Page 23 of Witch’s Ruin

He ignored the shocked expressions on the wielders beside him, and the growing curiosity of their witches. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to adjust how he acted in Mina’s presence for fear of judgment or scorn.

“Your…your account?” Mina asked. He’d never told her that he had an entire inheritance in the treasury. He’d left it all behind when he ran away. But, well, there wasn’t any reason to ignore it while he was here. The wages they made slaying demons wouldn’t cover a single gown of Marvin Downing’s. But with his treasury, she could have hundreds…if she wanted.

“My account,” he confirmed. “Marvin will know.”

She opened and closed her mouth, then nodded, sweeping into the shop, leaving him at the mercy of the two males in his company.

Chapter 9

Mina

I hadn’t hidden my surprise. Rixon had seen it. But, honestly, an account? An entire account? Here we were, going on assignments, slaughtering demons, living off the pay we received, and he had an account?! But of course he did. He was a prince. And if the king was the richest man in the kingdom—which he probably was—then what did that make Rixon?

“Are you all right, Mina?” Anne leaned on my arm. Elianna had already moved off to examine several gowns in the shop.

“I think I feel a little dizzy,” I admitted, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Here, come and sit.” Anne fussed over me. I rather liked her, and Elianna too. They were complete opposites, but both had an excellent sense of humor. Anne was ultra talkative—which is why Rixon’s invitation to bring them had surprised me—whereas Elianna was more reserved and level headed.

Having a bench under my rump grounded me. Anne patted my arm. “They’re now. Was it all the city noise? That often gets to my head. For someone who has been in the wilderness, it’s a bit much.”

“No. No, it wasn’t that.” I wasn’t ready to admit why.

“This will look splendid on you, Mina,” Elianna said, spinning over holding a gown. It was a dark blue creation with light blue accents and a golden silk sash.

“Ah, the mistress is correct,” said a voice. We all jumped, turning towards the source. An old, squat man appeared, glasses squished against his nose. Despite a bustling shop, he’d singled us out. “Lady Witches, a pleasure. Looking for gowns today?”

“She’s looking for a gown,” Anne piped up. “Several, in fact. Her wielder out there—Prince Aleksander Rixon Kozma—told her to charge everything to his account.”

Well, it was certainly a not-so-subtle name drop.

“Prince—gods above!” Marvin Downing, as I assumed him to be, stumbled back a step, looking out the window. He caught sight of Rixon’s towering form beside the other two wielders.

I stood and produced my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Mina, and yes, that is my wielder out there, Rixon.”

Marvin Downing chuckled. “Rixon, eh? The name his mother gave him. Splendid. Just splendid. I used to make all his clothes when he was a young lad.” He hesitated to see my reaction, then continued, more to himself. “I’ll have to speak with him, yes. He’s in dire need of my assistance.” His eyes raked over Rixon’s attire, catching on some of the weapons littering his person.

“I’m certain he’d be glad to have his measurements taken,” I mentioned.

“Indeed…indeed.” Marvin lapsed into thought before clapping his hands. “First things first! You, Lady Witch. Mina. What would you like then? The blue one there? Yes, perfect. And we shall have you measured, of course. I’d be honored to commission several pieces. It might take me a few days, but I’ll have them done right. Until then, we can pick from what’s here and I’ll have them altered. Danny! Shay!” Two of his assistants all but sprouted into existence by his side. Like they’d done this before. “Come. We’ve got work to do.”

I was ushered to a pedestal while Marvin barked orders, summoning bolts of fabric from his assistants. He pinned and prodded, measured and noted, pausing here and there to ask questions. Did I prefer pink to nude? Blue to purple? Silk barcode or tulle? What about pockets? How would I like the skirts adjusted for maximum mobility?

Between his questions, Elianna and Anne asked me questions about Rixon, about my life before the Citadel, about different witches. Did I know a witch named Marilyn? What about Natalie? They also tried on dresses of their own, just for fun.

I couldn’t help my smile. Couldn’t help as my worries were forgotten. They made me think of Tasha, my only friend in the Citadel. A sudden desire to see her, speak with her, see how her life was going, swept over me.

She’d once accused me of being too closed off, never allowing anyone to get close. She’d been right. It was those memories, those accusations that I considered when I’d finally let Rixon know me.

“We should have come to this shop ages ago,” Anne sighed, wistfully. “These gowns are gorgeous.”

They’d both arrived here wearing the efficient, homespun dresses that witches often wore. We were, after all, slaying demons and traipsing about the wilderness in between assignments, and more importantly, living on a meager wage. I preferred pants and a tunic, often accenting everything with a corset to show off my hips. But most witches preferred skirts they could move freely in.

“It’s not as if we ever have an occasion to dress up,” Elianna sighed, twirling in a deep crimson and yellow piece that set off her skin tone and warm eyes.

“The king doesn’t invite you to his dinner parties?”

“Gods, no. Dinners?” Elianna snorted. “I’d die before getting stuck at one of those. All pompous nobility and fuddy-duddies,” she added, dropping her voice to a whisper, since most of the people browsing were exactly that.