Potential Lunch
[Abigail’s Spoon – Ahda, 5th of Sun’s Crown, 11th Year of the Fourth Age]
Lisabelle, Viena, and Gwen stood at the entrance of the tavern. But “tavern” hardly seemed the right word. People bustled around the building with great slabs of meat slung over their shoulders—some even bore names carved directly into the flesh. The scent of blood and salt hung thick in the air. If not for the hanging sign that read Abigail’s Spoon, one might have mistaken the place for a butcher’s guild rather than an eatery house.
"A-bi-gay-el . . . Abigail! This is the place!"
“Hm,” Lisabelle muttered, arms folded. “This Claude guy sure has a weird taste picking such a place."
"Lisabelle . . . Arbona?"
"Lisabelle… Arbona?"
The sound of his voice pulled her attention. She turned. So did Viena and Gwen.
A young man stood behind them, slightly out of breath. He wore ragged, soot-smeared clothes, and his shaggy blonde hair clung stubbornly to his forehead. His hazel eyes blinked, stunned. He was… shorter than she expected—shorter than her, in fact. For a moment, she wondered if her boots were to blame, but remembered she wore only slim leather flats today.
“Are you Claude Valias?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away.
Or rather, he couldn’t.
His gaze had fixed on her in awe: Lisabelle, radiant in an elegant flax-white linen tunic, its fabric soft and clean, cinched with a viridian corset belt adorned by a neat mint ribbon. A silver bracelet glinted on her wrist, paired with delicate bicep bangles. She stood like a portrait come to life, refined and slightly aloof.
Claude’s mouth parted slightly.
He’d fallen for her—again. Harder than the first time.
“(He seems absent-minded, right Gwen?)” Viena whispered.
“(It’s called dazed, Viena.)” Gwen replied dryly.
“U-uh, oh! Yeah. Yeah—I am Claude Valias,” the young man finally stammered. “I-I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I… didn’t expect you’d come this early.”
Lisabelle tilted her head slightly. He wasn’t wrong—they had arrived a full thirty minutes before the appointed time. But that was no accident. She always arrived early to meetings. It was habit by now: a quiet tactic to read the environment and gauge the people she would face.
“I suppose I’m feeling rather feisty today,” she said, her voice calm and amused. She reached down and pinched Viena’s cheek, who let out a playful squeak. “It’s been a while since I got to enjoy a day out with this brat.”
“I-is that so?” Claude said, eyes flicking to Viena before nervously back to Lisabelle. “Well, um… please, allow me to drop this off first—” he lifted the heavy wrapped bundle on his back, “—and you can head up to the second-floor balcony. There’s a table reserved in your name.”
There was a visible shyness to Claude’s expression—an almost painful embarrassment blooming across his face. His posture sagged under the weight of humiliation. This first meeting with Lisabelle Arbona had gone utterly wrong, spiraling beyond anything he had prepared for. He was filthy, smelly, and sweating through his tunic. He didn’t even dare look her in the eye.
The idea that she might cancel the meeting outright had rooted itself so firmly in his mind, he was ready to flee—to disappear behind the tavern like the other hunters. He shifted his weight and turned slightly, intending to slip away quietly.
But then—
“Wait.”
Lisabelle’s voice cut through the air with quiet finality.
Claude froze. She stepped toward him—not with disgust or ridicule, but a cool curiosity in her eyes. Her gaze drifted to the bundle slung over his shoulder. Two rabbits, a large duck, and a venison haunch—all expertly tied and carried.
She leaned in to inspect them.
Except for the venison, all the games bore the familiar puncture wounds of arrow shots. The placement was clean, precise. Lisabelle, a novice huntress herself, could tell he hadn’t used traps or blades. Just a bow and a good eye. More impressively, the game had already been cleaned and dressed, ready for cooking. Practical. Efficient.
"Will you at least tell us about this place?"
He swallowed. "...Abigail’s is a well-known tavern among merchants, though nobles most likely haven’t heard of it. Despite the amazing delicacy they serve, they only cook the meat you bought yourself. That makes the price considerably cheap while retaining the amazing taste of the food."
Lisabelle tilted her head. "Hm. How interesting. So, they only sell services and mastery."
Claude gave a nervous smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked more tense by the minute. Lisabelle could guess why.
He hesitated, then confessed, "...Truthfully, I never intended for you to find out. I just wanted you and your sister to enjoy the food, without worrying about—well, any of this. I picked this place out of genuine admiration for their cuisine. But if it doesn’t suit your expectations, I—I can make other arrangements—"
“Enough.”
Her voice was quiet, but carried steel.
"You’ve insulted me three times already," Lisabelle said. Her tone was level, but laced with cool disappointment. "It’s almost impressive, how you managed to do that - either knowingly or unknowingly."
Claude stiffened. He knew he’d lost her. He felt it in his chest like a dagger. And yet, he forced himself to meet her gaze—however briefly—before lowering his eyes again. Cold sweat dripped from his temples. His fingers curled, nails biting into his skin until a bead of blood rose.
“First,” she said, “you assumed I couldn’t handle the smell and sweat of labor. You mistook me for a dainty flower.”
"Second, you belittled me by having a prejudiced view that woman had an aversion to thinking."
“And third…” she paused. "You have the audacity to try feeding me and my sister as if you are already betrothed to me. Overstepping. Presumptuous. Conceited."
Her words were not raised—but they landed like hammers.
Viena’s brows knitted in concern. She tugged on Gwen’s sleeve, looking like she wanted to step in. She’d noticed the blood on Claude’s hand. The boy looked devastated. And he was trying so hard.
But before Viena could speak—
Lisabelle reached into her pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief. She extended it toward Claude.
"However, as it happens, I don't hate bold men who are honest and unpretending."
Claude looked up, stunned.
"Take your time, Claude Valias. I will be waiting upstairs."
Just like that, Lisabelle took grabbed Viena's shoulder and leave. Gwen also followed after, but not before she enjoyed the wonderstruck face of Claude. The previously looking dead of a young man, is suddenly filled with vigor and excitement. Thus, he makes haste for the preparation like the world is burning, even though Lisabelle comforted him to do his things without worrying over her.
Meanwhile, on the upper balcony of Abigail’s tavern, Lisabelle, Viena, and Gwen sat around a round table overlooking the park. It was the best seat in the house. Below, old men tossed crumbs to flocks of birds, and children chased one another in games of tag and postman’s knock. The air was alive with laughter and the perfume of spring—the kind of fragrance that made even old regrets soften.
The balcony caught a gentle breeze, rustling the lace at the hem of Viena’s dress as a waiter poured steaming tea into delicate porcelain cups.
“The day after tomorrow marks the end of your house arrest, Lisabelle,” Gwen said, lifting her cup with practiced grace. “How does it feel?”
Lisabelle rested her chin on her palm. “I’m feeling something you probably don’t want to hear.”
The two older girls laughed. Viena blinked, confused but amused, just as she reached for her cup. She made to sip, but Gwen intercepted with a quick hand, gently pulling it away.
“Too hot, sweetling,” Gwen said, winking. “Don’t trust the steam—it lies.”
Viena complied and turned her attention to Lisabelle. "Lily, I thought you are not happy with that guy."
"Am I?" Lisabelle replied mildly.
Gwen chuckled. “It’s complicated, Vivi. Hard for kids to discern.”
She leaned back in her chair, letting her smile stretch.
“But to put it simply,” she went on, “Lisabelle was toying with her words—and to great effect. Did you see his face? The poor boy looked like he got slapped and kissed at the same time. Spectacular.”
Lisabelle merely smiled and began pouring apple juice—not into a fresh cup, but right into her tea.
Viena stared. “Why’d you do that?”
Lisabelle stirred the cup as she noticed the faint fragrant coming from the jug of juice. “Mmhm. This is a good apple juice.”
“But why not just say nice things to him? Make it simple?”
"You're too small for this. Be at least 160 cm, and I will tell you what you want to know."
Viena slumped in her seat, puffing her cheeks with exaggerated frustration. Gwen, seeing this, relented with a laugh and decided to explain.
“Well, listen closely, apprentice,” Gwen said, adopting the tone of a playful tutor. “Lisabelle wasn’t cruel—she was commanding the terms. She showed him she’s not the kind of woman to be impressed by secrecy or flattery. She challenged him to respect her, to see her not as a delicate flower, but as high-value woman that cut above many others.”
She paused to sip her tea.
“And yet,” Gwen continued, “she also acknowledged his effort. He hunted, prepared, planned. She didn’t humiliate him—she made sure he understood what it would take to earn her regard. And then she left him with just enough hope to rise to the challenge.”
Lisabelle didn’t add anything, but the silence said enough.
Viena’s eyes widened. “Wow.”
“Keep your chin up, Vivi,” Lisabelle said at last, casting her a sly smile. “You’re only at the doorstep. There’s a whole world to learn from.”
And with that, the three sat quietly for a moment, their cups steaming gently as spring sang on in the streets below.