For the first time in what felt like her lifetime, Agathe had not been interested in the affairs of the nobles she had been surrounded by since she made her first entrance into the court at the tender age of fifteen. She had admittedly been distracted and irritable, unwilling to entertain the mindless small talk and meaningless gossip of the courtiers. Perhaps her annoyance her come from the fact that her perpetually absent father had chosen to today to make his unfortunately permanent presence in her life known.



Whatever it was, Agathe had been ready to leave as soon as she arrived at the paláti. She had felt suffocated as she moved about the hall, seeking the relief she would not find as long as her father was around. And so she had sought the easiest excuse—lady’s problems, naturally—and excused herself from court with a promise to her mother to retire early. She had released her handmaid, Eudocia, so that the girl could continue to enjoy the revelry without having to worry about Agathe.



Upon her return to the Marikas estate, Agathe knew she would be in for a restless night if she confined herself to her chambers as she had promised Sera. Without a second thought, the blonde raided her wardrobe. She did not know exactly what she was looking for, but she had an idea that she would know it when it presented itself. After half of her clothing had found itself strewn across her bedroom, Agathe identified an old chlamys made of a dark and heavy material and something she hadn’t worn in many years. Perfect to disguise herself from prying eyes and her father’s soldiers.



Agathe fastened the chlamys about her shoulders so that she had enough fabric to pull up an improvised hood to conceal her face as she snuck into town. She had heard Rafail talk about some tavern he frequented in his younger days, probably before he discovered women, she thought, her own bitterness souring her good mood as she wandered the dark streets of the inner circle. The homes of the other nobles were quiet, they were all attending court and keeping up appearances, of course.



There were a few stragglers attending to the naós and some late night scholars burning the midnight oil at the university—yet another place Agathe had no desire to be, especially at such an hour. She shuddered and turned away, setting her sights once more on finding that tavern her uncle had mentioned. She assumed it would have to be the only truly lively place. Hugging her chlamys closer, she had almost given up when a raucous erupted into the night, drawing her attention.



Agathe rounded the corner and was greeted by a cacophony of shouts and laughter inside one of the smaller buildings she had seen in the inner circle. Curious and certain that she had found the tavern, she pushed inside and was greeted by a man, considerably taller than herself, falling towards her. With surprising nimbleness, she dodged the heavy body and approached a gruff man who looked like he knew what was occurring. Pushing back her hood as he warily eyed her, she smoothed her hair before addressing him.



“I’ll have one...whatever it is that you serve in this establishment. Honey-wine, I presume?”