By the time Layla and her companions had spent just a few days in Verdeti, her reputation as the "Ice Queen" had spread like wildfire. Everywhere she went, she could feel curious eyes following her.

Whispers trailed her in the streets and inns, and her serene demeanor only seemed to add fuel to the intrigue. At first, Layla ignored the attention, chalking it up to Verdeti's love for gossip and drama.

However, as time went on, the fascination with her took a more direct turn. Strangers would approach her boldly, striking up conversations that ranged from flirtatious to outright propositions.

Shopkeepers would linger unnecessarily when serving her, and inn patrons would "accidentally" bump into her in the hallways, eager for a chance to speak with her.

What irritated Layla the most were the men—and occasionally women—who would corner her under the guise of innocent questions only to segue into thinly veiled attempts to spend more time with her.

It was exhausting, and Layla was quickly running out of patience.

______

One evening, after yet another bold stranger had tried to invite her for a drink, Layla returned to the inn visibly annoyed. Mary and Raziel were lounging in the common room, enjoying a quiet dinner when Layla stormed in and sat down heavily at their table.

"Trouble?" Raziel asked, barely suppressing a smirk.

Layla gave him a pointed look. "If one more person tries to ask me out for a drink or follows me down the street, I might actually lose my temper."

Mary chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You've become quite popular, Layla. Isn't it flattering?"

Layla scowled. "It's not flattering; it's irritating. I can't take a single step without someone stopping me. I need this to stop."

Mary leaned back in her chair, clearly entertained. "Well, you could always make it clear that you're not interested."

"I have made it clear," Layla snapped. "They don't listen. That's why I'm asking for your help."

Mary tapped her chin thoughtfully, a playful grin spreading across her face. "Fine. I'll help you, but on one condition."

"What condition?" Layla asked warily.

Mary's grin widened. "I'll tell everyone that if they want a chance to spend a night with you, they have to beat me first."

The room fell silent as Raziel nearly choked on his drink, and Layla's eyes widened in horror. "Mary!"

"Relax," Mary said, waving her hand dismissively. "It's not like anyone will actually win. Besides, it'll be fun."

Layla's cheeks flushed with anger. "Take it back. Right now."

But before Layla could press the issue, a group of nearby patrons who had overheard the conversation began whispering excitedly. One bold man, clearly emboldened by a bit too much drink, stood up and approached their table.

"Is it true?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with eagerness. "Anyone who defeats you gets a chance with her?"

Layla buried her face in her hands. "This is a terrible idea."

Mary, on the other hand, looked delighted. She stood up and gave the man a challenging smile. "That's right. Do you want to try your luck?"

The man puffed out his chest and stepped forward. "I'll do it! A chance to spend the night with the Ice Queen? Count me in!"

The other patrons quickly cleared a space in the common room, forming a makeshift arena. Mary stepped into the center, rolling up her sleeves as she faced her challenger. Layla, meanwhile, sat at the table, her arms crossed and her glare fixed firmly on Mary.

"This is ridiculous," Layla muttered.

"Ridiculous, but effective," Raziel said with a smirk.

The first challenger didn't last long. Mary's speed and precision were unmatched, and within seconds, she had the man pinned to the ground, his pride more bruised than his body. The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter as Mary helped him to his feet, patting him on the back.

"Nice try," she said with a grin. "Next?"

As word of Mary's bold declaration spread through the inn and into the streets, the common room quickly turned into an impromptu battleground.

Men and women alike gathered to watch the spectacle unfold, drawn by the allure of a chance to challenge Mary for Layla's company.

The atmosphere buzzed with excitement, bets being placed on who might succeed and whether Mary's unbeaten streak could be broken.

The first few challengers stepped forward, brimming with confidence. The initial bouts were brief—almost comical.

A burly blacksmith, easily twice Mary's size, attempted to overwhelm her with brute strength.

Mary sidestepped his lumbering charge with the grace of a dancer, tripping him with a subtle movement of her foot. The man landed face-first on the ground, eliciting cheers and laughter from the crowd.

Another challenger, a wiry street performer, tried a different approach, relying on speed and agility to outmaneuver Mary.

He darted around her in rapid circles, hoping to confuse her, but Mary's sharp instincts proved too much for him. A swift feint followed by a well-placed palm strike sent him sprawling, his acrobatics reduced to an embarrassed tumble.

"Next?" Mary asked, her voice light and teasing, as if she were enjoying a leisurely sparring session rather than fending off a series of overeager opponents.

As more challengers stepped forward, their approaches grew more creative. One particularly bold individual—a self-proclaimed "master tactician"—attempted to distract Mary with a flurry of small objects thrown in her direction.

Coins, buttons, and even a piece of bread were hurled her way in an effort to throw her off balance.

Mary's expression remained unimpressed as she calmly deflected the projectiles with minimal effort. When the man finally lunged at her, she sidestepped gracefully and swept his legs out from under him in a single fluid motion.

Another challenger brought his own weapon—a wooden staff—and boasted about his years of training.

Mary borrowed a broomstick from the innkeeper and met him in the center of the room, twirling her makeshift weapon with a playful smirk.

The ensuing fight was over in moments, with Mary disarming her opponent so quickly that the crowd barely had time to react. The man was left standing there, clutching at air while Mary tapped him lightly on the shoulder with the broomstick.

"Better luck next time," she quipped, handing the broomstick back to the innkeeper.