Alayna's words hung in the air, thick as the perfumed smoke from a nearby brazier. "Show me the man behind the mask."
It was a power play. A demand for vulnerability. A test. Wade's mind raced. Was this her own curiosity, or was it a command from one of his invisible employers? Littlefinger testing his new asset's obedience? Varys trying to unmask an anomaly?
He knew one thing for sure: the mask stayed on. But he could still give her what she wanted. Control. Or at least, the illusion of it.
His immediate goal was to flip the script. She wanted to unmask him for information; he would use the seduction to unmask her true allegiances.
Wade let out a low chuckle, a sound that was surprisingly warm through the fabric of his mask. He didn't step back. He stepped closer.
"Where's the fun in that?" he murmured, his voice a low counterpoint to her whisper. "The mystery is half the appeal. You don't ask a magician to reveal his tricks before the grand finale."
He reached up, but not for his own mask. His gloved fingers gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering on her cheek. "A woman as smart as you knows that a man who hides his face hides his secrets. But a woman who runs the city's secrets from a silk bed… whose secrets is she keeping?"
Alayna's composure was flawless, but he saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes. He wasn't resisting; he was challenging her. He was turning her test into a game.
"I work for myself," she said, her voice smooth as glass. "The only side I'm on is my own."
"I believe you," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "But I think you've had partners before. And I think you know exactly how to stay on the winning side." He leaned in, his masked lips just beside her ear. "So let's negotiate our partnership. But let's do it somewhere… more comfortable."
He didn't wait for an answer. He took her hand and led her towards the bed. He had seized the momentum. This was no longer her seducing him for answers; it was a mutual interrogation, a dance of two predators sizing each other up.
The progression was in the shifting power dynamic. Every touch, every whispered question was a move on the board.
"You're a confident man," she breathed as he guided her onto the plush mattress, "for someone who won't even show his face."
"Confidence is the only currency that matters in this city," he countered, his hands tracing the silk of her robe. "You should know that better than anyone."
He moved over her, a shadow in red and black. He kissed her, the strange sensation of the fabric of his mask pressing against her lips. It was weird, unsettling, and utterly intoxicating. It was a kiss that gave away nothing and took everything.
In the haze of passion and perfume, the interrogation continued, veiled in pillow talk.
"Your stunt with Pycelle was loud," she murmured later, tracing patterns on his chest. "Varys knew about it before the old man was done crying."
"The Spider has ears everywhere," Wade grunted, testing her.
Alayna let out a soft, knowing laugh. "His little birds see everything," she said, her voice laced with a professional's disdain. "But they don't hear everything. Not the important whispers. For that, you need quality, not quantity. You need a mockingbird, not a flock of sparrows."
There it was. The payoff.
It wasn't a confession. It was a professional opinion, delivered with the casual authority of someone who knew the inner workings of both spy networks intimately. And it revealed a subtle but unmistakable bias. She was comparing the two spymasters, and she was complimenting Littlefinger's methods. She was in Baelish's orbit. At the very least, she was a friendly power, if not a direct subordinate.
And that's where the questions stopped and the night began…
"Wooo-hoooo," he shouted as he rolled away from her, a contented smile on his face.
He had his answer. She worked for herself, yes – but she worked with Petyr Baelish. This whole seduction was almost certainly a loyalty test ordered by his own boss.
He had played the game and won. He had confirmed his suspicions, kept his mask on, and established a new, powerful alliance – even if it was one built on a mountain of lies.
Alayna shifted, propping herself up on an elbow to look at him, a languid, satisfied smile on her own face. Her guard was down, but her mind was as sharp as ever. The game wasn't over.
"So," she purred, her finger tracing the edge of his mask again, this time with a newfound familiarity. "Do we have a partnership, Wade? Are you in bed with me now?"
He looked into her intelligent, calculating eyes. He was in her bed, yes. But her question was much, much deeper. He was Littlefinger's agent. She was Littlefinger's associate. Was this a genuine alliance, or was Baelish just putting his two sharpest toys in the same box to see which one would break the other?
Wade woke to the scent of sandalwood and the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Alayna was already awake, sitting in a chair across the room, wrapped in a fresh silk robe and sipping from a cup of tea. She looked less like a woman after a night of passion and more like a general reviewing battlefield reports.
"Good morning," she said, her voice crisp and business-like. "I've had breakfast sent up."
"Right," Wade mumbled, sitting up. "Business and pleasure. Or in our case, business as pleasure." He felt a strange mix of satisfaction and unease. He'd gotten what he wanted, but he knew, with chilling certainty, that he'd just been the subject of a very thorough performance review.
A knock at the door revealed one of Alayna's servants, holding a silver tray. But it wasn't breakfast. It was a single, folded piece of parchment, sealed not with wax, but with a single, pressed pansy.
Alayna took it, her expression unreadable. She handed it to Wade. "For you."
Wade opened it. The note contained a simple charcoal drawing of a mockingbird perched on a forge's anvil. Beneath it was a single word: Now. It was a summons. An urgent one. Littlefinger had received Elia's report.
His goal for the day was suddenly, sharply in focus: he had to sell the performance of a lifetime to the greatest liar in Westeros.
"It seems our new partnership is already bearing fruit," Wade said, showing Alayna the drawing.
"The Master of Coin values timeliness," was all she said, her eyes betraying nothing. "Don't keep him waiting."
The meeting wasn't at the shipping office. This time, a silent guide led Wade to a small, discreet manse in a wealthy part of the city. The opulence was understated but immense. This was where Littlefinger lived, not just where he worked. The air of power was thicker here.
Petyr Baelish was in a walled garden, observing a row of immaculate rose bushes. He didn't turn as Wade approached.
"Pansies," Littlefinger said, his voice calm and pleasant. "A fascinating flower. They represent thought. Memory. A fitting symbol for a man who trades in secrets, wouldn't you agree?" He finally turned, a faint, knowing smile on his lips. "I've heard the most charming story, Mr. Wilson. About a mysterious 'treasure hunter' from the Free Cities."
The obstacle was clear. This was not a debriefing. It was an interrogation disguised as a friendly chat.
"Elia is a sweet girl," Littlefinger continued, stroking a rose petal. "But she has a tendency to believe romantic stories. Tell me, this treasure hunter… is he any good at his job?"
"The best," Wade said, leaning against a stone pillar and projecting an air of casual confidence he absolutely did not feel. "My patrons are very specific. They desire items of historical value from Westeros. Old Valyrian steel daggers, dragonbone bows, that sort of thing. I came to King's Landing following a lead on a Targaryen artifact, allegedly lost during the sack of the city."
He was weaving his lie, embellishing it with details that sounded authentic. "I bought the forge to have a secure base of operations. A place to examine and repair my findings without attracting the attention of the Gold Cloaks or… rival collectors."
Littlefinger listened, his head tilted. He seemed to be buying it. Wade had taken the initiative, created a cover, and used Baelish's own money to solidify it. In Littlefinger's world of calculating ambition, this was a sign of a competent, useful tool.
"How wonderfully proactive," Baelish said, and for the first time, Wade felt the compliment was genuine. These were his results. He'd passed the test. "Your cover story is… serviceable. And it has opened a new and exciting opportunity for us."
The stakes were about to go up.
"My other inquiries have hit a wall," Littlefinger said, beginning to stroll down the garden path. Wade fell into step beside him. "Lord Stannis is a stone wall. Impossible to get close to. But a man like you, a 'treasure hunter' with an interest in rare artifacts… you might be able to approach him from a different angle."
He stopped beside a small fountain. "Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis have been spending their time researching history. Genealogy, to be specific. They have become obsessed with one particular book."
Littlefinger locked eyes with Wade, his expression sharp and serious. "It is a massive, dry tome written by a Grand Maester decades ago. It is called The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms."
The title hit Wade like a lightning bolt. That's it! The book! The one with the Baratheon hair colors! He had to physically restrain himself from shouting "Eureka!" and doing a happy dance. He kept his expression neutral, a mask of professional curiosity. This was the payoff, a direct hit on the main plot's bullseye.
"Stannis has requested a copy from the Citadel," Littlefinger continued. "He spends hours with it. I want to know why. I want you to acquire that book, Mr. Wilson. Use your cover. Claim you have a buyer for it in Pentos. Bribe the Citadel's librarians, steal it from Stannis's study, I don't care. Get me that book. I want to read what the Hand of the King is reading."
It was a direct order that aligned perfectly with Wade's own secret mission. He could expose the Lannister secret and deliver a win for Littlefinger at the same time. It was perfect.
"Consider it found," Wade said.
He turned to leave, feeling a surge of triumph. He was ten steps ahead of everyone. He was in control.
"Oh, and Mr. Wilson?" Littlefinger's voice, soft as silk, stopped him dead.
Wade turned back.
"Alayna sends her regards," Baelish said, his smile never reaching his eyes. "She says you make a… compelling business partner. Do try not to damage her inventory. Good help is so hard to find."
The triumphant feeling in Wade's chest evaporated, replaced by an icy chill. The message was unmistakable. I know about last night. I know everything. You are my piece, and you will move where I tell you to move.
He had passed the test, yes. But he had just been firmly reminded who was writing it.
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