For several long seconds, the stranger said nothing. His maroon eyes remained fixed on Elira's face as though he were taking in every small detail of her to his memory. The silence around them had grown so heavy that even the soft crackle of the fire sounded loud against it.
Then, slowly, his grip shifted.
With deliberate care, he turned Elira's hand over within his own, the motion so smooth and controlled that she barely realized what he was doing until her palm was facing upward.
His fingers loosened.
The weight of the small coin pouch dropped gently into her open hand. The familiar leather brushed against her skin, and the soft clink of coins inside it broke the suffocating stillness.
Relief washed over Elira so suddenly it nearly made her dizzy.
Her fingers closed quickly around the pouch as if she feared it might vanish again the moment she blinked. The tension that had been wound tightly in her chest loosened at once, and before she could think better of it, she stepped back and dipped into a quick bow.
"Thank you, sir," she said earnestly, her voice still slightly breathless from the shock of the moment.
The movement was instinctive. Respectful and completely ordinary. Which was exactly why several people in the inn quietly stopped breathing.
Mr. Haun, however, reacted immediately!
The innkeeper's face had gone as pale as fresh milk the moment the word had been spoken. His eyes widened in pure horror as he realized what Elira had just done.
She had thanked him. Like a common traveler. Like a merchant. Like a man!
Mr. Haun moved quickly! Far quicker than anyone had ever seen the aging innkeeper move before!
He hurried forward, nearly tripping over the edge of a chair as he rushed between them, dropping into another deep bow so suddenly that his knees struck the wooden floor with an audible thud.
"Forgive her, Sire!" Mr. Haun blurted, his voice tight with panic. His head lowered so deeply that his forehead nearly touched the floorboards.
"She is only a girl, my baker's daughter, and she meant no offense. She does not understand who stands before her." The innkeeper's hands trembled where they pressed against the floor as though he expected violence to follow.
Everyone in the room did.
Because every soul inside that inn knew exactly what kind of creature stood before them.
Kings had been known to order executions for less and nd this was no ordinary king.
The fire cracked loudly in the hearth.
Still no one moved.
Still no one dared breathe.
Mr. Haun remained bowed at the stranger's feet, his voice dropping into a desperate whisper.
"I beg your mercy, Sire… she meant no insult."
Beside him, Elira froze.
Her relief slowly melted into confusion as she looked between the kneeling innkeeper and the silent stranger standing before them.
For the first time, a small and uneasy thought crept into her mind.
What had she done wrong?
And why did Mr. Haun look as though he believed she had just signed her own death sentence?
King Cassian for several long moments, the did not respond.
He simply stood there, looking down at the innkeeper who had thrown himself to the floor before him. The flickering firelight danced across the sharp angles of his face, leaving his expression difficult to read.
Mr. Haun did not dare move as he waited.
The silence stretched long enough that Elira could hear the frantic pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.
Then, at last, the stranger spoke.
"Rise."
The word was calm. Almost bored. Yet it carried with it an unmistakable weight of command.
Mr. Haun lifted his head slightly but remained on his knees, clearly unsure whether he had truly been permitted to stand.
The stranger's maroon eyes shifted from the trembling innkeeper to Elira.
"She thanked me," he said simply. His voice was smooth and even, showing neither anger nor amusement. "Hardly a crime."
A faint murmur of relieved breath passed through the bowed patrons, though none dared lift their heads.
Mr. Haun blinked in stunned disbelief.
"Y-Yes, Sire… of course, Sire."
The stranger's gaze lingered on Elira again, thoughtful now, as though the entire moment had become unexpectedly interesting to him.
"Eliraa..," he said stretching the 'a' at the end.
The sound of her name from his lips made her stomach twist.
She had never told him her name.
Immediate danger hit Elira realizing now who he was and what he was. She quickly bowed again, much deeper this time.
"My apologies, Sire," she said nervously with her eyes looking down at the wooden floor. "I meant no disrespect!"
The pouch tightened in her grip as she straightened.
And suddenly another thought struck her.
The clock tower where Carolina and Eugene were waiting!!
Her eyes flickered nervously toward the window where the fading afternoon light spilled across the inn floor. If she delayed much longer, she would be late.
Very late.
Her gaze returned quickly to the vampire king.
"I… thank you again for returning my coin pouch," she said carefully, choosing her words much more cautiously this time. "But if I may be excused, Sire… I must be going."
The entire room seemed to tense again.
Because no one asked to leave in the presence of the vampire king.
And certainly not a baker's daughter.
Yet Elira stood there clutching her pouch, hoping desperately that whatever strange interest he had taken in her had finally come to an end.
The stranger regarded her quietly. His maroon eyes flickered with something unreadable.. Then he tilted his head ever so slightly and he nodded in approval.
Elira quickly lowered her gaze again.
Carefully, she stepped back.
Then another step.
The wooden floor creaked softly beneath her boots as she began to retreat across the inn, painfully aware that every pair of bowed shoulders in the room remained frozen in place until their king dismissed them.
Only when she reached the doorway did she dare lift her eyes again.
The vampire king still stood where he had been, tall and unmoving, his maroon eyes resting on her, as she hurried toward the crowd, with the same focus he had before her.
"The clock tower," he said tilting his head.