The morning was unusually still.
Sunlight poured through the slats of the wooden shutters, painting long golden bars across the pale stone floor. The scent of cardamom and fresh bread filled the dining hall, but August barely registered it. He sat with perfect posture, dressed in a pale blue linen robe, hair still slightly damp from the basin. His silver curls fell over one shoulder as he lifted a porcelain cup to his lips.
Across the house, the kitchen door creaked. A heavy step. A low breath. Elias was awake.
August didn't look up. He'd grown used to the presence of Elias, though he would never admit it aloud. The man moved with the kind of natural confidence only soldiers carried—a quiet but unmistakable awareness of every entrance, every shadow. It irritated August. And intrigued him.
Elias appeared in the doorway a moment later, sleeves rolled up, shirt loosely tied at the throat. There was a smudge of something—ash?—on his forearm. He looked like he hadn't slept.
"You're up early," Elias said, crossing the room with a slow gait.
"I could say the same of you," August replied without looking.
Elias set a plate beside him—fresh flatbread, butter with crushed fennel, and a handful of sweet black dates. "Didn't sleep much," he muttered, pouring himself a mug of the dark, bitter brew that passed for coffee in this part of the empire.
"Too hot? Or was it the smell of sea rats in your bedroll?"
Elias smirked, but there was no amusement behind his eyes.
"I caught someone near the harbor last night. Trying to sneak into the captain's quarters. Man had a southern accent and too many coins for a dock worker."
August finally looked up, grey eyes sharp. "And?"
"I followed him to the warehouse district. Lost him in a spice market, but he left a trail." Elias reached into his pocket and dropped a small, folded note onto the table.
August unfolded it carefully. Written in hurried ink, the message was in cipher—but the key was familiar. He decoded it in silence.
Delay departure. Replace silk manifests. No violence unless necessary. Watch the northern one.
His jaw tensed. "They know."
Elias sat across from him, setting his mug down with a heavy thud. "They know you're not just a merchant."
A silence stretched between them.
Then August spoke, voice quieter. "This trade mission was never about silk."
Elias arched a brow, not surprised. "Let me guess. Codes stitched into the lining of the bolts? Messages to be passed between courtiers?"
"Not just messages," August said, folding the note again. "Blueprints. Movements of fleets. Names of those sympathetic to the Crown hidden in thread patterns. My family's weavers have been encoding letters like this for decades. The empire just finally decided to use us."
Elias whistled low. "So you're a spy now."
"I am... what they need me to be," August replied bitterly.
Elias leaned forward, forearms on the table, green eyes fixed on him. "Then you need to start acting like one. You're not safe. Not here. Not once we board that ship. Someone's already trying to sabotage us."
August took a slow breath, holding Elias's gaze. "I didn't ask for your protection."
"No," Elias said, voice low and firm, "but you're damn well going to get it."
Night Before – Flashback
Hours earlier, under a violet sky streaked with stars...
Elias moved like smoke through the alleyways near the harbor, the scent of brine and cinnamon oil thick in the air. Somewhere between the merchant stalls and the shuttered inns, he had spotted a man handing off a small pouch of coins to the harbor master's apprentice.
He followed.
The stranger ducked through crates and shadows, slipping into the back of the spice market. There were no lanterns, only torchlight flickering from distant boats. Elias kept low, hand on his knife, listening. A whisper. A coded knock. A low reply in a language he barely understood.
Then the man vanished—into smoke, into crowd, into the belly of a crooked city.
But he left behind a single note, dropped between two sacks of dried saffron.
Elias picked it up, sensing danger in the parchment itself.
Back to the Present
August folded the note and tucked it into his sleeve. "We leave by noon. I want everything on the ship accounted for. I want the captain questioned. Quietly."
Elias stood. "I'll see to it."
He paused at the doorway, watching August for a breath too long.
"You know," he said, "for someone playing a merchant, you're doing a hell of a job being the bait instead."
August looked over his shoulder, a faint smirk touching the corner of his lips. "And yet the wolf keeps returning to guard the trap."
Elias didn't reply.
He didn't need to.
Absolutely—let's deepen the moment between them. Here's the continuation of their conversation, heavy with subtext, mistrust, and a slow build of intimacy:
---
Elias lingered in the doorway, hand resting against the frame as if unsure whether to leave or press further. August, still seated, returned his gaze with that maddening composure—the kind that made people underestimate him, until they realized too late what hid beneath the surface.
"Tell me something," Elias said finally. "What exactly do you expect to happen out there?"
August turned slightly, fingers absently tracing the rim of his coffee cup. "Out there?"
"On this mission. With spies shadowing us, bribes being passed around, fleets changing position like chess pieces. You're walking into a nest of knives. What's your endgame?"
For a long moment, August didn't answer. Then, softly, "My family was ruined by this game once. My father trusted the wrong envoy. My mother died in exile. All because someone played their part too well."
Elias straightened, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone.
"I intend to return with what was stolen. Our name. Our influence. The truth," August continued, voice sharpening like a blade. "And if I have to smile through ten banquets and sleep in a bed of scorpions to do it, I will."
Elias crossed the room again, slower this time. He stopped just beside August's chair.
"You ever actually killed a man, August?"
The question hung in the air like smoke.
August didn't flinch. "No."
"Planted false letters that got someone executed?"
August's eyes flicked up to meet his. "Not yet."
Elias nodded slightly. "You'll have to."
The silence between them now pulsed, thick and unspoken. It wasn't just the danger. It was something closer. Something neither wanted to name.
August looked away first, lips tightening. "I didn't ask for a conscience to follow me around like a watchdog."
"And I didn't ask for a spoiled silk lord with a death wish," Elias said, though not without a sliver of softness.
August stood now, not quite as tall as Elias but no less formidable. His voice, when he spoke, was velvet stretched over steel.
"Then let's not pretend either of us is here by choice."
They stood close—too close. A single breath would close the space between them. But neither moved.
At last, Elias stepped back. "Ship leaves in four hours. Wear something dull. I don't want you catching arrows for looking too pretty."
August smirked faintly, brushing past him. "Then stop staring."
Elias let out a low chuckle once August disappeared down the hallway.
This mission was going to get them both killed.
But gods help him—he was starting to look forward to it
To Be Continued