The Vampire & Her Witch

In the end, they spent close to an hour discussing the dress that Thoralle would make for Jocelynn. Much of it was routine, though Jocelynn looked slightly uncomfortable when the draper used his spider-like limbs to take her measurements.

Eira could see that those additional limbs provided a number of unexpected advantages for a man in his profession, particularly when he held fabric against Princess Jocelynn’s body while observing how it hung and flowed. And, while Jocelynn looked uncomfortable at times, whether that was because she still feared the poison of the Nightweaver Clan or because she was unaccustomed to a male attendant fitting her for a dress was difficult to say.

In this case, however, it might be the latter more than the former, especially once Sir Ollie offered his input.

”You shouldn’t use a high neckline,” Ollie said while Jocelynn and Thoralle were discussing the relatively modest cut of the dress she had in mind. ”It would be better to do something that’s low cut,” he said, tracing a line across his own chest with a finger to illustrate a neckline that would be incredibly daring in most noble courts.

”Sir Ollie,” Eira chided softly. Her face heated as she realized how much attention Sir Ollie seemed to be paying to Jocelynn’s figure, but she pressed on anyway. ”This isn’t a match-making banquet or a coming-of-age feast. It’s an important moment for Princess Jocelynn and...”

”Wait,” Jocelynn said, holding up a hand as she gave Ollie a careful, appraising look. ”Why would I want something low-cut?” Jocelynn asked.

If Owain had made that kind of statement, she would have understood exactly why he wanted her to change her style... There was even a time when she would have felt a thrill at indulging him. Or she’d at least have made a game out of keeping the line a few inches above where he wanted it so that he had something more to look forward to.

But Ollie was nothing like Owain, and Jocelynn didn’t want to believe that his motivations were as base as seeing an attractive woman in a revealing outfit.

”Because Ashlynn will need to cut into your chest during the ritual to plant the Seed of Witchcraft,” Ollie said, unlacing his own tunic to reveal the scar at the center of his well-defined chest. ”You can wear something that laces up if you want, but if you wear anything that laces in the back or covers your heart, Ashlynn might have to cut it away to plant the seed,” he said.

”So it’s a practical matter,” Jocelynn said, smiling as Ollie proved, once again, to be a man without guile or ulterior motives. He was just being helpful.

”Can you show me where the cut will be?” Thoralle asked. ”If you can mark the area I should leave exposed, I can work to be specific with a keyhole or a deep, narrow plunge that will only expose as much as necessary,” he said helpfully as he held out a piece of marking chalk.

Jocelynn, consciously or not, adjusted her posture slightly, pulling her shoulders back while Ollie’s attention fell on her chest, as if he was noticing it for the first time or had just remembered that the chest he’d been talking about cutting belonged to a beautiful young woman.

”Um, I...” Ollie stammered, instantly off balance at the question.

”The mark on Sir Ollie’s chest is here,” Jocelynn said, stepping forward to lightly touch the scar he’d revealed in the center of his chest. Her fingers touched the very top of the scar and then traced along its length. It wasn’t long, only a few fingerwidths, but if a knife or a sword had stabbed there, the wound would have been instantly fatal.

”So, on me, that would be here,” Jocelynn said, tracing a line across her own bust. ”Is that right, Sir Ollie?”

”Mmm-hmmm,” Ollie said, nodding without looking directly at the princess.

A playful smile formed on Jocelynn’s lips as she turned back to the draper, as if she’d just won a game that Sir Ollie hadn’t known he’d been playing.

Meanwhile, Eira started rapidly re-evaluating what she understood about the relationship between Sir Ollie and Princess Jocelynn.

It didn’t look like the princess was genuinely trying to attract Sir Ollie’s gaze. She seemed like she enjoyed his discomfort more than his attention. It was more like watching a pair of siblings interact than anyone with romantic intentions.

But then, the two hadn’t known each other for very long, and romantic interests could grow from simple closeness. Closeness that her friend Morwen hadn’t come close to achieving with the flame-haired knight.

If Princess Jocelynn truly was a rival for Sir Ollie’s affections, then perhaps Morwen was already doomed. Soon, Princess Jocelynn would be a witch, just like Sir Ollie, and the gap in their status would be much, much smaller than the gap between the daughter of a humble village Gardener and one of the Empire’s witches...

But if the closeness between Princess Jocelynn and Sir Ollie truly was like that between siblings, then Morwen still had a chance... But only if she could get Sir Ollie to see her as a woman worth courting before the Cypress Knight’s attentions turned elsewhere.

Eira was still trying to figure out what she should tell her friend about what she’d seen when another disagreement broke out, once again because of something Sir Ollie had done.

”I won’t accept money for this, Sir Ollie,” Thoralle said when Ollie dropped a small pouch full of coins on the counter. ”This is between Princess Jocelynn and I, and it’s too important for money.”

”Master Thoralle,” Jocelynn said, frowning at the draper. ”I can’t take advantage of your goodwill. I can accept the gift of your time and skill, but at least allow me to pay the cost of materials,” she suggested.

”What material costs?” Thoralle asked, blinking his crimson eyes as if he didn’t understand. ”What costs could I possibly have that haven’t already been paid for ten times over?”

”Thoralle, this is different,” Ollie insisted.

”When my family had nothing but what we could carry from our village, who fed us?” Thoralle asked, giving a pointed look. ”Who helped us settle somewhere safe and watched over us while we built our homes? I told you before, Sir Ollie, come to me when you need my help and I will see your needs filled.”

”My shop is and always will be at your disposal, Sir Ollie,” the draper insisted. ”So the materials are my gift to you, and my time is my gift to Princess Jocelynn, and that is an end to it.”

”No, it isn’t,” Ollie insisted. ”Thoralle, how many people in the village pooled everything they had so you could open a shop here?” Ollie asked, gesturing at the wooden buttons and toggles on display at the front counter, many of which featured delicate, intricate carvings. ”Not just from your clan, but the Heartwood Clan, the Horned Clan, and others?”

Thoralle’s shop was one of the first business ventures his village had made in the rapidly expanding Vale City. It wasn’t glamorous, but Heartwood carpenters had been responsible for transforming an old, neglected building into a serviceable shop for the Nightweaver draper, and while the silks all came from Thoralle’s own clan, the rest of the fabric in the store had been produced by the other families who settled in Ollie’s village.

It wasn’t just one man’s commercial ambition, it was part of an entire village’s efforts to become self-sufficient, and Ollie refused to undermine that effort because of the kindness his villagers showed him.

”And we all owe the same debt to you, Sir Ollie,” Thoralle said. ”We cannot accept your money.”

”Then don’t,” Ollie said as he untied the strings on the pouch and spilled several gold sovereigns across the counter. To Eira, it represented a staggering amount of wealth, easily her father’s entire income from the village for two to three years, but Ollie seemed not to care about how much money he’d just offered for a single dress.

”Your family suffered at the hands of the Lothians, didn’t they?” Ollie said. ”Now that they’re gone, it’s only fitting that gold taken from their treasuries finds its way into the hands of people they hurt.”

”This doesn’t buy absolution for anything the Lothians did,” Ollie added when Thoralle frowned at him. ”But if it helps, just imagine their spirits, caught in the Void and watching you spend their gold to improve your shop and care for all the families they tried to destroy,” he said, surprising Eira with his ruthless sense of justice.

”Well, when you put it like that,” Thoralle said, using his spider-like limbs to swiftly return the coins to the pouch. ”I suppose I can put the money to good use after all...”