Fyaira jumped at the sound of a chair sliding to her side. Instinctively, she backed away from the man now sitting next to her. Fool girl that she was, she'd allowed herself to dream up a scenario where a gallant prince rescued her and brought her to his kingdom to rule. Just the memory of it brought heat to her cheeks. 

That heat was extinguished as swiftly as a flame doused in water when the man spoke. Obviously, he knew. She was tempted to get up and flee then and there, yet she knew better than to act on that desire. It would draw far too much attention to her, and perhaps someone else would realize who she was. No. She would speak to this man calmly and level-headedly, as mother would have. After all, this newcomer had made her an offer. 

"I'm certain the princess would reward her savior very well indeed," she said, meeting his eyes, searching for any deceit there. His suggestion could be a deception, but there was little point in such games. If he wanted her dead, he could have simply alerted the mob and it would be so. But the poor would offer but a pittance for a reward. And that was why he was speaking to her. He wanted to line his pockets.

Fyaira forced a confident smile onto her face, though she was far from assured of her safety. She was used to associating with the greedy. They made the best of servants as long as your pockets were deeper than your foes'. And once she had been escorted to safety, battles would be fought, then she would be the queen. None wealthier. 

"Tell me, brave warrior," she said, whispering. "What makes you think you possess the skills necessary to free the princess from a city of louts who would see her dead?"