Bastian Wrey's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The heir had turned her back on the pier and walked away, and no smile followed her. Bastian stood with the puppy still in his arms, branded a cheat before he spoke. Charm had failed him. He needed something charm could not buy. He needed proof. He found it from an unlikely source. Wren Vallo planned weddings for the heir's family, her pockets stuffed with contracts, her clipboard never still. She stopped him outside the silk-draped townhouse. "You want her second meeting," she said. "Then stop grinning and listen." She told him the family had lost a mare three seasons back. A brown working horse with a white blaze. Sold off by a crooked groom, never recovered. "Return that," Wren said, "and you give her something no flatterer ever has." Bastian hunted the mare for two days. He traced the groom's sale to a roadside inn with glowing windows. The owner kept the horse hitched behind, harness and all. The man wanted coin Bastian did not have. So Bastian did what he did best. He talked. He named the horse's old owners. He warned the man that selling stolen noble property drew collectors far worse than any debt. By dusk the mare was his to lead. He did not go alone. Emmett Thorne came with him, the lanky silk trader who traded crates beside Bastian for a year and never once called him a swindler. "She'll think it's a trick," Emmett said, scratching the puppy's ears. "So let me stand there. I'll tell her the truth. You found her horse and asked for nothing." Bastian clasped his ink-stained hand. A vouch from an honest man weighed more than any ring. They brought the mare to the townhouse gate. The heir came out, already frowning. Her eyes found the white blaze. Her frown broke. She ran a hand down the animal's neck as though greeting a lost friend. "Where," she said. "A roadside inn," Bastian answered. "Your groom sold her. I brought her back." She looked for the trick. Emmett stepped forward. "It's true. He paid nothing to charm you. He just wanted her home." The heir studied Bastian a long moment. The contempt was gone. In its place sat something harder to name, and more dangerous to him: interest. "Come inside," she said. "You've earned an hour." Bastian had his second meeting. But as he crossed the threshold, Wren caught his sleeve, her face tight. "The groom who stole that mare still works this house," she whispered. "And he just saw you return it." Down the hall, a thin man in the heir's livery watched Bastian with cold, measuring eyes. Bastian had won his way in. He had also made an enemy inside the very house he needed to charm.