"A betrothal ink? And a bridal bonus?" Elias's peepers popped like saucers. "You're dropping you've had a ball-and-chain queued up this whole time?"
Arthur zipped it—louder than words.
Pure green-eyed monster splashed Elias's mug. Couldn't resist the killer Q. "She a knockout?"
Arthur's gaze fogged, hunger-flash. "Beats me. Kid-deal—sandbox era. Folks swear we crossed paths, but zip recall." Suspish squint Elias-ward. "What's brewing in that skull?"
Elias's lip-curl sly-dog. "Me, rolling up to your honey's crib, playing you... kosher?"
Arthur's stare flash-froze. "You're playing me, Elias. Not swapping souls."
"Copy, copy," Elias chuckle-nerv, palms up. Wouldn't poach that turf. Even he drew lines. Then—lightbulb. "Hold up. No full-dump to her clan?"
Arthur's peep to bandage-bulk, grief-shadow creep. "Later. No mess now. Trials lock-in first. Heart-stuff? Sideline. Post-win... truth-bomb. They buy? Cool. Nah? No chains."
Elias clocked the gut-kick unsaid. Arm toast, knight-no-go? Would fat-cat dad hitch girl to broke, busted scion from trash-bin fam? This con? High-treason already.
"Your crew tanked ages back," Elias tossed, comfort-crumbs. "If this Zoltan guy's still game on ripped canvas? Classier than most."
Arthur's faint lip-tug, guilt-glint spot on bro. Knew bone-deep: Elias duty-done. Fangers flat. Arthur's ego-flex, weak-spot dodge, kitchen-crush invite.
Never spit that. Needed Elias's chew—lone tether on wild-card Thorne.
Mind-drift arm-rubble. "Uncle Silas ETA?" Murmur-self.
"No pin-drop," Elias knew hope-hang. "Yearly-ish. Gone half-year tick."
"Half..." Arthur hush. Silas mem? Kid-blur. Mirror-junkie, hour on one curl. Beauty-obsess, grace-fiend. Vain? Yup. Juice? Overflow.
Near-decade ghost.
Two sun-ups later, Elias stiff-post in gate-hug shack's main drag.
Pony-tail? Ghosted. Neat scholar-knot now. Scruff-pride? Razor-road clean. Arthur's kit—worn traveler drab. Builds matchy, easy-swap.
Mage-wraps? Arthur-keep. Hip-steel? Stuck. Rough roads? Book-boy blade no biggie.
Two stone-face civvies flanked. Pugh's muscle-pick.
Pugh? Courtyard-pace jitter-jam, hands knotted back, mug doom-cloud.
Dawn-mist scorch-off, door-rap sharp.
Pugh hustle-crack. Duo mid-thirt, in: dude sharp-handsome ice-vein; gal plain-pack, hawk-peep laser.
Yard-sweep dismiss-flick, Pugh scenery-blend.
Pugh hall-lead. "Arthur Blackwood," gesture Elias. "Escort add-ons." Name-skip, per script.
Elias prepped. Xander North, Talon Brand—ID'd.
Arthur-mode lock: polite chill-bow. "In your debt."
Local duo brow-furrow swap. Extra muscle? Chick? One Pugh-side hiss: "Boss, these two?"
"Cap-siders," Pugh mutter-mush. "Zip Qs. My neck."
Buy-in. Mute-mode.
Xander peep steel-hip. Stalk-up, blank-slate. "Arthur Blackwood?"
Elias faint-smirk. "In the flesh, sir."
Xander mitt hilt-snag, inch-draw. Squint-narrow. "Beefy iron."
Pugh's ticker throat-lodge. Busted day-one. Scholar? Dainty sticker. Elias's? War-hammer brute.
Elias zero-twitch. "Scholar, yeah," cool-cucumber. "Not pushover. You peg me soft?"
Shink. Slot-home. "Horse-savvy?"
"Solid."
"No coach, then," Xander Pugh-turn. "Three speedsters do."
Pugh exhale ghosted-hold. Sword? Meh. War-boy? Whatever. ID-check only.
Elias-calm? Respect spike. "Arthur" cooler than him under fire.
Xander duo-jab. "Dead weight. Ditch."
"But shire hand-off chit—safe-drop proof!" Pugh push.
"Stay-put," Xander flat-iron. "I ink it. Chit mails. Now," Elias-scrub, "ditch robes. Basket. Target vibes."
Tick later, trio mounts yard-ready. Elias leather-tough traveler-swap, cloth-sack sling. Arthur's weave-tote—tomes-scroll stuff—courtyard-corner chuck, zero peep. Hated lug-always.
Pugh's lid twitch. Book-boy trash-toss? Guild peepers snag.
Both stare-down.
"Arthur Blackwood," Xander sus-tone. "Dumping tomes?"
Elias temple-tap grin. "All up top."
Xander long-haul stare, nod-faint. "Saddle up."
"Hold," Pugh yank-inside. Frenzy-whis: "Suicide bid? Tome-toss garbage? Xander's razor-mind! Careful! Brain-before-balls!"
Elias pity-peep odd.
"Lord Arthur vibes!" Pugh crack-stress.
Elias chuckle-pat shoulder. "Chill, Pugh. Grunts, not geeks. Trials turf? They're rookies, I'm pro. Feed 'em lines—they swallow. Easier than kid-sell. Capisce?"
Blunt brass-logic? Pugh mute-mush.
"Chest-heart reinstall," Elias pat, house-strut bail.
Pugh trail-watch. Arthur picked right—bold to the bone.
Yard-mount, no back-peep. Spur-blur, dust-devil vanish.
Road-rat, Xander-Talon mute-mush. Zero chit-chat with soft-hand egghead.
Elias? Perfect. Less "Arthur" mems, better. Gig? Phantom mode.
Quiet, fade-to-black stand-in.