Chapter 73: Chapter-73

By dawn, she had something that might work.

If nothing went wrong.

If the assassins didn’t get lucky.

If the Emperor didn’t summon her early.

If, if, if.

Too many variables. Too many points of failure.

But it was the best plan she could construct with the resources and time available.

Lisa knocked and entered with morning tea. She saw Elara still at the desk, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, surrounded by papers covered in notes and calculations.

“Your Highness, did you sleep at all?”

“No.”

“You need to—”

“I need to finish this,” Elara interrupted, not looking up. “Sleep is inefficient right now.”

Lisa set down the tea with more force than necessary. “Your Highness, you collapsed twice last month from overwork. Your body can’t—”

“My body will last eight more weeks,” Elara said calmly. “That’s all I need it to do.”

“And after that?”

“After that, I’ll sleep.” She finally looked up. “But right now, every hour I waste resting is an hour I don’t have to make this work.”

Lisa opened her mouth to argue, saw Elara’s expression, and closed it again. There was no point. When the princess made calculations, emotions didn’t factor in.

“The morning briefing is in an hour,” Lisa said quietly. “Dimitri and the others will expect you presentable.”

“I’ll change clothes.” Elara stood, legs protesting slightly from sitting too long. “Bring breakfast. Something I can eat while walking.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Lisa left. Elara changed into a fresh white suit, ran her fingers through her short hair to make it less chaotic, and grabbed three reports she needed to review before the meeting.

Outside her window, the sun was rising over Port Crestfall. Workers were heading to the construction site. Merchants were opening shops. The city was waking up, functioning, continuing.

Unaware that the quiet princess in the warehouse district was racing against a deadline that would determine whether she lived or died.

Two months.

Eight weeks.

Fifty-six days.

Time was running out.

And Elara had never been good at accepting limitations she couldn’t calculate her way around.

She grabbed her tea, drank it cold without tasting it, and headed to the morning briefing with her revised timeline in hand.

The supermarket would open early. The staff would be promoted faster. The operation would stabilize quicker.

It had to.

Because failure meant dying here or dying in the capital, and Elara hadn’t survived this long by accepting binary choices.

She’d find a third option.

She always did.

—

# The Information Broker

Elara set down the merchant contract she’d been reviewing and looked at Dimitri across the desk.

“Does this area have an information guild?”

Dimitri blinked. “Your Highness?”

“Information network. Intelligence broker. Someone who knows everything happening in Port Crestfall—secrets, rumors, connections.” She tapped the contract. “This world doesn’t have phones. Communication is slow. But there’s always someone who collects information professionally. Find them.”

Understanding dawned on Dimitri’s face. “You want to buy intelligence.”

“I want to know who’s funding the assassination attempts. Who’s threatening vendors. Which nobles are planning to interfere.” Elara’s tone was matter-of-fact. “And I want to know before they act, not after.”

“That kind of information won’t be cheap, Your Highness.”

“Neither is dying.” She looked at him directly. “Find the broker. Set up a meeting.”

Dimitri nodded and left.

Three hours later, he returned looking uncomfortable.

“Your Highness, I found them. The Shadow Guild—they’re the most reliable information network in Port Crestfall. Everyone I asked pointed me to the same place.” He set a plain card on her desk. Just an address and a symbol—a rose with thorns. “But there’s a problem.”

Elara picked up the card. “Which is?”

“They don’t meet with nobles. It’s their policy. No aristocracy. No imperial family. They deal with merchants, criminals, commoners—anyone with money but no title.” Dimitri shifted his weight. “If you want to meet them, you have to go to them. In person. Without announcing who you are.”

“Fine.”

“Your Highness—”

“Dimitri.” Elara’s voice was calm. “Status is irrelevant to this transaction. They have information I need. I have money they want. Simple exchange.”

“But it’s not safe—”

“Nowhere is safe. At least this transaction has mutual benefit.” She stood. “Where do they operate?”

“A place called the Gilded Rose. Eastern district. Supposedly a high-end tavern.” Dimitri hesitated. “Operates evening through night.”

“Then I’ll go tonight.”

“Your Highness, you can’t just—”

“I can. I will.” She pulled open a drawer and retrieved a plain dark cloak. “Prepare a small guard. Two beast knights, civilian clothes, no weapons visible. They follow at a distance and don’t interfere unless necessary.”

Dimitri looked like he wanted to argue further, but he knew that expression. “Yes, Your Highness.”

—

That evening, Elara stood outside the Gilded Rose, hood pulled low over her face.

The building was stunning. Three stories of elegant architecture—carved stone facade, tall arched windows with decorative ironwork, polished wooden doors with gold inlay. Soft lamplight glowed from inside, and the painted sign above the entrance showed a perfect golden rose against a black background.

It looked like the kind of establishment where wealthy merchants held private dinners. Refined. Expensive. Respectable.

Elara pushed open the door.

The smell hit her immediately.

Stale alcohol. Sweat. Smoke. Vomit. Something else she couldn’t identify and didn’t want to.

She stepped inside and stopped, momentarily caught off guard.

This was… not what the exterior had suggested.

The interior was complete chaos.

Tables were crammed together haphazardly, most occupied by men drinking, gambling, shouting over each other. The floor was sticky—she could feel her boots catching on spilled beer and gods-knew-what-else. Glass shattered somewhere to her left. Raucous laughter erupted from a corner where three men were arm-wrestling while others threw coins down as bets.

The bar ran along the left wall, crowded five-deep with people shouting orders. The bartender poured drinks without looking, collecting coins with one hand while sliding mugs with the other in a practiced rhythm.

Women in low-cut dresses moved through the crowd—serving drinks, laughing at crude jokes, occasionally slapping away wandering hands. One was sitting in a man’s lap at a corner table. Another was leading someone toward a staircase in the back.

Gambling. Drinking. Probably prostitution.

This was not a respectable establishment. This was barely controlled anarchy dressed up in an elegant shell.

A man stumbled past Elara and vomited directly onto the floor. No one even looked. Someone else just stepped over the puddle and kept walking.

Elara stood just inside the doorway, hood still up, analyzing the scene with clinical detachment.

Clever design. The beautiful exterior kept city officials and nobles from looking too closely. “Oh, the Gilded Rose? That’s a fine establishment.” Meanwhile, inside, anything could happen and no one would report it because everyone here was doing something they shouldn’t be.

Two-layer deception. Effective.

A woman appeared at her elbow—mid-thirties, sharp eyes despite the smile, dressed slightly better than the servers. “You look lost, sweetheart.”

Elara turned her head slightly. “I’m not.”

“You sure?” The woman’s gaze traveled over Elara’s posture, her clean cloak, the way she stood like she didn’t belong. “This isn’t really the kind of place for… your type.”

“I’m looking for the Shadow Guild.”

“Oh , really..”

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