The young couple

"I accept your hospitality," you say as you walk to the young couple. "A roof and a hearth are all a traveler can ask for after such a bloody afternoon."

The husband and wife couple smiles and led you to a modest cottage on the edge of the settlement, the interior smelling of dried herbs and woodsmoke. As the husband, a sturdy man named Kael, busies himself stoking the fire, his wife, Elara fetches a basin of warm water. She set it before you, her fingers lingering near your hand as she offeres a clean cloth. Her eyes, wide and dark, watches your face with interest.

"We owe you our lives, Master Merchant," Kael said, his voice echoing off the low beams. "News says the bandits have been around like vultures for weeks, but we never thought they’d strike here. Tell me, what brings a man of your... talents... to a place as forgotten like this?"

You dipped the cloth into the water, scrubbing the drying gore from your knuckles. "I'm assessing trade routes," you replied, keeping the lie smooth. "But trade is impossible where the roads aren't safe. Tell me about this village. Are the local lords doing nothing? Where is the garrison that's supposed to protect these borders?"

"The lords are too busy preening in the capital, waiting for the new King to finish his coronation feasts. We toil the land for the food , yet we are left with nothing but rusted hoes to defend ourselves." Kael sits heavily across from you, his elbows on his knees. "Ever since the old King passed, the bandits have grown bolder." He takes a long pull of his drink, his expression souring. "It’s hard to know what’s happening in the capital. We hear nothing. No decrees, no news of the coronation, nothing but silence from the throne."

"The new King is young," you offer neutrally, tearing off a piece of bread. "Perhaps he is still finding his footing."

"Finding his footing?" Kael scoffs, a hint of frustration bleeding through his gratitude. "He should be showing his face. He should be sending men to clear these woods. For all we know, he’s locked in his palace, drowning in wine and velvet while we’re bleeding in the dirt. It’s been weeks since the funeral, and not a word."

Elara leans against the table, her gaze fixed on you, seemingly unbothered by her husband’s irritation. "Oh, don't be so grim, Kael," she said as she looks at you, her eyes traveling from your bruised knuckles up to your brow. "Since the news about the King is yet to come, perhaps he isn't hiding at all. Maybe he’s out here, walking among us, seeing who is worth saving?"

Kael blinks in confusion. "A King in this backwater place? Don't be a fool, Elara," he mutters, though he reaches out to take her hand. She lets him hold it, but her eyes never leave yours.