The air inside Bishop's treehouse was suffocating, heavy with the smell of old parchment and the faint tang of oil from the lanterns that illuminated the space. It wasn't what Benjamin had expected of the infamous information broker—headquarters that looked more like a child's hideout than the lair of a dangerous man. But the steel in Bishop's gaze, the tightness in his smirk, reminded him this was no ordinary man.

"Let's make this quick," Bishop said, leaning back in his creaking wooden chair. "I've got more pressing matters than entertaining a pair of castle rats."

Benjamin's jaw tightened at the insult, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he slid the letter across the desk. The ornate wax seal of the castle glinted faintly in the dim light.

Bishop let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Another one of these." He picked up the letter with a lazy flick of his wrist and scanned its contents. His expression didn't change, but the slight twitch of his fingers betrayed his interest. Without a word, he stood and crossed the room to a heavy iron vault embedded in the far wall.

Amelia exchanged a glance with Benjamin, her fingers twitching with impatience. "What's he doing?" she whispered.

"Just wait," Benjamin replied under his breath.

With a mechanical groan, the vault creaked open. Bishop reached inside, retrieving a thick, leather-bound ledger. He placed it on the desk with a thud, then returned the letter atop it.

"Information about the runaway queen is going to cost you," Bishop said, his voice as smooth as the rum he poured from a flask into his cup.

"How much?" Amelia demanded, her voice sharp.

Bishop's eyes flicked to her, and a condescending smile spread across his face. "You can't afford it."

"Try me." She folded her arms, her fiery gaze daring him to underestimate her.

Benjamin groaned inwardly. He knew that look on her face. Negotiating wasn't Amelia's strong suit—impulse was.

Bishop chuckled, low and guttural. "I like your spirit, princess. But this isn't the market, and I'm not one of your father's lackeys. I name a price, and you pay it. No haggling."

Amelia stepped closer, her chin tilted defiantly. "How much?"

Bishop leaned back, his chair tipping precariously, and tapped his temple as if deep in thought. "Let's say... a million."

Amelia's eyes widened. "A million dollars?"

"Not negotiable," Bishop said, his smirk deepening.

Benjamin grabbed her arm. "Amelia, let's think about this. We don't even know if what he has is legitimate."

She shook him off, her attention locked on Bishop. "I'll pay you. But it'll take time to access my father's accounts."

Bishop's amusement didn't waver. "Time? I don't deal in promises, sweetheart. I deal in results."

"You'll get your money," she snapped. "But if this is a scam, I'll make sure your name is worthless in every corner of this land."

Bishop raised his hands mockingly. "Feisty. I'll give you that. Just like her But threats don't pay bills." He slid the ledger across the desk toward her. "The queen's location, her allies, even her enemies—it's all in here. Pay up, and it's yours."

Amelia stared at the ledger for a moment, then nodded. "You'll get your money. Just don't make me regret this."

As they left the treehouse, Benjamin turned to her, his expression a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You realize we don't have a million dollars just lying around, right?"

Amelia's lips pressed into a thin line. "We'll find a way. We have to. If this leads us to the queen, it'll be worth it."

"Or it'll be the most expensive mistake of your life," Benjamin muttered.

She didn't respond. Her mind was already racing, calculating how she'd get the money—and how much time they really had before Bishop decided to collect in less civilized ways.

Above them, in the shadowy treehouse, Bishop leaned back in his chair, sipping from his flask. His fingers drummed against the desk, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Rats in a maze," he murmured. "Let's see how far they'll run."