Stick around

On any other day, Bull would likely drink three of you under the table, but it seems that he's already had more than a few cups in spite of the earliness of the hour, and spending the last hour in the pit has made him thirsty enough to chug down four pints while you're still halfway through your second. Before long, he lets out a massive belch which shakes the branches overhead, then picks himself up and stumbles over to a heap of straw for a nap (you have the satisfaction of seeing him favor the hip that you threw him down on earlier). As few others seem to have a taste for Maureen's strong ale before noon, the two of you enjoy each other's company without much in the way of interruption.

"I've lived here all my life," you tell her, replying to her latest question. "I've never seen the valley from the other side, or gone over the mountains. But there are people here from everywhere, so I hear about the world. Some are from so far away that they were born on the way here, and by the time they arrived they had children of their own. Of course, it's possible that those people just got lost a lot on the journey."

So far, Maureen has asked no questions which require you to answer with an untruth and still keep her unaware of your royal status; but, if she asks how you make your living, it's difficult to know how to answer. You can't very well say that you're a blacksmith, as it would be stretching credulity for there to be two blacksmiths in Elyssia named Xavier. Perhaps she already knows - she's clearly a good deal smarter and more perceptive than Bull - but if so she's keeping it close to the chest.

Then again, it's hard to think of anything in the kingdom that isn't close to her chest... her breasts really do take up an impressive amount of space!

"How about yourself?" you ask her.

"Once it seemed like I'd been just about everywhere," Maureen says, "until I came here, and saw the likes of those who hailed from truly distant places! I never dreamed such folk existed... that people could come in such colors, and wear such clothes! You hear tales, but until you see it you don't believe it. But as for me, I came from Ireland first. Crossed the channel when I was but a wee lass, and never looked back. 'Twas in Bavaria where I learned the brewer's craft, thanks to me dear old grand-mum, God rest her soul. When the Warlord came, I took all the seed I could load onto a wagon and left for better pastures. Found me a hidden spot that had likely lain empty since the plague, and that's where I put down roots, as it were. It's not much, and I could use a bigger field for my barley, but I call no man Lord and pay taxes to none."

"If it's good fertile earth, someone's bound to lay claim to it eventually," you point out to her. "And there are taxes to be paid in Elyssia, but not overly much. With brew like this, you could turn a profit even if the Inn were your only buyer - and I think I can guarantee that you'd be making regular deliveries to the castle as well."

"Well, you certainly seem to want me here," Maureen says, flirting with her smile.

"Can't imagine why, except that you're a beautiful woman who makes the most delicious ale I've ever tasted."

"Hm. You have a wife, love? A sweetheart, mayhaps?"

"Unwed and promised to none, that's me."

"Well then, let me make you an offer that I make only to my favorite customers," Maureen purrs, leaning in close. "You've tasted my ale... what would you say to a taste of my lips?"

"I would say, with pleasure, my Lady."

Maureen's lips taste like sweet cherries, and she kisses like a woman who loves to be kissed. Your hand reaches up almost of its own accord to slide into her blonde hair, your fingers combing into her locks and gently stroking the back of her neck, which she seems to appreciate. The kiss lingers for a bit longer than one might have expected for a spontaneous and playful embrace, and when you finally part her cheeks are flushed.

"Well," she says, smiling even more, "that was a kiss like none I've had in many moons!"

"A taste much finer than your ale, which I still hold as the best I've had," you tell her.

Maureen looks around, and when her eyes return to you, they hold a coy and mischievous look. "As fine as my ale may be, none seem lined up to trade coppers for a cup," she says. "Perhaps the two of us might steal away to where we could kiss some more? And I'll let you in on a little secret o'mine..." she leans in close and whispers in your ear, "my lips are not all of me which taste so sweet!"