Page 14 of Bartered by the Shadow Prince (Bargain with the Shadow Prince #3)

Wasting Disease

ELOISE

A riadne pulls me by the hand into her back room, remarkably strong for a woman who, if human, would weigh about ninety pounds. She gestures toward a trio of decorative panels. “I’ll need to take measurements. You may undress there.”

Reluctantly, I move behind the screen and begin to unfasten Nevina’s ugly pink dress.

I don’t love the idea of standing mostly naked in front of a stranger, but it would be impossible for her to take my measurements with my body smashed inside it.

I moan softly at the relief I feel once I finally worm my way out of it.

“Are you well, Lady?”

“Please, call me Eloise. I’m no lady. And I’m fine, just relieved to get out of that dress.” I come out from behind the screen in nothing but my bra and panties and step up on the box at the center of the room.

Ariadne stares at my underthings like she’s never seen anything like them. I have no idea what people here wear underneath their clothing, but clearly, it’s not black lace. “Where did you say you are from?” she asks absently as she walks around the back of me.

“A planet called Earth. As Damien mentioned, he was captured by a coven of witches and dragged through a rift between our worlds. I was born there—where he was taken. Together, we were able to make our way back.”

When I hear nothing from behind me, I look over my shoulder at her. Her mouth has dropped open. “You’re not a shade.”

“No. I’m a vampire. It’s like a shade but different.”

“Thanesia bless us all. When he said he was taken by witches, I didn’t understand it was truly to another planet, but you…” She raises a hand toward my back, and I see she’s staring at my tattoo. She doesn’t actually touch me, but she brings her face closer to it.

“Do shades not have tattoos?” I ask.

“Not in our polite forms,” she says softly. “But this is your true form, isn’t it? You are…like a witch.”

Our eyes meet. “Yes…and no. Not quite as fragile as a human witch.”

“Human?” Her brow furrows.

I shake my head. “Never mind. Something from my world.”

After another awkward beat, she finally grabs a roll of flat blue string and starts measuring me with it, using her thumbnail to make marks in its length.

It’s not quite a tape measure, but I gather quickly how it works.

“Thank you for fitting me in,” I say to her.

“Damien says his mother once purchased all her dresses from you.”

In the mirror, I watch the corners of Ariadne’s mouth turn up in a sad smile at the memory. “She did. I made Nyx the most spectacular gowns during her reign. I miss her. I thought of her as more than a client. She was a friend.”

I frown. “Your people lost so much.”

“We have.” Ariadne busies herself measuring my arms, my neck.

She seems uncomfortable again. I think back.

She became like this initially when the wasting disease was mentioned.

Clearly, she’s sad about the queen’s death, but there’s more to it.

She’s trying her best not to talk about it.

Is that because it makes her sad or because it makes her uncomfortable—or maybe both?

“How fast can you have a new dress for me?” I ask, trying to relieve the tension. “I don’t think I can force myself into Nevina’s old dresses again. Not if I want to breathe.”

“I was wondering who loaned you that one.” She meets my eyes in the mirror, her face betraying her disgust for the pale pink monstrosity.

“Believe me, if I had another option, I’d take it.” We both give a low laugh.

She seems to contemplate my situation for a moment, her eyes narrowing.

“Be careful. You are safe here, but one might conclude that you aren’t supportive of Nevina’s reign if they heard you make comments like this.

” Her voice is so soft I can hardly make it out.

“Your opinion may be just about the dress, but the one who sits on the throne has a thin skin and is quick to anger.”

What the hell? Why do I feel like this is a test? Our eyes meet in the mirror again. “Anyone who would make such an inference is placing too much importance on what I think. I’m not even from here. I guarantee that the queen doesn’t care at all about my opinion of her dresses. I’m nobody.”

The seamstress drops her eyes from mine and busies herself with the string. “If you are Damien’s mate, you will always be somebody in this kingdom, just as he will always be a prince to us. And, perhaps, our last and best hope.”

“I don’t understand.” A chill runs through me at her words.

Ariadne clears her throat and paints on a professional smile.

“Since Queen Nyxadora’s death, my shop hasn’t enjoyed the prosperity it once did, and I’m afraid I can’t offer you a wide assortment of material to choose from.

But I do have one dress I made for another client that I believe I could finish for you today.

And if the other fabric I have in storage is to your liking, I can produce more for you in a few days’ time. ”

She’s completely changed the subject. Tension rises between us and her gaze turns to steel.

Just like in the Harvest Festival meeting, the specter of Nevina’s anger seems to hang over the room.

I decide not to press Ariadne for information and instead go along with her change in direction.

If I don’t gain her trust first before asking more pointed questions, she may assume I’m allied with Nevina.

And maybe I am. Nevina isn’t someone I want to be friends with, but I have no more reason to trust Ariadne than I do the queen.

“That would be fantastic. Please, show me the dress.” She disappears through a doorway at the back of the room and returns with an armful of fabric in the most stunning shade of violet.

I actually gasp as she carries it toward me.

The shiny fabric bends in the light, in the most extraordinary color I’ve ever seen.

It’s like standing on a beach and looking out over the ocean on a sunny day, how the water changes from aqua to violet depending on its depth.

So does this fabric as it shifts in her arms.

“Whoa.” I reach for it, and when my fingers touch the fabric, I know why Damien’s mother insisted on shade-woven material.

The buttery-soft texture seems impossible, given the dress’s elegant drape and form.

I step into it, and Ariadne fastens a clasp over my left shoulder.

Turning back toward the mirror, I smooth a hand over my stomach, struck mute by the sheer beauty of the garment.

The fabric skims over my torso and flares at the hip, weightless but elegant and feminine.

The color is perfect for me. I reach up to tug out my ponytail and allow my bright-red curls to gather at my shoulders.

“Ariadne…I am speechless. This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. You truly are the most talented dressmaker.”

She smiles in a way that seems to come straight from her heart. “It suits you. We will hem it, of course. The queen was taller than you.”

“You made this for Nyx?”

Ariadne lifts her chin a half inch. “This was the last dress I made for her before…”

Before she died.

“I’ll take it,” I say. “I can’t wait to show Damien.”

“Very well. Let me mark the hem.” She grabs a cushion of pins and kneels beside me. “Will you be wearing this with flats or heels?”

I sigh. “The only shoes I own are the ones I’m wearing.”

Her mouth pops open. “The cobbler no longer keeps hours, but I will trace your feet for him.” At her prompting, I remove my boots.

She grabs some blue paper and charcoal and carefully traces my feet.

“All the royals are wearing heels this season. They’re frightfully uncomfortable, but you’ll be in style. ”

I snort. “I’m not interested in being in style. I need to be able to move, to hunt, to work, and to ride.”

“A set of leather slippers, then. Not as flashy or modern but a conservative classic. They won’t stand out, but the other royals won’t judge you for them either. Still, I’ll leave the dress floor-length so that your shoes won’t be a topic of conversation.”

“That sounds like the answer I’m looking for.”

Carefully, she starts pinning the dress at the appropriate length. “You really aren’t a royal lady, then. How is it you ended up with Prince Damien?”

“He wasn’t a prince in my world.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, frustrated with this conversation.

Does she like the royals? Hate them? Blame them for the condition of her shop?

I’ve been dancing around her comments, trying to figure out what she wants from me.

“Anyway, he’s not a prince anymore here either, is he? It’s a new kingdom.”

She finishes the line of pins and stands up, turning around to put her tools away. When she turns her head slightly, I notice tears in her eyes. “Ariadne? Did I say something wrong?”

“Remove the dress. I will hem it while you wait. It will take me two minutes. You cannot leave my shop wearing the other one.”

“Ariadne? What’s wrong? What did I say?”

“The dress,” she demands, holding out one hand.

I unclasp the shoulder and strip out of the dress. Frustrated and angry, I’m careless as I hand it to her and catch my finger on one of the pins.

“Ow!” Blood beads. It happens so fast, for a moment, I don’t know what’s happening, only that the room has gone dark. And then she’s in front of me with my finger in her mouth. Her fangs sink into my palm, her eyes wild with bloodlust.

I grunt as she takes a long draw of my blood. I could shove her or pull my hand away, but I look at the way her bones protrude under her thin skin and know she needs the blood more than I do.

I gently place a hand on her shoulder. “Ariadne? When was the last time you fed?”

She releases my hand immediately, like she only then realizes what she’s done. Her eyes are the size of saucers, and she plasters her hands over her mouth. Tears flood her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Eloise. The blood! I couldn’t help myself.”

“Of course not. You’re starving. Is this what the wasting disease does to you?”

Her brows knit, and her lips draw back from her teeth as a sob breaks from her throat. “There is no wasting disease,” she hisses. “The wasting disease is just a fancy name for starvation. The new queen has been slowly killing us for years.”