The next morning, I took my time, lingering over tea in the inn's common room as the sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the floorboards. Not with breakfast, not with walking the market — with letting the merchant woman wonder if I'd appear at all. We'd built enough presence now that absence would leave a space, a subtle void she'd notice amid her routine, making my eventual arrival feel like a deliberate choice rather than coincidence.
By the time I stepped into the market, the initial rush had ebbed, stalls half-stocked after the morning sales, vendors wiping counters and chatting idly. She was already there, hood lowered against the warming air, speaking with the spice merchant over a jar of ground cloves, her voice carrying that firm edge as she negotiated a bulk price.
She spotted me over the top of a jar and didn't look away immediately, her eyes holding mine for a second longer than necessary, a flicker of recognition—or perhaps expectation—crossing her features.
[Influence level with target: 68% → 69%. Target recognition present.]
I kept my approach casual, stopping at a neighboring stall selling dried herbs, fingering a bundle of rosemary as if weighing its quality. When she finished her transaction, basket heavier with a wrapped parcel, she walked over, her steps measured on the damp stones.
"You missed the best part of the morning," she said, tilting her head slightly, the silver streak in her hair catching the light.
"Sometimes it's better to arrive when the crowd's thinner," I replied, setting the herbs down and turning to face her fully. "Less noise, clearer deals."
Her eyes narrowed slightly in thought, assessing the words, before she said, "Do you have business this afternoon?"
"Not pressing," I said, keeping my tone even, open.
"Good. Come by my shop."
[Influence level with target: 70%. Condition met: private meeting trigger unlocked.]
Her shop was quiet when I arrived, the street outside drowsy with the late-morning sun baking the puddles dry, a faint steam rising from the stones. She locked the door behind me with a soft click, the sound echoing in the empty space.
"Inventory," she said, as if that explained it, gesturing to the shelves lined with goods—fabrics folded neatly, spices in sealed jars, trinkets gleaming on hooks. "And some accounts I'd like your opinion on."
The accounts were neat, spread across a small table in the back room, her handwriting precise in the ledger's columns, ink black and unsmudged. She sat across from me, pouring tea from a kettle into two cups, the steam rising with a faint citrus scent as she slid one toward me.
I scanned the figures, noting the inflows from sales, outflows to suppliers, the careful balance she'd maintained. They were sound — better than sound, with margins that showed savvy negotiation — but I pointed out two entries that could be shifted, reallocating a minor expense to offset a tariff without drawing guild scrutiny.
Her lips curved, a subtle approval in the way she leaned forward. "You do understand numbers."
"Numbers are just another kind of language," I said, meeting her gaze over the rim of my cup, the tea warm on my tongue.
She held my gaze longer than was strictly polite, her fingers tracing the edge of her own cup before setting it down with a soft clink. "You know, most men would have jumped in by now with their own stories. You listen first."
"Listening gets you further," I replied.
She stood then, moving to the shelves. "Come here. I want to show you something."
We moved to the shelves then, her showing me goods from distant ports— a bolt of silk from the eastern weavers, smooth under my fingers; a carved ivory figurine from southern traders, cool and intricate. She explained how each found its way here, her voice steady, pointing out the marks of authenticity, the hidden values that made them profitable.
I listened, asked just enough to keep her talking— "How do you verify the silk's origin?" or "What's the demand like for the ivory?" — but always with my full attention on her — not the stock, watching the way her eyes lit when she spoke of a good deal, the subtle shift in her posture as she relaxed.
At one point, she stepped close enough for her shoulder to brush mine as she reached for a small carved box on a higher shelf, the wood polished to a sheen, her arm extending past me.
"This," she said, holding it out, her body inches from mine, the faint floral scent of her skin mixing with the shop's cedar. "is worth more than it looks. Most buyers wouldn't understand why—the grain hides a compartment for valuables."
"Then you don't sell it to most buyers," I said, taking the box, our fingers brushing in the exchange, Desire Touch igniting a subtle warmth that made her breath catch faintly.
She didn't step back immediately, her eyes meeting mine, the air between us thickening with unspoken tension.
I set the box down slowly, my hand lingering near hers on the shelf. "Some things are meant for those who appreciate them," I said, my voice low, laced with Desire Tongue to deepen the pull.
Her gaze dropped to my lips for a second, then back up. "And do you... appreciate?" she asked, her voice softer, a hint of challenge in it.
"More than you know," I murmured, closing the small distance, my hand sliding to her waist, pulling her gently against me. Desire Touch pulsed stronger now, warmth spreading from the contact, making her lean in with a soft gasp.
Our lips met—slow at first, exploratory, her mouth parting under mine as the kiss deepened, tongues brushing in a tentative dance. She moaned quietly, "Yes... like that," her hands coming up to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt as she pressed closer.
I backed her against the shelf, my hand trailing up her side to cup her breast through the dress, thumb circling her nipple until it hardened, drawing another moan from her—"Oh... don't stop." Desire Touch amplified the sensation, her body arching into my touch, hips grinding subtly against mine.
"You're... bold," she breathed, breaking the kiss to nip at my neck, her hands exploring my back, nails scraping lightly.
"Only when it's worth it," I replied, my other hand hiking her dress slightly, fingers teasing her thigh, inching higher until she gasped, "Higher... please."
She pulled me in for another kiss, fiercer now, her leg hooking around mine as the heat built, her moans growing—"Mmm... yes, there." But before it escalated further, she paused, breath ragged, stepping back just enough to create space, her cheeks flushed.
"Not yet," she said, though her eyes said otherwise.
I nodded, respecting the line, the tension lingering like a promise.
By the time I left, the air between us had changed. Not just business, not just curiosity — an unspoken awareness that the next time we were alone, the line might not hold, her body still humming from the touch.
[Influence level with target: 78%. Projected bond completion within 1–2 encounters.]
Back at The Copper Flagon, the serving girl gave me a look that asked questions I didn't answer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she set down my drink, a subtle possessiveness in her posture. She didn't need to know where I'd been — only that she still had her place, her bond a steady anchor amid the shifting games.
The system was quiet, but I could feel the momentum now. One more move, and the merchant woman would fall into my orbit completely, her walls giving way to the pull I'd carefully built.