Ch#77
“What was the Merchants’ Guild leader’s response?”
Perel rubbed his temple absently.
“He claims he’s been urging the shop owners to submit stall applications, but resistance among them runs too deep.”
“So… does that mean the market project is off?”
“He promised to press them harder.”
A derisive chuckle escaped me. His true motives shone through all too clearly.
“There are strings attached, aren’t there?”
“He proposed offering subsidies as an incentive.”
“He expects us to funnel more coin straight to the Merchants’ Guild?”
Perel’s brows shot up, startled that I’d pinpointed it.
“To avoid the optics of direct handouts, he suggested we allocate additional funds to the Guild. Then, citing some formal pretext, he’d parcel them out to the merchants.”
“We supply the gold, and he reaps the glory?”
“Precisely.”
“What’s your take, Perel?”
“To be frank, the Guildmaster might be the real obstacle stifling those applications. He probably hasn’t even bothered to relay the opportunity properly.”
I dipped my chin in agreement.
Perel, with his keen instincts honed from years navigating the Guildmaster’s games, had likely sized him up already: a figure who feigned ineptitude while cunningly twisting events to his advantage.
The Guildmaster perpetually played the hapless oaf.
One might assume a leader of shrewd traders would be swift and astute. Yet he simpered and dodged accountability—scarcely leader material.
I’d once dismissed him as pitiful. Now, that apparent buffoonery struck me as his sharpest tool.
‘His performance is masterful. Even someone like me, jaded by experience, fell for it.’
“Even so, subsidies could resolve this swiftly.”
Perel ventured the words gingerly, gauging my mood.
In essence, yielding to the Guildmaster’s ploy—however slimy—might prove the pragmatic path.
“But there’s no assurance subsidies would spur applications. They might simply hoard the cash and keep quiet.”
“That’s precisely why we could tie it to a stipulation: payouts only upon confirmed submissions.”
A solid notion. Still, I shook my head.
“Absolutely not.”
I had zero intention of throwing money at this mess.
“The marketplace terms are enticing as they stand. We won’t debase ourselves further with bribes.”
“Granted, but…”
Perel’s brow creased faintly.
“The Guildmaster won’t yield without his prize. The merchants trail his every whim.”
His logic cut straight: in reality, a boycott by Goldrain’s traders would leave the new market barren.
“Northern vendors mostly cluster in Goldrain already.”
I mulled it over.
Perel had a point—our “priority access” perk rang hollow when they all fell under the Guild’s thumb. That emboldened the Guildmaster’s brazen foot-dragging, milking us for every concession.
His sloth and avarice set my temper aflame.
‘How dare he conduct affairs with such entitlement?’
No chance would I let vermin like him sabotage my vision.
I’d sooner parade an empty market before the envoy than capitulate.
Surveying the lakeshore, resolve hardened within me.
‘This turns to my favor. I craved a market worlds apart from Goldrain’s vibe anyhow.’
“Cecilia.”
I summoned the woman lingering at my back.
“We need an ad in Northern News this week. Can you handle it?”
“Certainly, Your Highness. An extra printing run will cover it seamlessly.”
As Cecilia scrambled for paper and ink, still in the dark, I pivoted to Perel.
“Perel, fetch the builders at once. Redesign the market.”
“N-now, Your Highness?”
Perel’s eyes darted to the heaps of materials piled lakeside, alarm etching his features.
“Relax. The alterations are minor.”
“I merely plan to double the stall count.”
“Double…?”
Perel blinked, stupefied, as if doubting his ears.
Late Afternoon, Training Grounds
Norton gulped water to quench his parched throat, stealing a glance at his commander across the field.
The man toweled sweat from his neck—sword still in hand.
‘He wouldn’t demand another round… would he?’
Norton’s fingers quivered from the barrage of blade strikes.
‘And Tiern’s on watch today, of all days…’
Word in the ranks buzzed: their lord had ramped up drills lately.
The second-in-command had cautioned: “Steer clear. Cross him at dawn during solo practice, and you’ll limp for days.”
Norton had scoffed as hype. The Duke always pushed brutally when the curse flared, hacking through nights to bleed off the surge.
‘But with the Grand Duchess’s aid lately, he should be stabilizing…’
That made today’s vigor odd. The Duke brimmed with vitality, sure—but not the curse’s feral edge. Something else fueled it.
Norton nursed his drink to buy time when the commander flung his towel aside and advanced.
“One last round.”
“An-another, sir?”
Steadfast Norton faltered. Defiance wasn’t an option.
He squared up—just as the Duke’s blade dipped.
“…The Grand Duchess?”
The commander stared down the main road beyond the grounds.
The Grand Duchess?
Baffled, Norton tracked his line of sight—and spied a rickety cart trundling near.
The commander marched from the grounds without pause.
The cart clattered to a stop before the manor.
Norton hustled to catch up; the Duke was already wrenching open the door.
The Grand Duchess leaned out, golden tresses pinned impeccably.
“My lord! Out training?”
“Just wrapped up.”
Excitement laced his tone—rare for him.
“I see.”
“Dine with me tonight?”
“Oh, apologies! Cecilia and I have plans.”
CRACK.
A sharp snap echoed.
“…?”
The carriage handle had sheared off in the Duke’s fist.
“What was that?”
“Trifle.”
He gripped the mangled metal as if to pulverize it, then fixed Norton with a scowl.
“…A shot at last… squandered.”
The growl barely carried. Norton gulped.
If Her Highness departs… I’m in for endless bouts till I drop.
“Y-Your Highness,” Norton called loudly toward the carriage, for Cecilia’s ears.
“Pardon, but… might I borrow Cecilia instead?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve missed sharing a meal with my sister.”
Cecilia gaped from within.
“Nonsense! I’m dining with Her Highness fir—”
She cut off, clocking Norton’s pleading stare.
Murmurs ensued inside. Then the Grand Duchess beamed out.
“My lord, dinner it is.”
“You mean it?”
“Siblings like them slave for us. They deserve family time.”
“…Understood.”
The Duke’s face brightened instantly.
“See you at the manor shortly.”
He stashed the busted handle behind his back and waved.
Post-departure, he clapped Norton’s shoulder with surprising warmth.
“She’s wise—kin first. Savor time with your sister.”
Grinning wide, he sauntered off. Norton exhaled in bliss.
Never again, he swore, would boredom lure him to the training grounds.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Fists hammered the door, yanking Guildmaster Baron Gelfry from sleep.
His final recollection: wine-soaked revelry with aides in the Guild hall till dawn. Some still slumped on settees and rugs.
Servants dismissed for the carouse, none stirred to answer.
“No one about?”
“Blast…”
Muttering curses, Gelfry hauled himself up to unlatch it.
A cluster of shopkeepers loomed outside, faces crimson with fury.
“What drags you here at this hour?”
“What’s the meaning of this?!”
Their outburst twisted Gelfry’s features.
‘These plebs barking at a baron?’
Rage simmered, but he reined it. Rich traders, these; as fresh-minted nobility, he trod carefully.
“Meaning of what? Out with it plainly.”
Jamer the jeweler leveled a glare.
“The talks—what became of them?”
“The new market?”
All this racket over subsidies?
‘I’ll iron it out, naturally…’
Gelfry tsked.
“Hold your horses. Deals are in progress.”
He geared to rebuke their gall when Jamer thrust a page in his face.
Northern News’s ad sheet.