Invited to a war council out of courtesy, Marin steels herself with the thought that she should at least try to be useful, even if she has no business discussing troop movements. She bustles in with a tray of cookies and a steaming pot of tea, reminding herself that she understands hospitality better than battle plans. The sweet, spiced scent cuts through the heavy smell of ink and leather, startling the grim-faced men hunched over their maps. As the clink of cups and the rustle of her skirts break the tense stillness, she feels every gaze settle on her—some faintly amused, others plainly baffled. She swallows the urge to retreat, telling herself that if she can't contribute strategy, she can at least offer comfort. Kael doesn't stop her — he just watches, eyes following her with an unreadable intensity.
She works her way around the table, placing cups in front of men who look like they haven't been offered tea in years, until she reaches Kael. Leaning over the central map table to set the pot beside him, her elbow grazes a teetering stack of papers. She makes a desperate, awkward grab for them — one hand holding the teapot, the other flapping ineffectually at the fluttering sheets — but only manages to bat them in different directions. They drift down in a slow, doomed arc, landing like surrender flags on the floor.
Marin crouches to gather them, muttering apologies. As she straightens the stack, her fingers pause on a single sheet near the bottom — a detailed troop movement report that immediately feels off to her merchant-trained eye. Years of memorising trade routes and market roads make the map's oddities jump out instantly: supply lines drawn through impractical terrain, paths no sane trader would risk, and roads she knows have been closed for months. At first glance, it seems ordinary, but her merchant-trained mind automatically begins to read it differently. The supply routes don't line up with the natural trade paths. The distances don't make sense for the time frames given. Someone's drawn them to look right — but they're not.
She frowns. "This is… odd," she says aloud without thinking.
Her voice carries into the silence, and several heads turn. She glances at Kael. "It's like someone mapped this for show, not for use. You'd never send carts along these paths — too much mud here, bandit trouble here, and this road?" She taps it lightly, leaning in a bit more.
"It's been closed for repairs for months. No merchant would try it." She glances back at the page, warming to her own point.
"And look here — this detour would add two days of travel for no reason. Whoever drew this has never hauled a wagonload in their life."
One of the generals frowns. "Why would anyone map it that way?"
Marin looks up, a little startled at being directly questioned. "Because they don't care if the carts get there on time — they just want to make it look like they're moving supplies. Or they're hiding something. In merchant work, a bad route is either stupidity… or it's deliberate. And trust me, I've seen enough deliberate ones to know the difference."
Another general leans forward. "You're saying this was designed to mislead?"
"Yes," Marin says, surprising herself with the firmness in her own voice.
"You can lie with maps just as easily as with words. Change one route, one road marking, and suddenly half your goods 'vanish' without anyone noticing until it's too late." She tilts the paper toward them, tracing a finger along the most suspicious section.
"Here — they funnel all movement through this choke point. If I wanted to rob a shipment blind, I'd camp right here. It's practically an invitation."
A younger officer blinks. "You sound like you've planned this sort of thing before."
Marin's cheeks warm. "Only in theory. My father used to say if you want to stop a thief, you have to think like one."
The words come out far more confidently than she expects, and a little voice in her head whispers, Look at you, lecturing generals like you own the place. Next you'll be telling them how to price turnips.
One of the older generals mutters, "She's right." A couple of others nod reluctantly, leaning in to study the map as if seeing it for the first time.
The officers stare at her. Kael's eyes sharpen. He says nothing, but in that stillness, a memory flickers — Marin in the marketplace months ago, standing protectively in front of a child facing down a guard, her clumsy tumble into a basket of apples scattering the confrontation apart. Even then, she had seen more than most. Back then, he'd thought her unusual: a young woman clearly afraid but willing to stand her ground, quick-thinking in a way that didn't rely on force. He had found it strange when the king later named her as his bride — a merchant's daughter with no noble training, no military ties — but now, watching her pick apart an enemy deception in front of seasoned officers, he wondered if the king had seen something he hadn't yet understood.
Captain Ren takes the sheet from her. His brow creases. "This isn't ours. It's a plant." A murmur ripples around the table as recognition dawns: it's an enemy plan, hidden in plain sight.
Before Marin can retreat back behind the safety of her tea tray, Kael leans forward, his voice low. "Stay."
Marin blinks. "Stay?"
"You notice things." His tone makes it sound like an order, but there's a flicker in his gaze — interest, curiosity, maybe even respect. He still found it strange that the king had chosen her — a merchant's daughter with no noble schooling or military ties — yet here she was, seeing through deception that experienced officers had missed. Part of him wondered if the king's choice had been more deliberate than he'd assumed.
Before Marin can answer, a tall, elegantly dressed noblewoman at the far side of the table approaches. "My dear Lady Draven," she says smoothly, her smile warm but assessing. "That was… most impressive. You must tell me sometime how a merchant's eye catches what a soldier's cannot."
Marin manages a polite smile. "Mostly it's years of looking for where the money leaks out, my lady."
The noblewoman chuckles softly. "A valuable skill in war as well as trade." She glances at Kael as if to say you should keep her close, then turns back to Marin. "Perhaps we should speak more after this council."
Marin, still oblivious to how much she has just unsettled the room, brushes crumbs from her skirt. "Well… tea's getting cold," she says, trying to lighten the moment.
The noblewoman remains beside her, lowering her voice just enough that their conversation becomes a private murmur while the men resume their tense discussion over the map. "I am Lady Alendra Vale," she says, inclining her head with practiced grace. "I would be very interested in hearing more about your merchant background, Lady Draven. I suspect there is more to you than meets the eye."
Marin offers a small, almost shy smile. "Marin, then. And it's mostly just years of moving goods around and keeping my family's accounts in the black. Not exactly exciting dinner conversation."
"Oh, but it can be," Lady Alendra replies, eyes glinting. "Merchants know the truth of a land better than lords do. You read its roads, its markets, its people. That is a kind of intelligence soldiers underestimate."
Marin laughs softly, glancing toward Kael, who is still watching her between exchanges with his officers. "I'm beginning to think he won't underestimate me for long."
The room stays silent toward her end of the table, but Kael's gaze lingers, as if she's just confirmed something he's been quietly suspecting.