Chapter 13 – The Faces Behind the Curtain
The next morning, the Tower of Coin was abuzz again. But this time, the tension wasn't about burned ledgers — it was about new players.
When Aden entered Baelish's office, he wasn't alone. Three men waited inside — strangers to him, but not to the city's shadows.
Baelish smiled thinly. "Master Holt, meet some of the Crown's… partners. Lord Harys Mullendore, broker of ships. Ser Calen Vyrne, coinlender to half the Crownlands. And Maester Rendal, whom you already know."
Aden bowed politely, hiding the flicker of recognition. So this was the inner circle — men who fed from the same trough but smiled while biting each other's hands.
Lord Mullendore spoke first. "We've heard you've a talent for observation, Master Holt. Tell us, what's your opinion on Myr's little gesture?"
Aden weighed his answer carefully. "Gifts from Myr are rarely free. I'd sooner trust a sellsword with my purse."
Laughter rippled lightly through the room — all except Baelish, who watched in silence. Testing. Always testing.
Rendal's eyes glinted. "And if this envoy's true intent lies beyond trade?"
Aden met his gaze. "Then I imagine we'll find out who profits from our ignorance."
The conversation turned darker, circling around contracts, alliances, and the quiet war of favors that kept King's Landing breathing. But beneath it, Aden could feel something shifting — a subtle exclusion.
These men weren't just Baelish's allies. They were rivals, pretending at camaraderie. And Aden was the newest piece on the board — valuable, but untrusted.
When the meeting ended, Baelish lingered behind with him.
"You handled yourself well," he said, voice smooth but distant. "Remember, Master Holt — even allies draw blood. Just slower."
Aden inclined his head. "Then I'll keep the knife sharp."
Baelish smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. You'll need it."
Later that night, Aden returned home and found a single scrap of parchment slipped beneath his door.
No seal. No signature. Just a single sentence, written in a hand he didn't recognize:
'The Game notices those who play too well.'
He stared at the words for a long time, the candlelight flickering over his face. Then, with quiet precision, he fed the parchment to the flame.
The fire burned quick and bright.
And this time, Aden didn't look away.
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