A Royal Pain 1

Aiden and James reach the common room as a violent thudding rolls through the inn. The front door bows in its frame. The room goes still.

James goes pale and takes a half step toward Aiden, then stops himself. The coin on the floor sits between them like a small, ugly promise.

Another удар hits the door, hard enough to rattle cups on the counter. The inn’s peace feels thin as paper. If Aiden wants coin, this is the kind of trouble mercenaries are paid to face.

James swallows, forcing himself upright. Fear is there, but so is trust. The next move belongs to Aiden, and it will decide whether he stands as hired steel, protector, or both.

Aiden yanks the nearest table sideways and slams it down on its edge. The blow from the door shakes the room, but the wood stays between him and the entrance.

He drops behind it and levels his hand-held crossbow over the makeshift cover, sight fixed on the latch.

The front door bucks again, then the frame cracks wider. Cold air spills through, and a boot heel flashes in the gap.

A man's voice comes through the splintering wood, sharp with command. Not a drunk, not a bully. Someone who knows who is inside.

The crossbow stays trained on the opening as the latch gives another ugly groan, and the door starts to swing inward.

Aiden holds the crossbow steady as the door finally swings inward on cracked hinges.

Three figures fill the gap, wet cloaks, steel on their arms, and a banner seal pinned to the lead man’s breast.

James stiffens behind the cover, staring at the seal as recognition and fear hit at once.

Aiden eases the crossbow down and steps clear of the table. The room goes still around the scrape of wet boots at the doorway.

The captain’s gaze flicks from Aiden to James, then back again, measuring the silence like coin.

James straightens a fraction behind the counter, fear still on him, but now he watches Aiden for the answer instead of the door.

The captain lowers his hand a little, not in peace, only in calculation. James keeps still behind the counter, watching the exchange like a man listening for the blade to drop.

Vale’s eyes cut to James, then back to Aiden. The open door spits cold across the floorboards, and the captain waits, measuring whether mercy or force will serve him better.

Vale eases one step back from the threshold, and the room stops feeling like a blade laid across a throat. James lets out a breath he has been holding too long.

The captain flicks two fingers toward the broken door, then back to Aiden, making the bargain plain. For the moment, words hold where force was about to begin.

Vale’s jaw tightens, then he exhales through his nose and reaches into his cloak instead of for his blade.

James’ hands loosen on the counter edge. The captain’s gaze stays on Aiden, but the heat in it has gone to work, not war.

Vale gives one short nod and spreads a creased scrap of parchment on the counter, showing a rough seal, a route mark, and a line of names. The cold at the doorway still breathes into the room, but now it feels like weather, not an attack.

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