The inn was loud, but it didn't reach our corner. Smoke curled from a cracked hearth, and someone was butchering a lute by the fire. I sat with one hand curled around my mug, the other clenched tight on the table like I was trying to throttle a ghost.
The dwarf was beside me, as usual. He drank something dark that smelled like engine oil and grave decisions.
"I couldn't take her with me," I muttered, barely above the rim of my ale.
He grunted. "Who?"
I didn't answer right away. Just stared into the drink like it owed me answers.
"That fallen princess?" he asked, tapping the side of his nose.
I didn't nod. Didn't need to.
"I couldn't leave her in that cage," I said, voice flat. "So I let her out. Got the collar off. Gave her coin. Told her where to go."
I took a sip. It tasted like ash and regret.
"But I couldn't take her with me. Gods. I can barely manage myself. One more mess? One more mouth? She'd slow me down. She's soft. She thinks baths are a right."
The dwarf said nothing. Just sipped. Wise bastard.
"And the Dragon…" I laughed once, low and bitter. "He'd go mad. He barely tolerates me. You think he wants a weepy noble girl trailing behind us? He'd eat her out of spite. Or throw her off a cliff mid-lecture."
The dwarf gave a slow nod, eyes on his mug.
I leaned back, stretched out my fingers like I'd been holding something too long.
"She's sweet," I said quietly. "Sweet's not built for this world."
Then I drained my ale.
And for once, I didn't ask for another.
I stared into the dregs of my ale like I might find a better version of myself swirling in the foam. No such luck.
"Stupid noble girls," I muttered. "Think the world's a storybook. Think someone like me can just—what—fix everything with a hairpin and a hug?"
The dwarf scratched his beard, eyeing me sideways. "She'll get herself recaptured, y'know. Pretty ones like that don't last long alone."
"Fuck off," I snapped without looking at him.
He burped. Loud. Wet. Proud.
I didn't even flinch.
We just sat there, two tired monsters, drowning in our own brand of silence.