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Chapter 3 - chapter 3

Chapter 3 – The Art of Deception

The morning air over Blackwater Bay reeked of salt and smoke. From the harbor came the groan of ships and the shouts of dockhands, all fighting to be heard above the gulls.

Aden stood beside Petyr Baelish as their carriage rolled through the crowded streets, the crimson banners of the crown fluttering above the roofs like warning flags.

"The Spice King," Baelish murmured, watching the chaos outside through half-lidded eyes. "A merchant prince from Qarth. He trades in saffron, silk, and secrets. Today, you'll be my tongue."

"My tongue?" Aden repeated.

Baelish smiled. "Words can buy more than gold ever could. Let's see how expensive yours are."

---

They met in a perfumed chamber near the harbor — thick carpets, incense burning low, and the Spice King seated like a jeweled toad behind a mountain of cushions. His eyes were lined with kohl, his fingers heavy with rings.

"Lord Baelish," he greeted, his accent rolling like warm oil. "And your… clerk."

"A scribe with an ear for numbers," Baelish replied smoothly. "And truth."

The merchant chuckled. "Truth is rarely profitable. Shall we discuss something more agreeable?"

The conversation that followed was a dance of half-truths and veiled threats. The Spice King demanded repayment of a crown debt — inflated, riddled with hidden interest. Baelish deflected with charm, exaggeration, and quiet menace, then slowly leaned back and gestured to Aden.

"Perhaps my clerk can explain our position more… delicately."

Aden's pulse quickened. He hadn't expected the stage so soon.

But as he stepped forward, the fear sharpened into focus.

"My lord," Aden began, bowing slightly, "you speak of debt as though it were a chain. But chains can only hold if they're seen. The crown's obligations are like wind — felt, never touched."

The Spice King frowned. "Poetry does not fill coffers, boy."

"No," Aden said softly, "but it empties them faster than greed ever could. You ask for repayment, yet your ships still dock in our ports, your spices still flow through our markets. Tell me — who truly owes whom?"

Silence. Then Baelish laughed — quiet, approving.

The merchant shifted, uncertain whether to be insulted or impressed. "You have a sharp tongue for a clerk."

"Only sharp enough to cut through fog," Aden said.

The man snorted, pouring himself more wine. "You're dangerous. You'll make a fine liar someday."

Aden smiled faintly. "I've already started."

---

When the meeting ended, the deal lay in shambles — or so it seemed. Baelish had conceded nothing, promised little, and yet the merchant left thinking he had won.

As the carriage rattled back up toward the Red Keep, Baelish reclined with an amused sigh.

"Not bad for your first act," he said. "Though you nearly cost me a trade route."

"Nearly," Aden repeated. "But not quite."

Baelish's eyes glimmered. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

Aden hesitated — then smirked. "It's cleaner than bloodshed. And far more dangerous."

"Good," Baelish said softly. "Dangerous men are useful. Until they forget who taught them."

The words lingered like smoke between them.

---

That night, Aden couldn't sleep. The thrill of the exchange still hummed through him — the power of turning words into weapons, the quiet satisfaction of outthinking a man twice his age.

He stared at his reflection in the window, the city sprawling below like a dying beast.

"This place changes you," he whispered. "Or maybe it just shows what was already there."

He thought of the man he'd been — a nobody from another world, lost and powerless. Here, though, his mind mattered. His deceit had weight.

And he liked it.

---

The next morning, another parchment waited on his desk.

No seal this time — only a single line written in an unfamiliar hand:

> "The Spider has taken notice. Be careful where you spin your web."

Aden read it twice, then burned it over the candle flame.

Let them watch, he thought.

Every web needs flies.

---

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