Roblan's silence was answer enough.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jolthar groaned, dropping his head to the table with a thunk. "You did. You absolutely did. And let me guess – it didn't end there, did it?"

"Raayani said she'd taken a liking to me," Roblan continued, having the grace to look at least somewhat ashamed. "She wanted... she wanted to keep me for herself."

Jolthar lifted his head just enough to fix Roblan with an incredulous stare. "So let me make sure I understand this correctly," he said, ticking points off on his fingers.

"You started a romance with the daughter of one of the most dangerous organisations in the world. You stayed in their house, enjoying their hospitality. Then you slept with the mother – the actual leader of said organisation. And now you're surprised that the daughter you betrayed wants you dead?"

"When you put it that way..."

"When I put it that way, it sounds exactly as idiotic as it actually is," Jolthar finished for him.

In his head, he was running through every curse he knew in different languages, saving the really creative ones for special emphasis. "Gods above and below, man! Did you leave anyone else in the Blue Rose leadership you wanted to seduce? A favourite aunt perhaps? A cousin twice removed?"

Roblan actually had the audacity to look offended. "It wasn't like that! Things just... happened."

"Things just happened," Jolthar repeated flatly. "Things just happened. Like tripping and accidentally falling into bed with the mother of the woman you were supposedly in love with? Those kinds of things?"

Before Roblan could defend himself further, Jolthar held up a hand. "No, no, don't explain. I don't think my faith in humanity could take it." He glanced toward the window again, noting the deepening shadows.

"Besides, I believe our other guests will be arriving soon."

As if on cue, the ambient noise in the tavern began to die down, conversations falling silent as new figures appeared in the doorway.

Jolthar didn't need to look to know who they were – the sudden tension in the air was announcement enough.

"Right on schedule," he murmured, straightening in his seat.

"Now then, pretty boy, here's what's going to happen. You're going to sit there, look appropriately contrite – which shouldn't be hard given the magnitude of your fuck-up – and let me do the talking. With any luck, I can prevent this from turning into the kind of bloodbath that ruins perfectly good drinking establishments."

Roblan's hand had gone to his hidden weapon again. "You don't understand what they're capable of—"

"No, you don't understand what I'm capable of," Jolthar cut him off, his jovial tone carrying an edge of steel. "Your mother is paying us a lot of money to keep you alive, which means I'm going to keep you alive, even if I currently want to strangle you myself.

So shut up, stay still, and try not to seduce anyone else's mother in the next few minutes. Think you can manage that?"

As footsteps approached their table, Jolthar took another casual sip of his ale, his mind already racing through possible scenarios and solutions.

He'd gotten them into this situation deliberately, yes, but that didn't mean he wasn't acutely aware of just how dangerous the next few minutes would be. The Blue Rose didn't earn its fearsome reputation by being reasonable, after all.

Still, as he watched the colour drain from Roblan's perfect face, Jolthar couldn't help but add one last whispered comment: "You know, most people just write poetry when they're in love. They don't start sleeping their way through an entire family.

Just something to consider for next time – assuming we survive this one."

The sound of clearing throats behind him made him smile.

Time to see if his plan would work, or if he'd just orchestrated the most elaborate suicide in recent memory.

Either way, he had to admit – it was going to make one hell of a story.

The tavern door swung open, letting in a gust of evening air that made the oil lamps flicker.

The regular chatter died instantly as five women entered, their presence commanding attention without a word.

Jolthar, seated in the corner with his back to the wall, immediately understood these were no ordinary travellers.

At their head stood a woman who could only be Belan herself.

At twenty-five, she carried herself with the confidence of someone who had earned her position through blood and steel rather than inheritance. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail that emphasized her sharp features, each strand neat despite the day's humidity – a small detail that spoke volumes about her self-discipline.

She wore practical traveling clothes: fitted pants that allowed for easy movement and a half-sleeved blouse that revealed toned arms marked with old scars. Her figure was athletic rather than curvaceous, built for combat rather than court life.

But it was her eyes that truly caught Jolthar's attention – amber-coloured and intense, they swept the room with predatory focus until they locked onto Roblan, who had gone deathly pale at the women's entrance.

The hatred in that gaze could have melted steel.

Jolthar rose smoothly from his seat, positioning himself between Belan's group and Roblan. "Good evening," he said, keeping his tone light but firm. "I'm Jolthar. Perhaps we could discuss this situation like reasonable people?"

Belan's response was to completely ignore him, her eyes still fixed on Roblan. "You miserable, crawling worm," she spat, each word dripping with venom. "Did you think you could just run? That your promises were just words to be forgotten?"

The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch.

Other patrons began quietly sliding toward the exits, recognizing the signs of imminent violence.

Jolthar noticed Belan's companions spreading out in a practiced formation, cutting off potential escape routes.

She was in no position to talk as she continuously spat and cursed all she could. Jolthar just stood listening to her curses and wondered just how many more insults she could come up with before someone intervened.