Page 13 of Bartered by the Shadow Prince (Bargain with the Shadow Prince #3)

“I’m glad you’re taking me to your mother’s dressmaker. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her to lose that business after she died and Nevina rose to power.”

“My thoughts exactly. I know the money from my mother and sister helped support the village in the past. It concerns me if the royals are now being outfitted by Willowgulch. Although when I saw Tempest, Odette, and Eudora at the castle for the Harvest Festival meeting, I noticed they were still wearing shade-made textiles.”

Eloise grows quiet, introspective. “Did you also notice that their dresses were worn at the sleeves and hem?”

I clear my throat. “I did not.”

“Eudora looks like she’s starving. Her clothes hang on her like they’re old and two sizes too big. This is her region, yes?”

“The wasting disease hit her hard, I’m sure.”

“Fifty years ago,” Eloise mumbles. “Maybe the loss of business from their ruling kingdom has hit Zephrine harder than we know. Odette and Tempest seem to fear Nevina. I don’t know exactly what is going on, but Odette told me to watch my back when it comes to the queen.”

“There’s Bolvet,” I say, pointing out the skyline of buildings on the horizon.

It’s a shameful effort to distract her. The truth is, I have more questions than answers about New Stygarde, but I don’t want Eloise worrying about that now.

Although I frown when I register how different the village looks.

At one time, this place would burn enough candles during the day to rival the moon’s light.

Visitors instantly felt the warmth and welcoming atmosphere of a vibrant economic hub with the scent of roaring fires and grilled stag carrying for miles.

No candles burn now. No smell of grilling meat.

No chatter of daily life. We reach the main street of the town and find it abandoned.

An old woman crosses the road carrying a bundle of sticks on her back.

She doesn’t even look up as we approach. What has happened here?

“We’ve arrived,” I say, disguising the worry in my voice.

I direct Eloise to halt her rabble beast in front of Ariadne’s shop and dismount.

Her sign is in disrepair, hanging crooked from its hooks and badly in need of a paint job.

The bar in the scrollwork A used to be a sewing needle, the delicate thread looping around her initial.

The A is still visible, but the detail is lost. Her once-decorative front windows are dark with dinge as well.

I tie the reins of our steeds to the post outside and usher Eloise to the door, where I deliver three heavy knocks.

“Who’s there?” comes a harsh, unwelcoming voice. It sounds like Ariadne, but I’ve never heard her take that tone with a guest before.

“Damien, former prince of Stygarde,” I say softly. “I’ve brought my new mate in need of wardrobing.”

The door flies open, but I don’t recognize the person in front of me at first. A crumpled old woman peers up at me through a pair of thick, dark-rimmed glasses.

But then the vivid blue of her irises twinkles with recognition, revealing her as the dressmaker herself.

My heart sinks. She, too, must suffer from the wasting disease.

For a shade to look this old and thin—rail-thin—they must be sick or starving.

The unclean scent of a shade near death wafts from the shop.

“Damien,” she says in an awe-filled tone I don’t deserve. “You’ve returned. Praise Thanesia.”

I frown down at her. “Are you well, Ariadne?”

She snorts. “No one in this village is well, Damien.”

“The wasting disease?”

This makes her brows pucker, and then she breaks into a dark laugh. “Don’t worry, my prince, nothing here is contagious. You and your mate are quite safe.”

I swallow hard. I have offended her. “My apologies. I have been gone a long time.”

“Yes, you have.” She taps her chin, her eyes narrowing with her curiosity.

“Can you help us?” I gesture behind me at Eloise, who shuffles to my side. “We need a full wardrobe. Dresses, undergarments, shoes, accessories.”

Eloise smiles warmly at the woman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ariadne. I’ve heard so much about the masterful work you did for Queen Nyxadora.”

Ariadne’s eyes fill with tears at the comment. “And you are?”

“Eloise. I’m Damien’s mate.”

Ariadne studies Eloise as if she’s taking measurements. She pokes her head out the door and looks both ways. “I will help you. Come in,” she says. “Quickly.”

I follow her into a room that used to be a perfect display of glitz and splendor, but the purple velvet sofa is dusty and torn in one corner and the ornately carved wood tables are badly in need of refinishing.

“We’ve missed you, Damien. Everyone assumed you were dead.”

I hate the way her dress hangs on her skeletal frame, the bones of her shoulders noticeable under the fabric. “I was taken from this world by a coven of witches and only returned to the castle recently.”

Her face falls. “Then you’ve been to Castle Stygarde. You know your brother sits on the throne with a dark elf by his side.”

“Of course. We are…staying at the castle.” I’m too embarrassed to share that I’m the newest stable manager. “But what has happened here?”

“You mean to ask, why do I look like I’m dying?”

I swallow hard and nod.

“Because I am dying.”

I open my mouth to say…what, I’m not sure. What words of comfort can one give to a person at the end? She holds up a hand to stop my trying.

“You’re not here to talk about my health. You’re here for dresses.” She threads her fingers into Eloise’s and leads her toward the back room. “I’m afraid I don’t have a large selection of material available these days, but I can show you what remains.”

Eloise waves me off. “Enjoy the village. I’ll be fine.”

Both women disappear behind a heavy velvet curtain.