In just a brief moment, no one in the tavern was still standing, except for Daemon, his subordinates, and the slightly stunned proprietress. Only then did Daemon leisurely walk over to the middle-aged man who had led the troublemakers. Stepping on his waist, Daemon asked coldly, "Where did you lot get the guts to steal money from the Storm army?"
Indeed, all the money this tavern made came from soldiers of the Storm Kingdom, it was military money.
"S-sir, I was wrong! I'll never do it again," the middle-aged man said, clutching his bloody mouth and bowing low in a submissive voice. He didn't dare explain, there was no reasoning with such ruthless Storm soldiers. Since he had admitted fault and been thoroughly taught a lesson, Daemon had no reason to go further. Under the baron's strict military code, they weren't allowed to "excessively" disturb civilians. Daemon couldn't just kill them all.
"Get lost!" Daemon kicked the groveling man, sending him scrambling out with his lackeys, tails between their legs. The tavern fell silent again. Seeing the still shell-shocked proprietress, Daemon cleared his throat to snap her out of it.
"Sir, thank you... I-I..." The proprietress suddenly came to and quickly stammered her thanks. The thuggish behavior of the soldiers had frightened her, and she was still panicked. But since they had helped her, she hurried to express her gratitude.
"It's nothing," Daemon replied, clearly having a favorable impression of the beautiful proprietress, that's why he had stepped in. "If nothing else, we'll be going." He waved it off and gestured to his men to leave. The sky was now completely dark. Outside the town, torches were lit at the military camp, dinner had probably started. Daemon mumbled, hoping there'd still be something left for them.
His soldiers filed out of the tavern, heading for the camp. Daemon was the last to leave. Just as he was stepping out, he heard the faint sound of sobbing behind him. Turning back, he saw the still-charming proprietress slumped over the counter, quietly weeping. Daemon had a weakness for crying women, especially mature, beautiful ones older than him.
He called for his men to go on without him and walked back to the bar. Gently patting the proprietress on the shoulder, he said with a sigh, "Come on now, don't cry. If something's wrong, just tell me, I'll help if I can."
Hearing this, the proprietress sobbed even harder, her head buried in her arms. Daemon was helpless. He could handle enemies and street punks without a hitch, but he was at a loss when it came to women. Though he wasn't a virgin, he had no idea how to comfort one, especially not a crying mature woman.
His men were now disappearing into the distance, clearly in no rush to stick around. They probably thought it was the perfect time for their leader to enjoy his "hero saves the beauty" moment alone. Cowards, Daemon muttered. Left alone with a sobbing woman, he stood there awkwardly. Should he leave? Not really appropriate, she was still crying. But staying? A grown man watching a woman cry like this was just awkward. Anyone walking in might think he'd done something terrible. He wasn't exactly a saint, but he'd never forced himself on any woman.
Time passed. The sobbing slowed, replaced by occasional sniffles. The proprietress peeked at the man who sat there stiffly, unsure what to say. She couldn't help but giggle. Not the polite, forced smile she'd worn when serving drinks, but a spontaneous, girlish laugh. She realized then, this stern-looking Storm officer was actually younger than her. Daemon's calm and cold exterior masked a youthful essence.
Daemon was snapped out of his stiffness by her laughter. This wasn't the usual perfunctory smile; it was playful and cute, and it shook something inside him. The beautiful proprietress, Cassie, noticed the change in his expression and blushed as she bowed her head. "Thank you again, sir," she said.
"Mhm, it's nothing." Daemon didn't bid farewell. He wasn't in a rush anymore, there was probably no dinner left at camp anyway. As for night patrols, he was a squad leader; his men could cover for him. He wasn't sure what he felt toward this proprietress anymore, just that his instincts told him not to leave. The two sat there, staring at each other.
In this little staring contest, Daemon was the first to crack a smile. Cassie, confused, followed his gaze and noticed several pieces of plain women's undergarments scattered near the bar. "Eek!" she squealed, blushing as she dove to cover the garments with her body.
Daemon winced at the loud shriek. "No need to cover it, I already saw... and besides-" He paused, stunned. Cassie's loose clothing couldn't contain her curves as she leaned over, exposing a tantalizing amount of cleavage. Daemon forgot what he was going to say.
Realizing what had happened, Cassie shrieked again, now using the clothes to cover herself. Unfortunately, that just exposed her undergarments more. This normally composed woman was now flustered, trying to cover one thing while exposing another, adorably awkward.
After a bit of a mess, Cassie finally gathered her scattered garments and covered her chest tightly. Geez, Daemon thought. You're not leaning over anymore, no need to cover up.
"I should go," Daemon said, glancing at her. "It's late."
"Um… alright. Thank you again, sir…" Cassie's words were interrupted by a loud growl from Daemon's stomach. He was mortified.
"You haven't eaten, have you?" she asked. "Why don't you… have dinner here?" Seeing his embarrassment actually eased her own nerves. The sharp-witted Cassie was back, ready to cozy up to this man who might protect her.
"Well… alright. Just something simple." Daemon wasn't trying to be polite, he genuinely didn't expect anything fancy. He knew how civilians lived in the newly occupied territory. Even tavern owners probably struggled to eat well.
"Okay. I'll go make something now." Cassie walked to the tavern door, pulled a board across it to indicate the shop was closed, and headed to the kitchen, hips swaying. Daemon noticed the red flush on her face, like a secret rendezvous. She's not sneaking around, he reminded himself. Just... a mature woman.
While she cooked, Daemon helped clean up the dropped copper coins, wrapping them back into their pouch. There was no light, so it wasn't surprising she hadn't picked them up earlier. But Daemon had developed good night vision over the years. When he finished, Cassie returned with two plates. She lit a stub of a candle, and the tavern brightened slightly. Noticing the repacked pouch and clean floor, she looked touched.
"Come eat, sir."
Daemon looked at the two blackened blobs on the plates. "This is it? Just this?"
"It's all I have. I'm sorry..." Cassie said, embarrassed.
Daemon sighed. "It's fine, I haven't had mashed potatoes like this in years. Let's call it a trip down memory lane."
In truth, it was a stretch. He was used to eating meat daily now, this was just baked mashed potatoes with salt. Still, he was curious about this woman's life. The candle she'd lit alone was worth a meaty meal at the camp, it was an expensive luxury item. Even the quartermaster used only oil lamps. His own men relied on torches.
"You're a well-known tavern proprietress. You eat this every day?" Daemon teased.
"This… is all I have." Cassie looked like she might cry again.
"Alright, alright…" Daemon quickly dug into the food. He was starving from all the drinking earlier. She ate slowly, with elegance. Though her portion was half his, Daemon finished quickly and still looked hungry.
"You eat fast..." she muttered. "Here, take mine. I can't finish anyway." She pushed half her portion to him.
Daemon didn't refuse. He kept eating while she finished her last bite. When she looked up, Daemon was already staring at her, legs crossed, amused. Unable to take his gaze, she gathered the plates and fled to the kitchen.
When she returned, they sat in silence. The candle flickered.
"So… why's life so hard for you?" Daemon finally asked.
Cassie swallowed her emotions and spoke, "This tavern used to make 30 Copper Pennies a day, sometimes even 50, but in the end… none of it stays with me."
"Because of those thugs? Like today?"
"Yes…" she whispered, face darkening with pain.
"But how? Don't they know your customers are soldiers? And your husband, he's with the military high command, isn't he?"
"He abandoned me a long time ago…" Cassie laughed bitterly. "He climbed the ranks thanks to your army. Now, everyone in town and even the refugees fawn over him. He doesn't lack women. He manages all the prostitutes behind the tavern now, why would he need me?"
"Maybe as compensation, he gave me the tavern." She brushed her hair aside. "At first, the thugs stayed away out of fear. But once they realized he didn't care about me anymore, they grew bolder."
"Why not ask soldiers like me for help?"
"Even if they help once, the thugs won't let me go after. I haven't brewed new ale in weeks, I'll run out soon. Then I'll end up like those women behind the tavern…"
Daemon stared at her pitiful expression.
"You want me to keep protecting you, not just scare them off once?" he asked.
She blushed and nodded slightly.
"I'm just a squad leader, with 10 men. I can't station troops here. I might get called back to the front. Even if I protect you now, what happens when I'm gone?" Daemon didn't let emotion cloud reason.
Cassie's face went pale. The candle flickered, burned out, and the tavern went dark again. Moonlight streamed through the window, bathing them in silver. Neither moved.
"...sob…sob…" The proprietress cried again. She was lost, overwhelmed. Daemon felt helpless too. The world was cruel, there was no love or hate without reason. Everyone had to find their own way.
"I'll send a few men to watch the tavern for the next few days. Make some money, then head to Peters' territory or find some relatives." He gave her a path forward. "That's all I can do." He stood up to leave, curfew was near.
Her sobs grew louder. Her tears smeared her face, but she kept crying.
Daemon walked toward the door.
Let her cry, he thought. Only hardship makes people stronger.
As he reached the door and moved the board aside, a warm body hugged him from behind.
"I can't let you help me for nothing," she said hoarsely. "All I have is this tavern and a few barrels of beer. I have nothing else. I… can only give you myself."
"You don't have to-" Daemon began, but her lips silenced him. Cassie kissed him hungrily, arms wrapped around his chest.
Daemon wasn't a saint. He hadn't touched a woman in a month. This kind of passionate kiss was irresistible. He lifted her into his arms, ready to make love right there.
"Not here… upstairs…" Cassie panted, still lucid enough to lead the way.