" As I emerged onto a lovely brick-patterned street some of the noise I heard resolved into music. My steps turned automatically that way, and I saw an inn, its windows bright with golden light, its doors wide open. As always when I heard music, my heart felt light and the tiredness in my body diminished. This was good music, too, not just the awkward plunkings and tweetings that served merely to mark the right melody for enthusiastic but untrained singers, as I was used to in Tlanth. It had been a very long while since a minstrel, much less wandering players, had dared our mountain heights. Though we did love entertainment, the word had probably spread down-mountain that about all they’d get from us for their pains would be loud applause and a bit of plain food.
But this inn seemed to have no such problem. Stepping inside, I counted six different instruments, all of them played well. The noises of people having a good time made listening difficult, so I pressed between merrymakers, trying to get closer to the musicians.
Someone moved, someone else changed position, and I found myself wedged against a table against one wall--a high table with ironwork chairs, instead of the usual low tables and cushions. The metal frame of the table dug into my hip, but at least no one could push me away, and I had a reasonably good view of the musicians.
And so I stood for a time, swaying and nodding with the complicated rhythms. People got up and danced, something I longed to do. I told myself it was just as well that I did not know any of the latest steps, for the last thing I needed was to risk drawing attention to myself--especially if my ankle suddenly twinged and gave out.
It did ache, I realized as I stood there, and my stomach growled and rumbled. But it was so good to be warm, and to feel safe, and to listen to--
A player faltered; the musicians stopped. Around me the voices altered a little, from loud and jovial to questioning. I felt tension dart through the room, like a frightened bird. Faces turned toward the door. Terror leaped in me as I shifted my shoulder just a little, then peeked swiftly under the gesturing arm of the man standing next to me.
Baron Debegri stood at the entrance. He negligently waved a gloved hand toward the table he wanted--a central table, with the best view of the musicians. Two stone-faced warriors motioned to the people already seated there.
No word had been spoken. The people at the table picked up their dishes and glasses and disappeared silently into the crowd. Debegri sat down, hands on thighs, looking well pleased with himself.
I stared at him, astounded at my amazingly bad luck. But of course he wouldn’t search at night. And of course he’d quarter himself in the best place available, and if this were indeed a resort town, the inns would be the best.
I couldn’t stop sneaking peeks at him as he was served a substantial meal and a bottle of what had to be the very best bluewine. No one sat with him, but one of his personal guards stood at the doorway, another behind his chair, silent, watchful, awaiting his command. He didn’t offer them anything to eat, just sat there and gorged himself.
As I watched, my fear slowly turned into anger, and then to rage. Heady with hunger, I struggled within myself. I felt if I didn’t do something, make some kind of gesture, I would be a coward forever. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)