The room was, in fact, quite respectable.

Clean linens.

A small hearth.

A writing desk.

One large bed.

And one object that could only generously be described as a second bed.

Elowen stared.

Kael stared.

The innkeeper continued sweating.

"That," Elowen said carefully, "appears to be a bench."

"A sleeping bench."

"It is two feet wide."

"A very comfortable sleeping bench."

"It is made of wood."

The innkeeper nodded.

"Premium wood."

Kael sighed.

"I shall take the bench."

The innkeeper looked at him as though he had just volunteered for execution.

"My lord..."

"I am not a lord."

"My... steward."

"Correct."

The innkeeper lowered his voice.

"You needn't pretend for my sake."

By morning, matters had somehow become worse.

Elowen descended into the common room.

Conversations stopped.

Again.

A serving girl immediately disappeared into the kitchen.

Two merchants exchanged knowing looks.

An elderly woman smiled approvingly.

The innkeeper approached carrying breakfast.

"Good morning, my lady."

"Good morning."

"And how did you both sleep?"

Elowen narrowed her eyes.

"Perfectly well."

The innkeeper looked disappointed.

"Ah."

Moments later Kael arrived.

The innkeeper's face brightened immediately.

"My good steward!"

"Good morning."

The innkeeper leaned forward.

"Were there any issues with the accommodations?"

"Only one."

The man gasped.

"The bench is entirely too short."

Half the common room audibly groaned.

By sunset they arrived at Stonewatch Hall.

The gala was already underway.

Music drifted through enormous halls.

Nobles gathered in clusters.

Servants hurried between tables.

Political alliances formed and dissolved over wine.

Everything proceeded normally for approximately six minutes.

Then Lord Ashcombe greeted them.

"My dear Lady Elowen!"

The aging noble beamed.

"And you brought... him."

Elowen blinked.

"Brought who?"

Lord Ashcombe gestured vaguely at Kael.

"The dragonborn."

"His name is Kael."

"Of course it is."

The lord winked.

No one appreciated the wink.

Least of all Kael.

"I am her steward."

Lord Ashcombe laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

The evening continued.

Poorly.

Every conversation eventually returned to Kael.

Every noblewoman wished to meet him.

Every nobleman wished to question him.

And every single person seemed convinced they were witnessing the beginning of a grand romance.

At one point Elowen found herself standing alone beside the refreshments table.

A noblewoman approached.

Young.

Well dressed.

Far too cheerful.

"Your dragonborn is handsome."

Elowen nearly inhaled a grape.

"My dragonborn?"

The woman nodded.

"The steward."

"He is not my dragonborn."

"Oh."

A pause.

"Do you want him to be?"

Elowen choked.

Across the room, Kael watched the exchange.

The traitor.

The absolute traitor.

He looked entirely too amused.

The noblewoman followed Elowen's gaze.

"Oh, that answers that."

At that exact moment a servant hurried into the ballroom.

"Lord Ashcombe!"

The room quieted.

The servant looked pale.

"There is a problem in the western archives."

The lord frowned.

"What sort of problem?"

The servant swallowed.

"The door has been forced open."

Silence spread across the ballroom.

Then another servant appeared.

"My lord."

"What now?"

"The vault beneath the archives is open."

The room became very quiet.

Lord Ashcombe slowly turned toward Kael.

Then toward Elowen.

Then back toward Kael.

"You."

Kael blinked.

"Me?"

"You're a steward."

"Correct."

"Fix it."

The dragonborn sighed.

"My lady."

"Yes?"

"I fear our evening has become administrative."