Elf Defence (Adventures in Aguillon #2) - Lisa Henry Page 0,3
don’t know anything about ruling a duchy.”
“You know it’s called a duchy,” Calarian said encouragingly. “And you didn’t even have to consult the Human Heraldry and Peerage Guidebook. That’s a start.”
“See? Best suited to the job!” Benji said cheerfully, and hooked an arm under Lars’s elbow. He led Lars away from the edge, Calarian was glad to see, because as a general rule he tried to limit Benji to one public catastrophe a week. Fewer, even, if that were possible, but he knew his cousin well enough not to expect miracles. Still, Benji was improving. He hadn’t set anything on fire in months.
Lars was staring between them, still open-mouthed. “I’m the new duke?”
“You’re the new duke,” Calarian said firmly. If there was one thing he’d learned from House and Humans, it was that if you’re going to make things up, you had to do it with authority. Or maybe he’d learned it from Loth. Regardless, it didn’t matter—in this case, it worked.
“I’m the new duke,” Lars said wonderingly, a smile spreading like a sunrise across his face, and Calarian had to wonder for a moment if Lars had a touch of elf somewhere in his bloodlines, because right at that moment, he really was unfairly attractive.
Benji elbowed Calarian in the side to get his attention, with more force than was strictly warranted. “You were saying people are waiting in the great hall?” he asked Lars.
“Oh! Yes, it’s the weekly public audience, where people petition the duke,” Lars said, and his brow furrowed. “Except, that’s me now, and I have no idea how this works. I only came to ask for help finding Maisy.”
“My cow,” Lars corrected. “I’m a cowherd. Maisy’s my best milker and she went missing weeks ago.”
“You can get a new cow,” Benji said. “Ten new cows. You’re the duke now, after all.”
Lars frowned. “I don’t want ten new cows.”
“That’s probably for the best. You won’t have time to look after them, since you’ll be so busy ruling,” Calarian cut in. “So, you’re telling us people are waiting downstairs?”
“Most of the town,” Lars said. At Calarian’s surprised expression he shrugged and said, “There’s not much to do around here, and it’s a day out.”
“Perfect!” Benji exclaimed, a gleam in his eye. “What better time to present the new duke? Duke Lars of Tournel!” He made a wide, sweeping motion with his hand, and it was only because Calarian twisted sideways that he didn’t get caught and go sailing off the edge of the tower.
Calarian glared at Benji. “Perhaps your first order of business should be some safety rails, Your Grace.”
“Who? Oh! That’s me now, I suppose!” Lars squared his shoulders (and there was a lot of shoulder to square) and said “You’re right. Let’s go down and deliver the sad news of my father’s passing, and tell the people I’m the successor.” He sounded noble and confident, right up until the moment he whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Was that all right?”
“Perfect,” Calarian assured him. “And you have the envoys of the kings to back you up, remember.”
Lars’s brow creased for a moment, and he said, “I don’t even know your names. If I'm the duke, I probably need to know that, right?”
Perhaps Lars was smarter than he first appeared. “I’m Calarian, and this is my cousin Benji,” Calarian said.
“Cousins?” Lars looked from one to the other. “But you two were…” He blushed, and stammered out, “Well, um, never mind, we have a branch of the family like that. They live in the hills, and it doesn’t seem to have done them any harm. They tell me the extra toes come in handy sometimes.”
“Oh, we’re not biological cousins, we’re collectivist cousins,” Calarian clarified, because humans really were funny about that sort of thing. “Benji’s parents and mine were part of the same collective, that’s all. We don’t even have the same last name.”
“My last name is Willowtree,” Benji said, “and his is–”
“Anyway, Your Grace, what do you say we go and meet your adoring public?” Calarian said, cutting Benji off mid-sentence and glaring at him. His last name was perfectly respectable, thank you. Benji just liked to be a dick about it.
Lars brightened at that. “Do you really think they’ll be adoring?”
“Of course! What’s not to love? Listen, with most rulers it's either Prince Charming, or the Handsome Prince, but you? You’re handsome and charming, and that’s a rare thing.”
“Unless you’re an elf,” Benji added, flicking his hair over his