Prince of Dragons

Prologue

"Anything I can get for ya, Little Lady?"

I looked up at the bartender from beneath my hood. Although I'd tried not to bring attention to myself, I wasn't surprised I had — an uncharacteristically small girl in a white hood will do that to you. Still, the fact he even noticed me with all the other drunkards hollering at him was a feat in and of itself. Then again, noticing every customer, no matter how quiet they were, was his job.

"Just a water will be fine," I responded indifferently, leaning my chin on my hand as I gazed around at the tavern patrons.

"Ya sure ya don't want anything a little more-"

"No," I interrupted. No way was I gonna get wasted this late at night, nor in a place like this.

I heard a small "hmm," figuring he was probably scratching that round stubbly chin of his.

"Alright Little Lady, one water comin' right up."

I huffed in annoyance as he finally left to take my order. The "Little Lady" label was demeaning, but only minutely. After all, my short height stuck out like a sore thumb in a place like this, so it couldn't be helped. Still, I had the right to be a little peppery about it, at least internally that is. I mean, I'm not that short. Five feet, two inches is shorter than most in Verra but there a plethora of people shorter than me.

Or is that everyone here is just uncharacteristically tall?

Either way, it was my fault for choosing this particular tavern in the first place, and for choosing to sit at the counter no less. That and the hood shielding my eyes were practically begging to get me noticed.

I glanced around as I waited for my drink.

Spay's Tavern was no different than any other I'd been too. Filled to the brim with soldiers, mercenaries, and thieves, all there with the intent to drink their spirits away and hit on whores — this place was basically what you would expect. So there really wasn't any other tavern better (or worse) than Spay's. Plus, it was the only place in Troyda that was open this late, meaning I really didn't have any right to complain. I guess I could have just found an inn or camped in the woods and been way more content with my current situation; however the rain decided to act up more than usual, so I was stuck here.

In a way, Spay's is not the worst place to be stuck. Taverns are neutral territory, places of peace. Meaning, no soldier could arrest a thief, no assassin could take out their target, and no bounty hunter could take in whatever bastard criminal had earned a spot on wanted boards. So I'd be safe as long as no psychopaths walked in to create some chaos. Although, I'd probably welcome something like that right about now.

"Yer water, miss."

The stubbly bartender placed a glass in front of me, looking at me with a kind smile.

"Thank you."

I took a small sip, waiting for the bartender to leave again. But contrary to my wishes, he instead leaned in a little closer.

"We don't get many bounty hunters 'round here," the bartender whispered, as if my identity was some big secret. "'Specially hunters that aren't out there fishing for some information."

"What makes you think I'm a bounty hunter?" I inquired, choosing to stay as emotionless as possible. I wasn't actually here on a job, so he was correct, but I didn't want anyone around us to know that. Otherwise they might start talking to me, which was something I wouldn't prefer.

"Easy," gloated the bartender as he cleaned his glasses with a rag. "Ya refuse to drink, but instead resolve to observin' the crowd from the bar. If ye were an assassin, ya would resort to a small table towards the back. If ye were a mercenary or thief ya'd be bottoms up by now. But no, ya refuse to drink."