"No. I’ll designate a drop point." Elara read the contract. It was surprisingly professional—clear terms, specific deliverables, no hidden clauses she could spot. "You’ll include sources when possible?"
"When it doesn’t compromise my network, yes. When it does, you’ll get the information but not the source." He pulled out another pen and slid it to her. "Non-negotiable on that point."
"Acceptable."
She signed. He countersigned and made a copy with surprising speed, tucking one into his notebook.
"Pleasure doing business, Your Highness." He stood, and she did the sa.
"Just Elara is fine."
"Elara, then." He walked her toward the door. "One piece of free advice, since you’re new to Port Crestfall and I like your style."
"Yes?"
"The people trying to kill you? They’re not doing it because you’re weak or because you’re an easy target." He opened the door to the hallway. "They’re doing it because you’re dangerous. And they know it before you’ve even finished showing them how dangerous you really are."
Elara considered that. "You’re saying I should be careful."
"I’m saying you should be faster." He gestured down the hallway. "Kill them before they kill you. Or make them irrelevant. But don’t wait for them to give up—people with resources don’t give up. They just get more creative."
"Noted."
She pulled her hood back up. The woman who’d brought her in appeared and led her back through the quiet hallway.
The door opened and chaos flooded back—noise, sll, disorder. Nothing had changed in the main room. Still gambling. Still drinking. Soone new was vomiting in a corner. A fight had broken out near the bar and no one was stopping it.
Elara walked through it all with the sa calm she’d entered with, hood low, steps asured. n called out again. She ignored them.
Outside, the night air was cool and clean. She inhaled deeply, clearing the sll of the tavern from her lungs.
The two beast knights materialized from the shadows, falling into step beside her.
"Your Highness?" one asked quietly. "Are you well?"
"Fine. Successful eting." She glanced at him. "You were spotted, by the way."
His ears flattened. "We were careful—"
"Not careful enough. The rchant knew you were there before I even entered." She wasn’t angry, just stating fact. "Make a note: the Shadow Guild is very good at surveillance. Plan accordingly if we deal with them again."
"Yes, Your Highness."
They walked back through darkened streets. Port Crestfall at night was quieter than the capital but still active—late workers heading ho, taverns with light spilling from windows, occasional laughter from side streets.
Elara’s mind was already working through implications.
Five hundred gold for assassination intelligence. Two hundred monthly for ongoing reports. Expensive but necessary. The cost of not knowing was higher.
And the rchant’s advice was sound. She couldn’t wait for threats to develop fully. She needed to identify and neutralize them while they were still forming.
Faster. More aggressive. Less reactive.
She could do that.
Back in her office, Elara added a new line to her carefully maintained budget sheet:
*Intelligence Operations - 200 gold monthly (Shadow Guild)*
Then another line:
*Assassination source identification - 500 gold (one-ti, results in 14 days)*
Two weeks to know who wanted her dead.
Then she’d decide what to do about it.
The chair wobbled beneath her. She shifted her weight automatically, barely noticing anymore, and kept writing.
Outside, the city slept. Inside, Elara planned for variables she didn’t even know existed yet.
Because that’s what you did when you couldn’t afford to be surprised.
You bought the information before surprise was possible.
---
# The Information Broker
Elara set down the rchant 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. Soone 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 soone 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 eting."
Dimitri nodded and left.
Three hours later, he returned with a na and an address.
"The Shadow Guild," he said, setting a small card on her desk. "They operate out of the Gilded Rose in the eastern district. Supposedly, they know everything that happens in Port Crestfall within six hours of it happening."
Elara picked up the card. Plain paper, no embellishnt. Just an address and a symbol—a rose with thorns.
"Supposedly?"
"No one confirms it publicly, Your Highness. But every rchant I asked pointed to the sa place." Dimitri hesitated. "There’s one problem."
"Which is?"
"They don’t et with nobles."
Elara looked up. "Explain."
"Their policy. No aristocracy. No imperial family. They deal with rchants, criminals, commoners—anyone with money and no title." Dimitri shifted uncomfortably. "If you want to et them, you have to go to them. In person. Without announcing who you are."
"Fine."
"Your Highness, it’s not that simple—"
"It is exactly that simple," Elara interrupted. "They have information I need. I have money they want. Status is irrelevant to the transaction." She stood. "When do they operate?"
"Evening through night. The Gilded Rose is technically a tavern. The real business happens in the back rooms."
"Then I’ll go tonight."
Dimitri looked alard. "Your Highness, you can’t just walk into a place like that—"
"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 armor. They follow at a distance."
"Your Highness—"
"Dimitri." She looked at him calmly. "I’ve survived assassins in my own residence. I can handle a tavern."
He opened his mouth to argue further, saw her expression, and closed it again. "Yes, Your Highness."
That evening, Elara stood outside the Gilded Rose wearing a hooded cloak that covered her distinctive white suit and short hair.
The building was beautiful from the outside. Three stories of elegant stonework, carved window fras, a painted sign that glead in the lamplight. It looked like the kind of establishnt wealthy rchants frequented—respectable, refined, expensive.
Elara pushed open the door.
The sll hit her first. Alcohol, sweat, smoke, and sothing else—vomit, maybe, or just accumulated filth. The sound ca second: shouting, laughter, glass breaking, chairs scraping against floors.
She stepped inside and stopped.
This was not a respectable establishnt.
The interior was chaos. Tables crowded together haphazardly, most occupied by n drinking, gambling, arguing. The floor was sticky with spilled beer. In one corner, two n were arm-wrestling while others placed bets. In another, soone was passed out face-down in a puddle of sothing Elara didn’t want to identify.
The bar ran along the left wall—crowded, loud, the bartender pouring drinks without looking while collecting coins with practiced efficiency.
Won in low-cut dresses moved through the crowd, serving drinks, laughing at crude jokes, occasionally slapping away wandering hands.
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