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Chapter 2 - The Deal from Stranger

"Would you like to play a game with me, Lady Quinn Gray?"

What the hell...

The room fell silent. Quinn froze, one eyebrow lifting in confusion as her mind scrambled to make sense of the random invitation. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

Who is he?

She swallowed hard, eyes narrowing.

"No," Quinn said quietly, the word slipping out before she could decide whether it was the right answer or not. 

He arched a brow.

"Not a fan of chess, Lady Gray? That's a shame."

His lip curled faintly as he let the queen drop back onto the board with a soft clack. Then, he reached for the glass beside him and took a slow sip.

Quinn hesitated, her gaze flicking around the room.

It was small, dimly lit—the air thick with the faint scent of liquor and candles. The man in the monocle who had escorted her in stood by the door, stone-faced and silent.

For a moment, Quinn thought this might not be like how she thought it is going to be. She exhaled slowly, loosening her grip on the hem of her shirt.

The man was still toying with his glass, swirling the liquid, saying nothing.

Finally, Quinn spoke.

"H-How do you know who I am?"

He smiled—a slow, knowing curl, a very mischievous smile. He looked younger now with that cheeky grin on his face. He leaned back, one polished shoe propped on the edge of the table, and chuckled. "News travels fast these days, since the fall of your kingdom, Lady Gray." He tipped his head, steepled his fingers against his chest. "With no king in Dratyn, soldiers and nobles scatter, selling whatever scraps of information they had to the highest bidder. They came here the way you did, chasing a fresh start or a coin. Everywhere they arrive they trade the same rumours, the same name—the one the revolutionaries in Dratyn still can't find: the missing princess."

"If that's the case—" Quinn cut in, her voice calm but brittle, "I'm not the missing princess. You've got the wrong person."

He laughed aloud, delighted, grinned wider. "Oh! that lie came out too smoothly, Miss Gray! You're lying through your teeth!" He smiled like it pleased him, then slapped the table for emphasis. The sound made the glass tremble. "How does it feel to grasp every scrap of chance just to stay alive a little longer? Huh? You think I wouldn't know that your sister, Daisy Gray married the prince, became a princess. You're part of the royal family, too"

No...

The man leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on hers, remains that smile Quinn grew to hate. "Tell me, how does it feel to be alive when you could have been dead like all of them in that ball?"

This man....

Quinn's mouth went suddenly dry. Her fingers dug into the hem of her shirt until the fabric creaked. Something hot and burn tried to rise in her throat, but she forced it down, breath measured.

He watched her, eyes bright with amusement, continued to talk, "The people of Dratyn want every noble erased from their history—and your face is plastered across every border wall between there and here"

He reached for his glass, swirled the tiny leftover liquid, and smiled. "Winston," he said without looking away from Quinn, "remind me—what's the bounty these days?"

The butler's voice was quiet, dutiful. "Five million Jules, sir."

Quinn's chest tightened. She didn't move, didn't blink, but her jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

He watched her reaction with pleasure. "Five million," he repeated softly, almost admiring the sound. "I'm sure every desperate soul out there are dreaming of killing you. No one wouldn't hesitate to snap your neck for that kind of money." Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he stood, spreading his arms as if presenting a prize.

"But here you are now!" he said brightly. "With me. In my hands."

"Huh," Quinn scoff, " If the bounty is real that woman wouldn't try to sell me and would snap my head off like you said."

The man's smile didn't budge. He let the words hang, then nodded slowly, as if Quinn had proven a point he'd been waiting to hear.

He rubbed his hands together. "Very good point," he said. "But, you see, this is my district. I control what news gets through — what people see, what they hear. All I have to do is stop that flyer from entering the district and make sure you walk right into the trap."

"You're the one who hunted me down?" Quinn's voice tightened; she moved forward, posture coiled, fingers twitching toward the nearest thing she could use as a weapon. The butler, standing nearby, cleared his throat — low, like a warning.

"No," the man said smoothly. "As much as I'd like to claim credit, I don't know how you got here. Judging by the state you're in, it was rough. You speak our language perfectly, but Vandralian girl doesn't dress like that." He leaned forward, inspecting her like merchandise. "That... 'suit' is a mess: the shirt's stained, there's no vest, the pants are three sizes too big, and the tie's barely hanging on. Anyone who saw a pale girl dressed like that would talk."

He straightened, folding his hands behind his back. "Besides, not many people here fit your description. Vandralians aren't ghostly like Dratynians are. I suspected Madam would try to get you; she's always hunting for a new gem to add to her collection. She runs the Friday sales, so I figured she'd try to sell you if you were to get caught."

Quinn's jaw tightened. Her laugh was short. "So you'd buy me just to collect the bounty yourself? That's clever," she said, sarcasm, so she can hide the tremor in her voice.

He considered her with a look that was almost bored. "Five million jules is a good sum for snapping the neck of a limping, exhausted girl. I doubt you could fight the two of us." He shrugged. "Five million is a tidy sum , indeed, far, far more than I paid for you," he said, lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. "But I have bigger plans. If you're as useful as I hope, that five million will be nothing more than dust on my chessboard."

He began to pace behind the table, hands in his pockets, watching her like someone admiring a tool in a shop window. "I've heard the Gray family in Dratyn are renowned for their medical skills. Wasn't your father the royal physician?"

Quinn's frown deepened. What does that has anything to do with what happens now? 

The man closed the distance between them, circling her slowly, his voice low and dangerous. "I need you to do a task for me, and if I'm satisfied with the results, I promise you freedom."

Quinn let out a short, bitter laugh. "Deals from people like you always come with strings."

"Have I not saved you from the men out there who'd gladly take you for a night?"

"Only because you need something from me. Isn't that right?"

The man blinked, unexpected this kind of reaction. 

"You could have any girl on the stage. Why choose me? Because I'm a refugee, fleeing from my homeland? Because I'm the last Gray from Dratyn? Or because there's something about me only I can do what others can't?"

The silenced settled in. The man's grey eyes glaring at her, hard to read what is on his mind. 

For the fist time, in a very long 3 months, a triumphant smile finally—

"You're wrong," he said, flat and sudden.

What...

"I get bored very easily, Quinn."

His hand closed on her shoulder — not violent, but absolute — and he pulled her to the window, pointed out. "Do you see that house on the hill there?" 

From the dim glow of the window, Quinn's eyes traced the silhouette of the manor atop the hill.

It is a moonless night, so the house loomed like a dark sentinel. Even from this distance, Quinn noticed, the big iron fence around it which seem like the manor is a prison more than a house.

"Every evening," he said, now much closer to her ears, breathing her neck. "I'll be in the library. I want you to come and tell me a story."

She stared. "A story?"

"Everything about him." He jabbed a finger toward the manor as if stabbing a name into the ground. "Every movement. Every small habit. What he thinks when he wakes, what he does when he's alone, what he dreams of and what frightens him. Make me believe I'm inside his head. Entertain me."

Quinn felt the metallic taste on her lip. She must have bitten and bruised her lip too much this night. 

"If you can't entertain me," he went on, almost conversationally, "I'll snap your head off and I will fetch that five million one way or another. I lose nothing either way — except perhaps a little amusement. If this deal....works?"

That's right. This stranger had already spent fifty thousand on a curiosity. That sum, to him, was a disposable trinket — an investment with a warranty clause. If she pleased him with what he wanted from her even if it just a stupid story telling of someone inside that manor, even if she were to be failed, the bounty would eat the loss, as if he hadn't spend 50,000 jules on her at all.

"Now," he said, patience thinning, stretching tall behind her, "what do you say?"

Quinn turned slowly to face him, eyes sliding to the butler behind — a statue in livery, immobile and unreadable. The whole thing felt ridiculous, like bargaining for little more time, even as someone's entertainment, and so she forced the question.

"You truly promise me freedom?"

He smiled. "Of course — once I'm satisfied with the performance."

"You want me to spy on someone for you." Quinn repeated what she understood. 

"You could call it that." 

Quinn's gaze drifted back to the hill and the manor. "All you want is a report?"

"Exactly. Just the facts. Habits, rituals, moods. The little things he does in his boring day."

"He?" Quinn paused. "W-Who is he?"

"My cousin," he said, the smile curdling into something colder, leaning in. "Take the deal, Quinn, and play it well, and don't run off in the middle of the game. Follow the rules, tell me what I ask, and your freedom is yours, I promise, but fail me, and you'll discover how much time you have left before i take that head to claim the bounty."

A simple trade for more time.

What could possibly go wrong?

Quinn nodded once, reluctantly.

The man clapped his hands together, delight flashing across his face. "Oh, finally, someone who has a little bit of fun!"

She hesitated, staring at him as if weighing her own sanity.

She need more time...

"Well, Aren't I supposed to know who my employer is?"

He turned back, eyes gleaming. "That will be your reward."

"Reward?"

"If you tell me a good story tomorrow evening," he said, smiling like a fox , "I'll tell you who I am. After all, we'll be seeing a lot of each other after that." He paused, voice softening just enough to feel unsettling. "You may or may not have heard of my family before — we had a little hand in the chaos that tore through your kingdom."

Quinn frowned.

The man only smiled, then lifting waved lazily toward the butler, already losing interest.

"Take her to him."

The butler bowed silently. 

"Find your role in the game, Quinn," he said, voice smooth and glinting with amusement. "Impress me. Give me a thrill."

Winston, the butler, opened the door. Quinn followed, still processing the absurdity of what had just been agreed upon.

Quinn took one last look of the man in that room, he sat on the table, no more smile shown on his face, and he pour more liquid into that empty glass he had on the table.

The door shut, and halfway down the hall, Winston stopped and handed her a neatly folded bundle of fabric.

"You should take a bath and get change." he said simply.

Quinn unfolded the cloth. A plain white dress — modest, practical, the sort of thing a maid, or a nurse, or even a nanny might wear. She stared at it, then back at him.

"10 minutes should be suffice" 

What kind of job requires a caretaker's uniform?

That man isn't planning to send her to a mental hospital… is he?

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