The carriage ride lasted less than an hour. The streets grew quieter the further they moved from the central districts, the buildings shifting from dense commercial rows into wider plots with private walls and gated courtyards.
When the wheels finally slowed, one of the escorts opened the door and stepped out first. Ray followed. The residence in front of them was modest by noble standards—two stories of clean stone, a small garden visible beyond the iron gate, and no ostentatious banners. Discretion had clearly been the priority.
A middle-aged woman in a plain house uniform met them at the entrance, exchanged a few quiet words with the escorts, then led Ray inside alone.
The interior was well-kept but not lavish. Soft rugs, simple furniture, the faint scent of dried herbs. She stopped at a sitting room on the second floor, knocked once, and opened the door for him.
"Lady Elira is waiting."
Ray stepped inside. The door closed behind him.
The woman seated near the window was younger than he expected—early twenties, light brown hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck, wearing a soft green dress that looked chosen more for comfort than display.
She stood when he entered, hands clasped in front of her, posture carrying a clear mix of determination and nerves.
"You are the one Lady Seris sent," she said. It was not quite a question.
"I am."
Elira's eyes moved over him in a quick, almost clinical pass—clothes, collar, height, the way he stood—before she forced herself to meet his gaze again.
"I was told you would be discreet. And that you would not… assume things."
Ray let a small, dry smile touch his mouth.
"I only assume what I'm told to assume. Everything else we can figure out as we go."
The slight humor seemed to catch her off guard. Some of the stiffness in her shoulders eased, though the nervous energy remained.
"Please sit," she said, gesturing to the chair opposite hers.
He sat. Elira returned to her own seat, then spent a few seconds adjusting the hem of her dress before speaking again.
"My marriage was arranged for political reasons. My husband is older. Polite. Distant. He fulfills his obligations when required and otherwise treats me with the same attention one might give a well-behaved guest. I am not asking for romance. I am asking for practical knowledge. I want to understand how to hold his interest long enough that the obligations become more frequent… and less mechanical."
She said it carefully, as if she had rehearsed the words several times.
Ray leaned back slightly in the chair, studying her without the heavy silence most men in his position would have used.
"So you want to learn how to make a disinterested man pay attention," he said. "Not just endure the process, but actually want to come back for more."
Elira's cheeks colored faintly, but she nodded.
"Yes."
"And you asked for someone who would teach rather than simply demonstrate and leave."
"I did."
Ray let the quiet sit for a moment, then tilted his head.
"Then we should start with the part most people get wrong. You are trying to earn interest from a man who already believes the transaction is complete. That means you cannot approach him like a wife waiting for duty. You have to approach him like someone who has something he did not realize he wanted."
Elira frowned slightly, listening.
"What does that look like in practice?"
"It looks like confidence instead of hope," Ray said. "It looks like touching him as if you already know he will respond, not as if you are asking permission. It looks like speaking to him the way you would speak to someone you intend to ruin a little, not someone you are trying not to disappoint."
A short, surprised breath left her—almost a laugh.
"That is… not the advice I expected."
"Most advice in your position is polite and useless," Ray replied. "Polite will keep things exactly as they are. You paid for results."
Elira's eyes stayed on him, the nervousness slowly giving way to sharper curiosity.
"And you are going to show me how to do that."
"I am going to show you what it feels like when someone approaches you that way," he said. "Then you are going to practice until it stops feeling foreign. After that, you can decide how much of it you want to take home."
She was quiet for a few seconds, absorbing the framing. Then she stood, smoothed her dress once, and gestured toward a connecting door.
"There is a more private room through here. I had it prepared. If we are going to do this properly, I would rather not stay in the sitting room."
Ray rose as well. As he passed her on the way to the door he spoke again, voice lower and carrying a clear thread of teasing warmth.
"For the record, you are already doing better than most. You asked for help instead of pretending the problem would solve itself. That puts you ahead of half the married women in this city."
Elira glanced at him sideways, the flush returning, but this time there was the faintest edge of a smile with it.
"You talk more than I expected."
"I can be quiet if you prefer."
"No," she said, after a short pause. "I think I prefer this."
She opened the connecting door and led him through. The room beyond was smaller, softer, with drawn curtains and a wide bed already turned down.
Elira closed the door behind them and stood there for a moment, hands still clasped, clearly gathering herself for whatever came next.
Ray watched her without crowding the space, giving her the first move while the afternoon light filtered dimly through the curtains and the real work of the assignment prepared to begin.