Deviating from the original plot

Chapter forty-nine

A few hours while later, Victoria settled onto a worn wooden bench in the busy square. She scattered a handful of corn kernels onto the ground, and the chicken wasted no time, pecking at them greedily.

"I still can't believe a bunch of drunks called you their god," Victoria muttered.

She fed it a few more kernels and let out a weary sigh.

"You're free now, Little guy," she said, standing up and taking a step away. The chicken tilted its head and clucked, following her closely.

"Uhm... really, be gone now," she said, trying to shoo it. It only clucked and stepped closer.

"No, I mean it-go!" Victoria said, exasperated.

The chicken paid no attention to her protests, simply trotting along behind her as she walked. Victoria let out a long, resigned sigh, finally accepting its stubborn companionship.

So she continued her search for hours, hopping from tavern to tavern, but each one yielded nothing.

"This is ridiculous... aren't taverns supposed to be helpful?" she muttered, flopping down onto the pavement. The chicken clucked softly beside her.

Victoria sighed. "After this last one, I'm officially done for today."

She rose to her feet and walked on, the chicken hurrying behind her. At last, she reached what would be her final tavern of the day. Stepping inside with the bird in tow, she was met by the familiar rowdy atmosphere.

She made her way to the counter, the chicken trailing after her like a second shadow. Settling onto a stool, Victoria felt the bird hop into her lap-something it had already done earlier that day. She no longer found it surprising.

"Good day," Victoria greeted the bartender.

The man gave her a sceptical look, one brow arched high. "Sorry, no pets allowed inside."

Victoria blinked, then let out a short laugh. "This isn't my pet. Just a strange chicken I happened to meet today. Some drunkards were worshipping him in a tavern downtown, can you believe it?"

Her chuckle earned her nothing but a hard glare. The bartender snapped his fingers, and two burly men stepped up behind her. "We need you to leave," one of them said firmly.

Frustration washed over Victoria, and she sighed heavily before scooping the chicken into her arms. "Fine," she muttered, pushing off the stool.

The evening air met her as she stepped back onto the street, the tavern's laughter and clamour muffled once the door shut behind her. She held the chicken close.

"Well," she whispered bitterly, "that was a waste of time."

The chicken clucked softly in her arms.

"Lady Victoria?"

Victoria turned, startled, to see her friends approaching in plain clothes. Even disguised, she recognised them instantly.

"Lady Celeste? Lady Evelyn?" She blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here-and why in the world are you holding that filthy beast?" Celeste shrieked, pointing accusingly at the chicken.

"Oh, his name is Little Guy," Victoria said. "I met him earlier while I was visiting taverns around the city."

"Why though?" Evelyn asked, her gaze flickering from Victoria to the bird, her voice laced with genuine concern.

"Well... I was kind of going undercover," Victoria admitted, her tone sheepish. "I found him being worshipped by a group of drunks who thought he was their god. They were mistreating him, so I... rescued him."