"Well... it’s my first time too," Azel said, his voice even but his eyes flicking sideways toward a nearby wall as though the wooden grain patterns were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the capital.
Edna blinked at him.
Then, like an echo bouncing through her skull, his words repeated: It’s my first time too.
Her lips twitched into the faintest smile, her heart skipping as the realization struck her.
’Right... I forgot... it’s his first date,’ she thought, warmth creeping up her neck.
And then, inevitably: ’His first date... is with me.’
A strange giddiness bubbled in her chest.
She congratulated herself inwardly as though she’d just been awarded some grand royal honor.
But just as quickly, the thought tripped over itself and landed face-first into reality.
...Neither of them knew what to do next.
This was, after all, both of their first dates.
Her fingers tightened on the hem of her sleeve.
’Gods above... what do people even do on a date?’
"We aren’t nobles," Edna muttered aloud without thinking, still reeling in her thoughts — completely forgetting that barely minutes ago she had ordered around a flustered skewer seller like a duchess with a bad temper. "So where do commoners go to recline?"
"I’m not sure commoners call themselves commoners," Azel murmured dryly under his breath.
Her eyes narrowed. "What was that?"
Before he could repeat it, she punched him lightly in the arm.
Or at least, she thought it was lightly.
The startled way he winced, eyebrows shooting up, made her blink.
He rubbed his arm with a half-incredulous look.
Azel had good stats.
Very good stats.
A normal punch wouldn’t have even registered to him.
But that one... actually stung.
She couldn’t tell if she was proud of herself or worried.
"Well, come on," he said, reclaiming the lead by slipping his hand back around hers without hesitation.
The casualness of the gesture sent another flush across her cheeks. "I saw a small tavern up ahead when I was running earlier. Let’s go there."
A tavern? She tilted her head.
She’d read about those in books — usually smoky, rowdy places full of shouting drunkards and fistfights.
She’d never stepped into one herself.
Was it... like a commoner’s restaurant?
...
The tavern was modest but not at all like the grimy image in her head.
Instead of stale ale and grime, the air was laced with the rich scents of grilled meats, fried dough, and simmering broths.
The building’s beams were darkened from age but polished to a shine; the stone floor had been swept spotless.
It wasn’t the ornate marble of the palace, but there was a quiet, lived-in charm that tugged at her curiosity.
They stepped inside, and the hum of conversation swelled around them.
Azel steered them toward an empty table near the wall.
The chairs were wooden but sturdy, and the table bore faint knife-scratches but it made it look even more mature..
Before she could even glance at a menu, two sheets of parchment floated toward them.
She followed their path with wide eyes to the man behind the counter.
He wore a wide-brimmed hat she recognized only from adventure novels about dusty frontiers and duelists who spoke with their eyes.
His smile was faint but knowing, and with a flick of his fingers, he tipped his hat at them before turning to serve another group of customers.
She was still studying him when a gentle tap at her hand made her look back.
Azel’s gaze was fixed firmly on her.
"It’s not nice to stare at another man while you’re on a date with me," he said evenly, but there was a faint, unmistakable edge in his tone —
Her breath caught.
Jealousy.
He was jealous.
She didn’t know why that tiny flicker of emotion from him made her feel like she’d just been wrapped in the warmest, most dangerous blanket in existence... but it did.
He broke eye contact to skim through the parchment menu, picked up the small pen provided, and underlined his choices before letting the enchanted page drift back to the counter.
Edna suddenly became very careful with her own parchment.
She had the distinct impression that if she pushed her luck and kept trying to provoke that jealous look, she might find herself abandoned mid-date — and she didn’t put it past Azel to actually do it.
He was a mean man after all.
A few minutes later, their food arrived.
The server, a wiry young man with sleeves rolled to his elbows, set down two steaming bowls in front of them.
Azel’s order was a deep, earthen bowl brimming with braised ironboar ribs over fragrant rice, the meat lacquered with a glossy, savory glaze.
Edna’s was... a challenge.
She had decided — perhaps foolishly to try something outside her comfort zone: a bowl of Drakefire Noodles, the tavern’s spiciest dish, rumored to be "tamed" from an eastern recipe involving peppers that could make a grown man cry.
The broth was a molten crimson, flecked with blackened chili seeds, and coiled within were long, silken noodles.
A small dish of cooling herb-water sat beside it, presumably for mercy.
Azel took one glance at her choice and raised a brow. "Brave."
"I can handle spice," she said with a tilt of her chin, though her confidence was already cracking under the heat rising from the bowl.
It was far more than she expected.
He didn’t argue.
Instead, he leaned forward slightly. "Alright, here’s how you eat that without burning your tongue off in the first three bites."
He took her chopsticks, dipped them into the noodles, and swirled them gently through the broth before lifting them out and dunking them briefly into the herb-water dish.
"This cuts the heat just enough so you can taste the other flavors," he explained, his tone slipping into something oddly careful, almost intimate.
"Once you get used to it, then you slurp it straight."
He demonstrated with his own bowl — though his method was... decidedly less cautious.
Lifting his entire bowl of ribs and rice, he took a mouthful as though the searing temperature was nothing, then chased it with a spoonful of broth.
Edna blinked. "You didn’t even blow on it."
"Not my first time with drake peppers," he said, though the slight tightening around his eyes told her the spice had hit.
He just refused to admit it.
"Now you try," he added, a teasing curve in his voice.
Edna took her chopsticks, dipped and cooled the noodles as instructed, then lifted them to her lips.
She was cautious with the first bite — until the broth hit her tongue.
It was heat, yes, but layered.
Smoky, then tangy, then the slow, creeping burn that built at the back of her throat.
Her eyes widened despite herself.
It was tasty
Azel smirked. "Not bad, right?"