The inn was called The Wandering Mare, and it was exactly as uninspired as the name suggested.
Wooden floors that creaked under every step. Tables scratched by decades of careless tankards. A common room crowded with weary travelers and local workers finishing their dinners. The scent of overcooked meat and stale ale clung to the air like it had nowhere else to go.
Oil lamps flickered along the walls, providing just enough light to confirm that nothing here was worth looking at twice.
Vael approached the counter. The three maids followed in matching dark cloaks he'd insisted they buy from a street vendor—plain, practical, designed to hide their silhouettes.
Designed.
Not entirely successful.
The innkeeper, a heavyset woman with tired eyes and flour on her sleeves, glanced up from her ledger.
"Need rooms?"
"Yes," Vael said calmly. "But first, dinner for four."
Her gaze shifted past him.
Even cloaked, the three women behind him were… noticeable.
Ignira's hood had slipped just enough to reveal a cascade of scarlet hair. Noelle's pale face caught the lamplight like porcelain. Brakka's broad shoulders were unmistakable even beneath thick fabric.
The innkeeper raised one eyebrow.
But she simply named the price.
Vael paid without haggling.
"Dining room's through there," she said. "Room'll be ready in an hour. Second floor, third door on the left."
He nodded once and turned away.
—
They found a corner table.
The moment Vael sat down, with Ignira, Noelle, and Brakka arranging themselves around him, the noise level in the room dipped.
Not silent.
But noticeably softer.
Conversations paused. Tankards slowed mid-lift.
A lone man traveling with three beautiful, cloaked women was the kind of sight that inspired curiosity—and envy.
Vael ignored the stares.
He was already regretting the decision to eat here.
The food arrived.
Stew that resembled murky brown water with chunks of something floating uncertainly within it.
Bread so dense it might qualify as masonry. A side dish that had once, perhaps, been vegetables.
Vael looked down at his bowl.
Then at the other patrons eating the same meal with apparent satisfaction.
He picked up his spoon.
Took a careful bite.
It was…
Exactly as terrible as it looked.
Not poisonous.
Not inedible.
Just astonishingly, impressively mediocre.
Like someone had extracted the concept of flavor and forgotten to return it.
"My lord."
He looked up.
Ignira was watching him, golden eyes gleaming with amusement above the edge of her hood.
"You're wondering how humans survive on this, aren't you?"
Vael set his spoon down with quiet precision.
"The nutritional value is adequate," he said. "The preparation is simply…" He paused, searching for words. "Minimal."
Ignira's lips curved. "I could go to the kitchen. Make you something actually edible. It wouldn't take long~"
Across the table, Brakka hadn't touched her bowl.
She was staring at a group of men three tables over who had been openly gawking since they entered.
Her expression was blank.
But her eyes held a very specific promise.
One of the men met her gaze.
He flinched.
Then became intensely interested in his stew.
Noelle, meanwhile, sat beside Vael, posture perfect, fingers lightly wrapped around a cup of water. She wasn't eating much either.
She was watching and sipping water.
"It's fine," Vael said, picking up his spoon again. "I'm simply surprised humans consume this daily. Perhaps their taste buds differ. Or their expectations."
"Or they don't know better," Ignira replied, reluctantly tasting her stew. She winced. "Most humans never eat anything prepared by someone with actual skill."
Brakka's glare intensified as another patron attempted a lingering look.
Her hand twitched toward her hip—where a weapon would normally rest.
The man nearly choked on his bread and looked away.
"Master," Ignira continued, leaning slightly closer across the table, voice dipping into that familiar playful register, "this is exactly why you need us. Once we find a proper place to stay, I'll cook for you every day. Proper meals. Food worthy of your palate~"
She brushed a loose strand of hair over her shoulder, the motion subtle but practiced.
Vael took another spoonful of stew.
"Sure."
One word.
Ignira's smile brightened as though he'd just granted her something monumental.
They finished the meal under the quiet weight of attention.
Whispers drifted between tables.
Speculation.
Jealousy.
Curiosity.
Brakka scared off anyone who stared too long.
Noelle remained motionless and observant.
Ignira seemed to enjoy the attention far more than she should.
Vael simply endured it.
He had ruled kingdoms.
Faced armies.
Destroyed heroes.
And yet this—
Being watched by villagers while eating terrible stew—
Was somehow more exhausting.
He wanted this day to end.