The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 571: The King Off Duty [II]

Balthor didn’t go straight to the bar this time.

Brynja was already moving through the crowd with a tray balanced on one palm when the three of them stepped fully inside. She passed close enough that the scent of forge-smoke and spiced ale clung faintly to her clothes.

Her eyes brushed over them.

"Three?" she asked briskly, voice raised just enough to carry over the drums.

Balthor cleared his throat. "Three."

"Follow me."

She turned without ceremony, weaving through the dense tavern floor toward a heavier oak table near the side wall—close enough to the music to feel it, far enough from the center to allow conversation. The table bore scorch marks and knife scratches, lived-in and honest.

She set down three thick ceramic mugs. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"What are you drinking?" she asked, already reaching for a cloth to wipe the table again.

"The strongest thing you’ve got," Balthor replied.

She glanced at him briefly. "That’s not a flavor."

Noel rested a hand on the back of his chair. "Something local. Whatever people here actually drink."

"That narrows it down to everything," she said. "But fine."

Her gaze shifted to Noriel.

"And you?"

"I’ll take the same," Noriel said. "If this is a poor decision, I prefer shared consequences."

Brynja gave the faintest hint of a smile.

"Dark amber," she said. "Second barrel tonight. Don’t rush it."

She turned and disappeared into the current of bodies, leaving them to sit.

Noel watched her move. "Efficient."

"She runs half the floor when it gets crowded," Balthor replied, tone casual, though his eyes followed her too. "Her aunt owns the place."

"Second job?" Noriel asked quietly.

"Aye. She works the lower forges during the day."

Before the conversation could continue, Brynja returned with three filled tankards, placing them down with steady hands.

"Here," she said. "If you start singing badly, I’m blaming the ale."

Balthor lifted his mug. "That’s slander."

"You’ve done it before."

He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. "That was one time."

"Twice," she corrected calmly.

Noel took a drink, letting the warmth settle in his chest. The music shifted tempo again, faster now, a chorus beginning to rise from the stage.

Brynja lingered a second longer than necessary.

"You’re quieter than usual," she observed, looking at Balthor.

"I’m blending in," he said.

She looked him up and down.

"You’re trying," she replied.

Then she added, almost as an afterthought, "Of course, Your Majesty."

Balthor stiffened.

Noel’s mug paused halfway to his lips.

Noriel’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Brynja met Balthor’s gaze without bowing, without raising her voice.

"I recognized you when you walked in," she said plainly. "You stand like someone who expects walls to move for him."

A faint flush crept up beneath Balthor’s beard. He glanced around instinctively, but the tavern hadn’t changed. No one was paying attention.

"You could have kept that to yourself," he muttered.

"I did," she replied. "Until now."

A small pause.

"You’re not here as a king," she continued. "So I won’t treat you like one. But don’t think I don’t notice."

She straightened.

"And don’t worry. I won’t announce it to the room. My aunt would throw me out for causing that kind of trouble."

Balthor let out a slow breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

"Good," he said. "Because I’m not here for trouble."

Brynja’s brow lifted slightly. "That’s disappointing."

Then she turned away, already calling out to another table.

Noel leaned back in his chair.

"She handles you well," he said quietly.

Noriel took a measured sip of his drink. "She handles the situation well."

Across the tavern, Brynja laughed at something a miner said, the sound cutting through the music.

Balthor stared into his mug for a moment.

"She always has."

Noel took another drink, then set the mug down slowly.

"So," he said, keeping his voice low, "are you going to just sit there and stare at your ale all night?"

Balthor frowned slightly. "I’m not staring."

"You are," Noriel said calmly. "You have not blinked in at least ten seconds."

Balthor finally looked up at them. "I’m thinking."

"About war?" Noel asked.

"No."

"Good," Noel replied. "Then go talk to her."

Balthor hesitated. "She’s working."

"She’s always working," Noriel said. "That cannot be your excuse every time."

Balthor shifted in his seat. "It’s not that simple."

"It never is," Noel answered. "But if you wait for simple, you’ll be old and still sitting at this same table pretending you don’t care."

Balthor shot him a look. "You’re bold for someone who just announced three children."

Noel shrugged lightly. "Exactly. I don’t waste time."

Noriel leaned forward slightly. "The council pressures you about succession every week. You claim you do not want a political contract. That leaves one alternative."

Balthor narrowed his eyes. "You’re both enjoying this too much."

"No," Noel said plainly. "We’re just tired of hearing you complain about pressure when there’s someone you clearly like."

Balthor glanced across the room.

Brynja was carrying two full trays now, speaking to a group of miners while keeping an eye on the bar. She moved with focus, not looking in their direction.

"She deserves better than being dragged into palace politics," Balthor said quietly.

Noriel answered without hesitation. "Then do not drag her. Invite her."

Silence hung between them for a moment.

Noel leaned back in his chair. "You don’t have to propose marriage tonight. Just talk to her. Ask her to sit when she has a break. That’s it."

Balthor exhaled slowly.

"And if she refuses?" he asked.

Noel smiled faintly. "Then at least you tried."

Noriel added, "And if she agrees, you will have achieved more progress in one evening than in the past year."

Balthor stared at them both.

"You two are insufferable."

"Go," Noel said.

After another second of hesitation, Balthor stood.

He adjusted his tunic once, rolled his shoulders, and headed toward the bar.

Noel watched him go.

Noriel took a calm sip of ale. "This will be interesting."

Noel nodded. "It already is."

Balthor stopped a few steps from the bar, waiting until Brynja finished pouring a round for another table.

She noticed him before he spoke.

"You need a refill already?" she asked, not looking up as she wiped the counter.

"No," Balthor said.

That made her glance at him.

He cleared his throat once, then rested both hands on the bar.

"When do you finish your shift?"

Brynja blinked once.

Then slowly, one corner of her mouth lifted.

"Oh?" she said. "Do you finally have the courage to ask me out?"

The question was direct.

Balthor didn’t look away.

"Is that a no?" he asked.

She held his gaze for a second longer than necessary.

"That," she said calmly, "is a ’I’ve been waiting for you to ask for quite some time.’"

The noise of the tavern continued around them, but for a moment it felt distant.

Balthor exhaled, something loosening in his chest.

"So?" he asked. "When do you finish?"

Brynja glanced over her shoulder toward the older dwarf behind the bar. "Another hour," she said. "Maybe less if the miners stop pretending they can outdrink each other."

"I’ll wait."

"Alright," she replied.

She turned back to her work, but the faint smile remained.

Across the tavern, Noel raised his mug slightly.

Noriel allowed himself the smallest nod.

Balthor looked back at them.

Then, without hiding it, he lifted his thumb in their direction.

Noel grinned.

Noriel shook his head once, though there was approval in his eyes.

The drums pounded on.

Ale flowed.