The walls of Bourg-en-Clair rose high, bristling with battlements and arrow slits. Atop the towers, green banners snapped in the wind, each bearing a golden lion. Along the ramparts, a line of archers formed a dark silhouette against the sky. At the gate, soldiers were searching those who entered. One guard stepped forward, his gaze briefly passing over Rouis and Ambre.
“Your names, and the reason for your visit?” the guard asked.
“Travelers. We are looking for a place to rest,” Rouis replied.
The soldier gestured for two men to step forward. The pounding of boots echoed across the cobblestones, joined by the clink of armor, as they took position on either side of the travelers.
“Search them,” he ordered.
One soldier placed a hand on Rouis’s shoulder.
“Stay still,” he said.
His gloved fingers slid over the folds of Rouis’s jacket, lifting the fabric before patting along his belt.
“A fine blade,” he said.
“It’s mostly there to impress,” Rouis replied with a smile.
On the other side, a soldier grabbed Ambre’s pack.
“There’s no need to search that,” she hissed.
“We have to check, for security reasons.”
The guard opened the bag and shifted its contents with his fingertips. Provisions, and a small pouch tied with a cord. He rolled an apple in his palm before putting it back and closing the pack.
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“Nothing to report,” he said, returning it to her.
They stepped onto the stone bridge. On the far side, the cries of Bourg-en-Clair’s merchants rang out.
“Fresh fish. Three for a silver coin,” a vendor bellowed, waving a cod.
A little farther on, an artisan with soot-blackened hands called out to a passerby, offering custom daggers and boasting of the sharpest steel in all of Bourg-en-Clair.
A group of soldiers passed close by.
“There really are guards everywhere,” Ambre murmured.
“They’re taking no chances.”
Above their heads, a wooden sign hung from a rusted chain, carved with the image of a bed and a cup. Inside, a fireplace crackled, filling the air with the scent of burning wood mixed with the aroma of stew. Above the counter, a clock marked the passing seconds as a merchant raised his arms and his tankard wobbled.
“I’m telling you, that road is a death trap. Three caravans attacked in less than a month.”
He slammed his fist onto the table, and his neighbor raised an eyebrow.
“Rumors,” the man muttered. “Bandits always lurk near trade routes. That’s nothing new.”
“Rumors? My own cousin lost everything on that road. Crates overturned, horses gone, and him left on the roadside in his underclothes.”
“At least he was lucky,” the other replied. “They could have taken those too.”
The old man took a long swallow of beer.
The innkeeper stepped toward Rouis.
“Welcome, travelers. Make yourselves comfortable. You’ve arrived at the perfect time. The fire is crackling, and the kitchen still smells wonderful.”
Two overflowing plates were set down before them. The lamb glistened beneath a golden glaze, accompanied by crisp potatoes infused with the scent of rosemary.
Ambre grabbed her fork and plunged it into the meat.
“It’s perfect,” she murmured between two bites.
“I thought princesses ate with grace, but apparently some have the appetite of an ogre.”
She looked up at him, a murderous glint in her eyes, but her mouth was still full and kept her from answering. Instead, she drove her foot into his shin beneath the table.
Rouis bit into a piece of bread, letting his gaze wander across the room. It paused on a hooded man before returning to the innkeeper moving between the tables.
“Long journey?” the innkeeper called as he set a tankard down in front of another customer.
“Long enough to appreciate a good night’s sleep and a hot meal,” Rouis replied.
The innkeeper smiled, then leaned closer.
“If you need a piece of advice, listen carefully. Avoid speaking to the man in gray. A free tip,” he added with a wink, before slipping back behind the counter.
