Alyssa stood before her wardrobe, fingers trailing over silk and satin like a general selecting armor for battle. The morning light streaming through her balcony doors caught the golden threads woven through a deep erald dress—one of the few garnts she’d brought from her father’s compound that still felt like her. Not the costus Valerio’s seamstress had delivered, all pastels and demure necklines designed to make her look like a porcelain doll.
She pulled the erald dress from its hanger, the fabric whispering against her skin as she held it up to the mirror. The color made her pale green eyes appear almost luminous, and the cut emphasized the curves she’d learned to weaponize during her ti as Captain Hardy’s daughter. This dress said princess. It said power. It said I have money and you will respect .
Perfect.
Alyssa dressed with the thodical care of soone preparing for war. Every button fastened just so, every fold of fabric arranged to catch the light. She pinned her platinum hair into an elegant chignon that would have made her old etiquette instructor weep with pride, then selected jewelry from the small collection she’d salvaged from her forr life—a pearl necklace that had belonged to her mother, erald earrings that matched the dress, and a delicate bracelet studded with diamonds.
The heavy leather purse ca last. She lifted it from the bottom drawer of her dresser, feeling the satisfying weight of gold coins shifting inside. Sixty thousand Cori in various denominations—enough to buy anything she might need, enough to solve problems with the simple application of wealth.
It was the last vestige of Princess Alyssa Hardy, and today she would use it for sothing worthwhile.
Pierre needed dicine. Real dicine, not the basic supplies Doctor Reyes had been permitted to leave. She’d watched him try to hide his pain during yesterday’s tour, seen the way his breathing hitched when he thought no one was looking. The stubborn fool would probably insist he was fine until he collapsed, but Alyssa had grown up around military n. She knew the signs of internal bleeding, of ribs that hadn’t healed properly.
If Valerio wanted to play the gracious host while keeping them trapped, she would play the grateful guest while gathering what her captain needed to recover.
Her captain.
The thought made her pause, one hand on the door handle. When had she started thinking of Pierre that way? Not as the red-haired stranger who’d humiliated her father, not as the criminal who’d stolen her ship, but as hers to protect and care for?
Probably around the ti she’d been willing to die for him.
Alyssa shook her head, platinum hair catching the light. Philosophy could wait. Pierre needed herbs—feverfew for his headaches, willow bark for pain, comfrey root for the internal injuries. She’d morized the list from one of the dical texts she’d been studying, another skill Princess Alyssa would never have bothered to acquire.
The hallway outside her room was empty, decorated with landscapes that looked expensive and felt soulless. Her heeled boots clicked against marble as she made her way toward the main entrance, the sound echoing off walls that seed designed to amplify every noise. A reminder that soone was always listening.
Marco appeared at the top of the stairs, his smile as automatic as breathing. "Lady Alyssa! What a pleasant surprise. Might I ask where you’re headed this fine morning?"
"The market," she said, lifting her chin to the angle that had once made Naval officers scramble to obey her whims. "I require so items for personal use."
"Of course! I’d be delighted to escort you. The market can be quite overwhelming for first-ti visitors."
Overwhelming. As if she were so sheltered flower who might wilt at the sight of vegetables and fish stalls. But Alyssa simply smiled, the expression as perfectly crafted as everything else about her appearance.
"How thoughtful. Lead the way."
The Soulless Market
Porto Veloce’s market square was a masterpiece of organization that made Alyssa’s skin crawl. Stalls arranged in perfect geotric patterns, their awnings color-coded by the type of goods they sold. Blue for fish, green for vegetables, yellow for grains, red for at. Even the custors seed to move in predetermined paths, their voices never rising above a polite murmur.
No haggling. No shouting vendors. No children darting between stalls while their mothers called after them. Just the soft shuffle of feet on pristine cobblestones and the quiet exchange of pleasantries that felt rehearsed.
"Beautiful, isn’t it?" Marco said, his chest swelling with pride. "Master Valerio has created sothing truly special here. Order from chaos, prosperity from poverty."
The herb stall sat in the green section, tended by a woman whose graying hair was pulled back in a neat bun. Her smile appeared the mont she spotted Alyssa approaching.
"Good morning, my lady! How may I serve you today?"
"I need dicinal herbs," Alyssa said. "Feverfew, willow bark, comfrey root. Your finest quality."
The woman’s smile never wavered as she began gathering the requested items, but Alyssa noticed the way her hands trembled slightly as she worked. Fear? Nervousness? Or just the natural reaction of a commoner in the presence of obvious wealth and status?
"Excellent choices, my lady. These are all freshly harvested from our gardens outside the city. Master Valerio ensures we maintain only the highest standards."
Of course he did. Alyssa watched the woman wrap each herb in clean cloth, her movents economical and practiced. Everything about the transaction felt normal, routine, exactly what she’d expected.
Until she reached for her purse.
The gold coins spilled onto the counter in a cascade of gleaming tal, each one stamped with the official seal of the United Governnt. Sixty thousand Cori, enough to buy every herb in the stall three tis over.
The woman stared at the coins as if Alyssa had just dumped a pile of seashells on her counter.
"I..." The rchant’s eyes darted toward Marco, then back to the gold, then to Alyssa’s face. "My lady, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding?" Alyssa’s voice sharpened. "Is there sothing wrong with my cori?"
"No, no! The coin is beautiful, surely worth a fortune sowhere else, but here in Porto Veloce we... that is, Master Valerio has established..." The woman’s hands fluttered over the herbs like nervous birds. "We don’t use external currency, my lady. Only Master’s Script."
"Script?"
Marco stepped forward, his smile strained around the edges. "Perhaps I should have ntioned this earlier. Porto Veloce operates on a unique economic system designed by Master Valerio himself. Much more efficient than the chaos of traditional currency exchange."
"And where," Alyssa asked, her voice dangerously soft, "does one acquire this Script?"
"The Script Office, of course! Just across the square. They’ll be delighted to help you set up an account."
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