The Devil's Betrothed

Oriana led his way inside that rowdy tavern. She looked around to search for an empty table, but as it was nighttime and near the marketplace, the entire place was packed to the brim. Oriana felt this was the perfect excuse to get her knife without drinking a drop of alcohol.

"Unfortunately, there is no empty table, and I believe the Young Master would not want to share tables—"

"I see one there." Arlan pointed towards their left.

Oriana turned to the direction of his finger. 'Huh? Weren't there two drunk pigs playing cards there not even a minute ago? Where did they go? Did they leave? What bad timing!'

"Amazing! You have such sharp eyesight, Young Master! Please come with me." Orian led his way towards the table.

What Oriana did not realize was it wasn't a matter of bad timing—a certain someone had moved those two drunk men occupying that table. Imbert then faded back into the background, ready to solve anything that could trouble his liege. There was no need to be told what to do.

On the way to the table which was on the other side of that messy tavern, Oriana was silently praying that another customer would come in and take that table.

She pretended to be delayed by the passing servers, giving way to the other customers, circling the other tables, in order to buy as much time as she could.

'Spirit be damned! That table is empty! Still empty! Won't anyone occupy it before us?!'

The chaos of the tavern—the boisterous sounds of swearing and laughter, the people yelling their orders over each other, the mixed smell of food, sweat, alcohol and smoke—was rubbing on her nerves.

On the other hand, Arlan had his attention solely on the black-clothed young woman in front of him. Though she was in that loose-fitting getup and appeared to be a man, he noticed the way those drunk men were looking at her when she was passing by their tables. However, Arlan's presence was deterring those men from making any movement—after all, it was obvious Arlan was a nobleman and that Oriana was with him. No sane commoner dared offend a noble, especially not in the open.

As they reached the table, Oriana pulled a chair for Arlan, smiling with what she believed was a humble, subservient smile. "Please have a seat, Young Master."

He sat in the chair and instructed, "Sit down as well."

Oriana pulled the chair for herself, sighing in defeat in her heart. It appeared like she really could not escape drinking tonight. She looked up and found Arlan simply sitting with a hand under his chin, as if waiting for her to do everything.

'This brat, does he take me for his servant?'

"Is something the matter?" he asked, seeing her eyes slightly narrow in his direction.

"Ah, yes, I mean, I want to know what Young Master would like to have."

"I am new to Jerusha. Since you are a local, you can decide what is good and order for us."

'I have never been to this tavern before. Why does this brat think I am used to drinking? At most, I had a sip tasting the medicinal wine for my Grandpa's aching joints.'

Fortunately, Oriana was observant—when she was sitting by the corner earlier, she had seen enough to know what to do. She called for a server, yelling as loud as she could in that noisy place.

A young man approached and looked at Arlan, the noble-looking person who would obviously pay the bill. "What would you like to have, Young Master?"

Arlan signaled towards Oriana. "Ask him."

"A pitcher of Black Rye and two mugs, half a portion of roasted duck—"

The server eyed this delicate-looking boy covered from head to toe in black. "Aren't you too young to drink, boy?"

Oriana felt glad hearing it. "I am indeed—"

Arlan interrupted them, "I never heard taverns impose drinking limits on age."

The server started, "There is no such—"

"Liquor can be drunk even by children to stay warm during winter."

"That is indeed so, Young Master. This servant has been nosy," the server said and was ready to take their order. "Can you repeat your order, boy?"

Oriana had no other option but to continue, "A pitcher of Black Rye, half a roasted duck, two loaves of wastel bread and the local cottage cheese, a portion of spiced lamb…"

After Oriana finished repeating the most expensive orders she overheard from the other customers, the server left. Oriana finally got the chance to get to the point. "Young Master, my knife, can you return it to me?"

"Knife?" Arlan acted ignorant.

"Yes, the knife you took from me to investigate your attacker,"

"Oh, your knife… I didn't bring it."

Thud!

She slammed her hands on the table and stood up. "Didn't bring it? You—"

The few sitting next to them looked at her, and only then did she realize she had just raised her voice at the noble and sat back in her chair. "I-I…mean, Young Master, you forgot my knife…It is very important to me and—"

"The investigation is ongoing. I heard the city guards got important clues about that culprit and soon will catch him, so they had to keep that knife for a while longer."

Oriana's heart skipped a beat. "C-Clues, what clues?"

"Not sure, but I am sure I will see him in front of me any day now and I will make sure to punish him."

"P-Punish?"

"I wonder how I should punish him. Feeding him to wolves, skinning him alive, or if I am feeling merciful, maybe cutting the hand that stabbed me…"

Oriana gulped in fright, and just then, the server brought them their order. "Enjoy the drinks, dear customers."

Nervous about her identity being exposed, Oriana found her throat dry and she subconsciously picked the mug of cold beer and emptied it as fast as she could. Her face twisted at the bitterness of the beer, but she took the pitcher and refilled her mug once.

'What was I thinking back then? I shouldn't have agreed to give him my knife. Now, this brat not only didn't bring my knife, he also wants to punish me with a death penalty. Such brutal punishment for a shallow injury? Had I known, I would have stabbed this noble assehole a hundred times more!'

"Orian, are you alright?" Arlan asked after tasting their drink.

Black Rye Beer tastes grainy and bitter, a commoner's drink of poor quality, but Arlan found the drink to be quite strong. 'Don't tell me Shortie is already drunk with merely two mugs of beer? That's almost as bad as Dray's knight, Slayer, that lightweight.'

Her eyes turned watery and Oriana felt like her throat was burning but she didn't mind and glared at him.

'Alright my ass. How can I be alright when you are with me, you cruel beast who does not keep his words?!'

Arlan found himself enjoying the sight of anger within those hazel eyes. It seemed her alcohol tolerance was stronger than expected.

"Do you want to say something, Orian?"

Her hand gripped the handle of the pitcher and found it empty. She glared at the server waiting at the table next to them and called out, "Hey, you, why are you not filling up our pitcher yet? Do you want to die?"

As she said those, Oriana glanced at Arlan, as if her last words were meant for the brat sitting in front of her.