It’s the accent that catches Nadia off guard, ten years of her exile not erasing the Illyrian tongue from memory. It was the same one she’d tried so hard to conceal. As it was, the old Mad King still had his fervent supports hidden in back alleys and shady inns… and she wouldn’t fall on their sword. Winter eyes immediately look in his direction, curiosity causing her to gesture to the space. “Can you blame a woman for being weary of strangers? Especially in these times?” The smirk dissipates from her features as she leans back, ale in hand.
It’s like solving a rubik’s cube blind, trying to shift through memories to find if she knows the man. A nobleman? A sordid civilian? She can’t place him. “I suppose I can share the space… call it an olive branch.” The mercenary nods. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, and with all the times I’ve stayed, I’m familiar with most of the dirt boots drag in here. Stopping by or staying?”
Truthfully, Nik just wanted to take his drink in peace. He would have moved to a different area if he couldn’t feel the cold seeping into his bones, but as it was he currently needed to be by the fire at least in the interim. “No, can you blame a man for wanting to drink without being turned away?”
Her gaze made him uneasy and that was not a feeling that Nik was used to. He wasn’t intimidated exactly, but he definitely got the sense that he was being scrutinised, that there was something about him she either didn’t like or was trying to work out. Shit, she wasn’t one of his one night flings from back home was she? No, even in a drunken stupor he always made a point to remember those should they or their husbands make a return appearance. “Stopping by, just to get out of the castle for a while.”
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