes meeting grey as they glared across the yard.

The stand-off ended when the other mage pulled her to her feet. Daphne stuck out her chin in defiance. “I’m not marrying you. My father would never allow it.”

“What!” Quinten asked, his sword falling from his shoulder and nearly taking off a toe before he caught it. “No—why would—what?” He said, the color draining from his face. Hearing Cedric’s muffled laughter did nothing to help the situation—it only deepened his embarrassment.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said!” Quinten snapped, cutting her off.

In a stroke of good timing, Garrick burst through the stable yard doors. Hurrying over, the older man whispered. “Starfire, my lord. A duel with a Wyndham?”

“It couldn’t be helped.” He said with a shrug, thankful for the interruption.

Quinten watched the experienced soldier take in the scene. His eyes scanning over Layla, standing amidst their group, the pink handprint still visible on her arm. He sighed before nodding, the lines around his mouth deepening slightly. “I have rooms booked at a nearby inn. Would you like me to show you the way, my lord?”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

*****

The smell of roasted chicken wafted from the three wooden platters as the barmaid skillfully balanced them along one arm, placing each in an open space as she made her way down the table.

Taking a large whiff, Quinten's stomach growled loudly. Earning him a ribbing from those arranged around the table. Except from one, seated at its edge. Staring into the drink placed before her, she held it with both hands, hoping that her own ravenous stomach wouldn’t be heard.

Pound, pound, pound.

Cedric gathered everyone’s attention, knocking and spilling his tankard on the table before him.

“I think we can all agree our hero and friend gave a marvelous showing of himself earlier today, can we not?” A round of nods answered his question.

“Now the real question—” He paused. Taking a deep draw of ale, he grinned through the foam coating his upper lip as he basked in their annoyance at his delay. “When’s the wedding? And will I have the honor of being your best man?”

Laughter rang off the tavern walls, and Quinten failed miserably at controlling his blush. He only lasted a moment before barking out a laugh of his own. Which didn’t stop him from using his Gift. Drawing out the remnants of Cedric’s ale in retaliation and adding it to the empty tankard of the man at the table beside them. Who continued softly snoring, half-sprawled across the wooden surface.

Ronan pulled Cedric down to his seat on the bench beside him and the rest of the group began to eat.

“Ex… Excuse me…? Why did you invite me to join you?”

The table quieted at the question. Five sets of attention fixating on the small voice, almost inaudible against the background noise and their own shenanigans.

From across the table and one seat down, Quinten cleared his throat. “A few reasons. The largest being that I wanted to apologize. You were hurt trying to stop someone from taking Starbrite. Not only do I appreciate it personally, I feel like it is my duty to repay you.” Looking down at her empty plate, he added, “A hot meal seemed like a good way to start.”

The young woman blushed when Lastrel, whistling a tune in a false attempt at subterfuge, slipped a roll onto the other woman’s plate, earning a laugh from the table.

Quinten grinned, but let it fall so she’d know he was serious when she met his gaze once more. “Secondly, because I would like for you to come work for me.”

*****

Layla stared at the young man. The mage, giving her a boyish smile like he hadn’t just beaten down a Lady—a Duke’s daughter—on her behalf less than an hour ago.

Who are these people?

Looking between her table mates. All but one appeared younger than herself. Though with mages, that was hard to tell sometimes.

She and I might be the same age, Layla thought. Meeting the twinkling blue-eyed gaze of the woman beside her.

“Work for you…?”

A dimple in his left cheek appeared as his smile shifted, likely because of her tone.

“Yes,” he said. Leaning back and waving to get the barmaid’s attention.

Facing her once more, he continued. “It has recently come to my attention that I need to take better care of my horse. I need a groomsman, an ostler. Are you interested in the position?”

The barmaid pushed her way through the tables, having to turn her body at an angle in order to squeeze by.

“How may I be of service, my lord?” Judy asked, the carved wooden nameplate clipped to the front of her modest attire helpfully serving its purpose.

“A jug of water for the table when you have a moment to spare, please.”

The main area of the inn had slowly filled over the last half hour and business was beginning to pick up.

With a quick curtsy that bumped the sleeping man behind her, she whipped around scowling, likely believing someone had just copped a feel.

Grabbing the man by the ear, she hauled him to his feet. He spluttered and swiped the air, trying to get his bearings after the painful wake up.

“Rodger! Just because the owner is your brother doesn’t mean you get to pass out drunk in front of guests. It looks bad on our fine establishment.” Shaking her head, she picked up his half-full cup and added. “You didn’t even finish your ale.”

“I didn’t?” Rodger slurred. He swayed, swiping the tankard from her hand and downed it in one go, all the while being led by the ear toward the back door.

In the silence that followed, Layla heard the grizzled veteran across from her mumble. “Stars above, I think I’m in love.” Earning a snort and a grin from the young lord that’d just offered to bring her into his service.

“Why me? Because of this?” She asked. Holding up her arm, the pink of where she’d been burned was still slightly visible, but fading fast.

Meeting her eyes, he gave her a slight nod. “Partially. Like I said. I feel responsible.” He watched her for a moment, and Layla found herself swimming in his golden gaze while she waited for him to continue. “I heard you earlier. When you took Star to the stables after we first arrived. You spoke to her with so much care and appreciation…. I’d planned to leave you a large tip, but after this afternoon…” He trailed off, letting the rest go unsaid.

Layla blushed. She’d always talked to horses as if they were people, and it had been a source of ridicule on more than one occasion. Changing the subject, she asked.

“What would working for you entail, position and duties?”

Quinten smiled. That dimple reappearing as he answered.

“You would be my personal groomswoman. You would be in charge of taking care of Star, as well as assisting with the other’s horses as necessary.”

Back and forth they went, while everyone ate their fill. Lastrel kept offering more and more food without comment as Layla cleared plate after plate, unable to stop herself. This being the finest, and first proper meal she’d had in weeks.

Layla risked offending her prospective employer half a dozen times with the questions she asked, but she’d learned early on that what might look like an opportunity could be anything but. She’d rather miss the chance than get burned by what she didn’t know.

“Do we have an agreement?” Quinten asked fifteen minutes later as he refilled everyone’s water cups with the last of the pitcher.

“On one condition.” She said, holding her breath.

Quinten raised a brow, waiting for her to continue.

“I have a younger brother.”