Chapter 74: Chapter-74

The woman’s smile didn’t falter, but something changed in her eyes. Calculation. Assessment. “Never heard of it.”

“Yes, you have.” Elara pulled a small coin pouch from beneath her cloak. The sound of metal was unmistakable even over the noise. “I have business to discuss. And money to spend.”

The woman stared at the pouch, then at Elara’s hooded face. A drunk man bumped into Elara from behind, mumbled something incoherent, and stumbled away. The woman didn’t react to any of it.

“How much money?” she asked finally.

“Enough to make interrupting your evening worthwhile.”

A pause. Then the woman grabbed Elara’s arm—not roughly, but firmly. “Come with me. Keep that hood up and don’t talk to anyone.”

She led Elara through the main room, weaving between tables with practiced ease. Men called out as they passed.

“Hey, sweetheart, where you going?”

“Come have a drink with us!”

“How much for an hour?”

The woman ignored all of it. Elara followed her example, keeping her head down, hands hidden in her cloak.

They passed a table where someone was cheating at cards—badly. Another where two men were arguing about money, voices rising toward violence. A third where a woman was crying while her companion kept drinking.

The noise was overwhelming. Voices layered on voices, glass breaking, chairs scraping, someone singing off-key in the corner.

They reached a door at the back, half-hidden behind a torn curtain.

The woman knocked twice, paused, knocked once more.

The door opened.

The noise cut off instantly.

Behind the door was a hallway—narrow, clean, eerily quiet after the chaos outside. The walls were painted a soft cream color. The floor was swept. The smell of alcohol was replaced by something floral—jasmine, maybe.

It was like stepping into a different building entirely.

Elara crossed the threshold and the door closed behind them, muffling the tavern noise to a distant murmur.

The woman gestured down the hallway. “Wait here.”

She disappeared through another door, leaving Elara alone.

Elara stood in the quiet hallway, analyzing the setup. The transition from chaos to order was too abrupt to be accidental. The front room was camouflage—loud, distracting, memorable. Anyone watching the Gilded Rose would remember drunks and gambling and prostitutes. They wouldn’t remember the quiet hallway where real business happened.

Smart.

The door opened. The woman beckoned. “This way. And you can drop the hood once you’re inside.”

Elara followed her into a small room that looked nothing like what she’d expected.

It was comfortable. Almost cozy. Cushioned chairs arranged around a low table. Soft lamplight. Bookshelves along one wall. A small fireplace with a gentle flame. It looked like someone’s private study, not the headquarters of a criminal information network.

A man sat in one of the chairs—older, maybe sixty, well-dressed in dark fabrics that looked expensive but understated. His hair was gray and neatly trimmed. His hands showed a slight tremor as he set down a teacup, but his eyes were sharp and calculating.

“You can remove the hood now,” he said. His voice was rough, like gravel. “I already know who you are, Princess Elara.”

Elara pulled back her hood slowly. “How?”

“You walked through my establishment like you owned it.” He smiled slightly. “No fear. No hesitation. No disgust at the filth. Only two types of people move like that through a place like this—nobles who think they’re untouchable, or idiots who don’t know better.” He paused. “And idiots don’t bring armed guards who wait outside in civilian clothes trying to look casual.”

So he’d spotted the beast knights despite their precautions.

Observant.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Elara sat, posture straight, hands folded in her lap.

“I’m called the Merchant,” he continued. “I run the Shadow Guild. We buy, sell, and trade information in Port Crestfall and the surrounding territories.” He picked up his teacup, took a sip. “What does the Fourth Princess want with intelligence she can’t get through official channels?”

“I want to know who’s trying to kill me.”

The Merchant’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Direct. I appreciate that.” He set down his cup. “That’s not cheap information, Your Highness.”

“I have money.”

“I’m sure you do. But knowing who hired the assassins means tracing money, connections, probably going up against someone powerful.” He leaned back in his chair, studying her face. “Why should I risk that for you? You’re not exactly favored in the capital. Your enemies probably have more resources than you do.”

“Because I’ll pay triple your standard rate,” Elara said calmly. “And because once I know who’s behind it, they’ll be too busy defending themselves to bother you.”

The Merchant laughed—a short, sharp bark of amusement. “You plan to hit back.”

“Obviously.”

“Most nobles would run to daddy—sorry, His Imperial Majesty—and demand protection.”

“I’m not most nobles.”

“Clearly.” He pulled out a small notebook and a pen from his jacket. “Let’s talk terms. You want to know who’s funding the assassination attempts on your life. That information will cost you five hundred gold.”

Elara didn’t flinch at the number. “What exactly do I get for five hundred gold?”

“Names. Payment chains—how the money moved from source to assassins. Proof, if it exists in documentary form. Timeline of when payments were made.” He tapped his pen against the notebook. “And a guarantee that I won’t sell the same information to your enemies. Exclusivity costs extra, but I assume you want it.”

“How long?”

“Two weeks. Maybe less if the trail is obvious. Could be three if it’s well-hidden.” He tilted his head. “The four assassination attempts in the last week suggest someone with resources and urgency. That makes them easier to trace—desperate people make mistakes.”

Four attempts. He knew the exact number.

“Agreed,” Elara said. “With one addition.”

The Merchant looked up from his notebook. “Which is?”

“I want ongoing intelligence. Weekly reports on relevant activity in Port Crestfall—market movements, noble activities, criminal operations that might affect my business interests.” She paused. “And I want advance warning if anyone else comes to you asking about me or my operations.”

“That’s significantly more than finding one assassination source, Your Highness.”

“I’ll pay for it. Two hundred gold per month.”

The Merchant set down his pen and looked at her for a long moment. “You’re trying to build an intelligence network.”

“I’m trying to not get killed while building a business,” Elara corrected. “Information helps me accomplish both.”

“Two hundred per month for weekly reports and monitoring.” He picked up his pen again. “That’s… actually reasonable. I expected you to lowball me.”

“I don’t lowball. I pay fair market value for quality service. Underpaying leads to poor results.”

He smiled—genuinely this time. “You know, when my people told me a hooded woman was asking for the Shadow Guild, I almost didn’t take the meeting. Thought it might be a trap or a waste of time.” He started writing on a piece of paper. “I’m glad I did. This might be the most interesting contract I’ve signed in years.”

“So we have a deal?”

“We have a deal.” He wrote quickly, then slid the paper across the table. “Standard terms. Payment half upfront, half on delivery for the assassination intelligence. Monthly payments due on the first of each month for ongoing reports. Weekly summaries delivered to a location of your choosing—I assume not your residence?”

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