Page 16 of Bartered by the Shadow Prince (Bargain with the Shadow Prince #3)

Secrets

ELOISE

D amien leaves me swooning after a kiss that turns my knees to jelly.

“I could have used another hour of that, thank you very much,” I mutter, patting the necks of the two rabble beasts who chuff contentedly beside me.

I try not to focus on their fangs, although they shouldn’t unsettle me as much as they do.

I have my own fangs after all. Everyone here does.

With a gentle tug, I lead Borus and Romulus toward the building Damien indicated.

Bolvet Village Tavern is a circular, thatched-roof structure at the center of town that reminds me of a medieval ale house from a fairy tale.

Although, the charming facade has fallen into disrepair.

The place looks abandoned and badly in need of upkeep.

Even from the street, I can make out a hole in the roof.

At least it’s not raining . I tie the rabbles to a post out front. I have the unsettling thought that I don’t even know if it rains on this planet. It hasn’t since I’ve been here. It must rain, though, right? How else would the crops grow? I make a mental note to ask Damien.

As I move for the door, I notice people watching me from the homes and buildings surrounding the tavern.

Faces loom in chipped doorframes and behind dingy windows.

A half dozen eyes rake over my gown and then dart to Ariadne’s.

I smile at any who will meet my eyes, but no one smiles back.

Instead, the moment our eyes meet, they disappear behind walls and curtains, like children I’ve caught breaking the rules.

Carefully, I pull open a door that creaks as if it might fall off its hinges.

The inside of the place is as squalid as the outside.

I run my finger across a table, and it comes away black, the trail I’ve made visible in the dust. I brush off my hands and decide the bar looks a tad less filthy.

I lift my skirts and settle in on one of the barstools.

What I need right now is a very chatty bartender to spill the tea on what’s been happening in this village.

Someone to fill in the gaps in Ariadne’s story.

But as I take a seat at the round bar and stare into the cold, charcoal-stained hollow under an empty spit at the center of the place, I wonder if anyone at all still works here.

All the bottles I can see are empty. Maybe there’s nothing left to serve.

“You can order, but we have nothing to eat and very little to drink,” comes a voice from across the bar.

An old man stands in the back entrance. When I look his way, he rounds the bar and opens a gate to step in behind it.

Oversized, wide-set eyes perch on either side of a bulbous, reddened nose.

A head of white hair that’s long enough to belong to a stereotypical wizard grows wild and uncombed from his head.

He’s tucked the sides behind his ears to little advantage.

He could be anyone’s grandpa on Earth, but even there, he’d be too thin to be healthy and too unkempt not to raise eyebrows.

Here, where the people choose their appearance when in their polite form, I realize this shade has chosen to wear his impending death like a badge.

“That’s all right. I’m just waiting for a friend,” I say.

“Picked an odd place for a meeting. Hasn’t your friend heard that Bolvet Village is a tomb?” He releases a dark, cynical laugh.

My heart drops at the comment, but I see my opening. I flip one of the gold coins that Damien called a quill onto the bar. “You seem well animated for a corpse. Are you sure you have nothing to sell me back there? Even zombies need a drink now and then.”

Now his laugh is in earnest. He picks up the coin and studies it, as if he can’t quite believe it’s real. “Seriously, love, what’s an enchanting creature like you doing in a place like this?”

“Buying a wardrobe from the dressmaker. I’m new to Stygarde.”

His eyes trace the details of my gown. “Ariadne’s handiwork is obvious. I recognized it the moment you walked in. Question is why you’d risk using her. Why you’d risk coming here at all.”

“Why wouldn’t I? She’s the most talented seamstress in the kingdom.”

“The queen might have your head for saying so.”

“Would she? Like I said, I’m new here. I wasn’t aware I couldn’t use the dressmaker of my choosing.”

He folds his arms on the bar, leaning toward me as he taps the edge of the coin on the wood. His nostrils flare, and I sense genuine confusion in the way his eyes narrow. He should be confused. I am no shade and no witch.

“Hmm.” He clears his throat. “It serves that since you’re new and you’ve done us a great kindness today spending your coin in our village, I should tell you the truth. I should warn you that your presence here could put you in danger.”

“Danger?” I wasn’t expecting that. Is their condition contagious after all?

“No one in this village—or Zephrine, for that matter—has bent the knee to Nevina. We refuse to accept her as our queen or that little traitor who sits beside her as our king. The punishment for our rebellion is that we can’t hunt on Stygarde lands.

No goods come into this village via legal routes, and no goods go out.

Although with this—” He holds up the gold quill.

“—I’ll be able to bribe the Rivertoads for a few necessities.

The black market is still a reality, thank the gods, despite the king’s best efforts.

Still, technically, you broke the law today simply by coming here. ”

I can’t stop myself from cringing. It’s against the law to be here? Instantly, I know it’s true. Brahm and Nevina have completely cut off this village. The king and queen are trying to starve these shades into submission.

He holds up the coin. “Are you sure you don’t want this back?”

I narrow my eyes on the coin and then meet his gaze and hold it. “Positive.”

He drops it into his shirt pocket then reaches behind the bar.

A half-full bottle of something the color of orange juice lands with a thunk in front of me.

A moment later, a glass of questionable cleanliness slides across the wood into my hand.

He pours three fingers of the liquid into the glass.

“It ain’t wildberry wine, but it’ll get you drunk. ”

I lift the glass in a silent salute and take a sip. It’s good but burns on the way down. “Reminds me of tequila,” I murmur.

“Huh?”

I smile. “Suits me fine. My friend Maeve would love it. What do you make it from?”

“Fermented spiral cactus. It’s the only thing that’ll grow within our borders these days.” He looks at the bottle longingly.

I frown. “Well then, I hate to drink alone. Grab yourself a glass and help me out with this.”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a crooked smile, and a second glass, equally as smudged, hits the bar. I pour him a drink, slightly deeper than my own. “What’s your name?”

“Warbill,” he says.

“I’m Eloise.”

He takes a long, healthy swig. “Well, Eloise, had I known when I woke up this morning that a lovely young shade with more money than I’ve seen in a year was going to pay me to drink with her, I would have worn my good shirt.”

I grin. “It’s a good thing you didn’t. I’d hate for you to ruin your good shirt when you start a fire in that pit.”

He shakes his head. “Barely any wood left, I’m afraid. Have to save it in case one of the boys succeeds in luring something we can eat onto our lands. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s all we have left.”

I broaden my smile as my vampire hearing picks up Damien’s unmistakable gait heading toward the bar, along with the scent of blood. Warbill’s nostrils flare as he picks up the same scent.

His dark blue eyes spark with curiosity. “Who exactly are you, Eloise, and where do you come from?”

The door flies open as if kicked, and I quietly thank the gods it remains on its hinges.

Damien lowers himself to fit through the door with what looks like a massive stag on his shoulder the color of fresh blood.

My jaw drops. The beast has to be six hundred pounds.

Its horns drag along the floor as my powerful mate strains under its weight.

“Where can I string him up, Warbill? We’re going to want to collect the blood.”

Warbill doesn’t move. He’s staring at Damien like he’s seen a ghost, his face ashen.

“Why isn’t the fire going? This stag isn’t going to roast itself.” Damien searches the rafters behind the bar for a place to hang his prize.

I place a hand on Warbill’s, and the touch seems to wake him from wherever he is inside his head. “Warbill, have you met my mate, Damien?”

Warbill stands up straighter. “There.” He points at a heavy silver hook hanging from the ceiling.

“Haven’t had anything this large on it in a decade.

Let’s hope it bears the weight.” He laughs and helps Damien to bind the creature’s back legs and string it up.

They hook up a system to collect the blood.

I have to look away. Silly, considering I’m a vampire.

Blood is how I survive now. It’s a reminder of how new I am to all of this that I can’t watch.

But I do look back as Warbill fills a goblet and drinks deeply.

The effects are drastic and immediate. His hair darkens.

His skin smooths. His eyes grow lighter and clearer.

It’s as if I’m watching him age in reverse.

He drains the glass, shaking the last drops into his mouth.

I get the sense he’s still hungry, but he does not take another.

Instead, he gets to work starting the fire.

It isn’t long before the smell of roasting meat has the villagers slipping in the door. “It’s free today,” Warbill announces to each of them. “Compliments of Prince Damien.”

Everyone turns and stares at my mate, some crying out their thanks.

Damien’s fist lands on the bar with a resounding crack. Everyone goes silent. “I am no prince,” he says through his teeth as if he can’t stand the sound of the word. “Not of this kingdom. But the meat and blood are yours.”