An Acquaintance

In the tavern, thick with the stench of alcohol and sweat, the air was filled with the raucous shouts of middle-aged men gambling and boasting. Chaos and clamor defined the scene.

But what happens when a delicate girl steps into this male-dominated sanctuary?

The reality was striking. When Selina’s voice rang out, her soft, distinctive tone didn’t drown in the din.

Like a spring breeze, it hushed the noisy crowd. Men’s gazes turned to the source—a slender girl perched on a high stool at the counter.

It was likely the first time such a young girl had come to drink here.

The barkeep, hearing her practiced order, let a rare flicker of confusion cross his usually smiling face.

The tavern fell silent. Sensing the shift in atmosphere and the weight of prying eyes, Cuibis, ever vigilant behind Selina, tensed.

As the princess’s first line of defense, she was ready to act.

Faint green magic glowed in her concealed palm, her eyes scanning the room warily.

Any hint of danger, and she’d strike without hesitation.

Though slight and delicate, no princess’s maid was ordinary—adult elves were synonymous with martial prowess.

“Little miss, what did you say? I didn’t catch that,” the barkeep said, breaking the silence with a gentle, adult-to-child tone, clearly not recognizing this former regular.

“One mug of ale, large, no ice,” Selina repeated, noting his patronizing look.

Unable to explain her situation, she swallowed her frustration.

“You’re not of age, are you? Minors can’t drink. This isn’t a place for kids—go on home,” he said, pointing to a faded notice on the wall, coaxing her like a child. Noticing Cuibis’s protective stance, he blinked, signaling her to take her mistress away.

A noble with a maid was clearly out of place, likely driven by curiosity.

Best to shoo her off before trouble brewed—the tavern couldn’t afford the liability.

His words sparked a wave of laughter from the patrons, amused by the idea of a pampered noble girl in their gritty tavern.

To them, Selina was a naive child stumbling into an adult world.

Unfamiliar with human tavern culture, Cuibis mistook the laughter for provocation.

She edged closer to Selina, ready to shield her, the green magic in her palm intensifying, poised to unleash.

But as her vigilance peaked, Selina’s small hand gripped her wrist, dispersing the magic.

Cuibis turned, meeting her mistress’s dark eyes.

“No need to be tense—they mean no harm,” Selina said, shaking her head slightly.

Turning to the barkeep, she flashed an innocent, childlike smile. “Uncle Barkeep, I’m of age, see?” Her tone carried a playful lilt as she pulled a document from her skirt and placed it on the counter.

The barkeep examined it, noting her recorded age as legally adult.

Glancing between the document and Selina’s smiling face, he scrutinized her.

Her youthful, delicate features didn’t match the idea of an 18-year-old, despite her unique aura.

For an ordinary patron, he’d have served the ale—business was business.

But her refined appearance and maid suggested nobility. If something happened to her here, angry nobles would bring trouble. Shaking his head, he refused.

“Miss, I can’t serve you. If you insist on drinking, try another tavern. We don’t serve minors here.”

His refusal fueled the patrons’ amusement.

Sweaty, shirtless men guffawed, seeing Selina as a spoiled, childish noble. Some cast leering glances at her fair legs and budding figure, their crude stares noticed by Cuibis.

Furious, she seethed at the audacity of these commoners ogling her princess.

Were it not for Selina’s restraining hand, she’d have unleashed thorny vines to teach the creeps a lesson.

Even restrained, her gaze sharpened, sweeping the room like a leopard ready to pounce on the lechers she’d marked.

“Uncle Barkeep, can’t you make an exception?” Selina persisted, using her cute appearance and coy tone to soften him, but the barkeep, aware of her status, stood firm.

“Miss, I’ve said it—try your luck elsewhere. We can’t serve you.”

The barkeep’s refusal, the patrons’ laughter, Cuibis’s fierce glares, and the leering gazes pushed the tavern’s atmosphere toward chaos.

Selina sighed, resigned. She’d only wanted to taste Leisen’s ale again, but it seemed impossible.

As she prepared to hop off the stool and leave this place of memories, a familiar voice cut through from the entrance.

“Kyle, sell the lady a mug of ale for 11 coppers. She’s a guest, after all.”

The steady, middle-aged voice silenced the rowdy tavern.

The laughing drunks fell quiet, recognizing the man in the worn barkeep’s uniform—Leisen, the tavern’s owner and one of Kendall’s most influential figures.

His name carried weight in this town.

The barkeep, Kyle, bowed respectfully. “Boss, you’re here.”

Leisen strode to the counter, glancing at the document, then at the still Selina.

“My apologies, miss, for the poor service. A large mug of ale, no ice, correct?”

Selina turned, meeting his gaze. Seeing his familiar face, a complex mix of nostalgia and emotion flickered in her dark eyes.

She’d only come for a drink and some information, yet within moments, she’d run into this old acquaintance who rarely visited his own tavern.