The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,101

interpret that as a yes?” He interrupted her thoughts with a cheeky poke to her shoulder. “Yes, you’ll marry me?”

“Yes!” she said with exasperation.

Before she could say anything more, Arvel swooped down and kissed her again, this time more deeply.

And in his arms, with his lips pressed to hers, Myth knew she’d never been happier.

In a different part of the castle, King Petyrr poured King Celrin a cup of elven wine and smiled so widely it threatened to split his face. “It’s done, Celrin!” he said in broken Elvish.

“It is indeed,” King Celrin responded in thickly accented Calnoric. “Allow me to congratulate you on the most perfect of outcomes.” He took his cup and raised it in a toast.

The two were alone in their joint study, and—due to years and years of practice and perseverance—were finally to the point where they could communicate with each other through broken phrases, bad accents, and a swirl of hand gestures.

“It worked out well.” King Petyrr eased himself into his cushioned chair. “There were a few times I mis-stepped, but in the end it went as planned.”

“You were right, taking down the Fultons was the display of power Arvel needed to win the respect of the nobles,” King Celrin said.

“And just in the nick of time.” King Petyrr patted his lap, attempting to encourage a furry orange cat to hop on before he gave up and picked the purring animal up. “Our children are glorious, but Benjimir and Gwendafyn are almost too dazzling. If Arvel sat around and contemplated his navel much longer, he’d never win his people over and would have to rely on Benjimir and Gwendafyn to provide all the social and military power needed to do anything in Calnor.”

“A position that surely would have made Benjimir and Gwendafyn most unhappy,” King Celrin acknowledged. He watched his long-time friend out of the corners of his eyes. “And how are you?”

King Petyrr sneezed when the cat swished its tail under his nose. “Hmm? What do you mean?”

“I am not so optimistic as to call your marriage with Luciee warm…but I know you loved her.” King Celrin chose his words delicately. “It was why you waited so long to correct the Fultons.”

“Rather, it’s why I was forced to pawn off the unpleasant task on my own son, hmm?” King Petyrr’s smile was sad, and he petted the cat with a gentleness that belied his gruff appearance. “I did love Luciee. And I let that love get in the way not only of doing what was right, but acting in love. If I had done something earlier, it would not have gotten this bad.”

King Celrin leaned across the gap between their chairs so he could set his hand on King Petyrr’s shoulder. “It was Luciee’s choice to aid her brother.”

“Yes,” King Petyrr agreed. “And her exile was necessary. But I’m glad my sons have chosen worthy women.”

King Celrin observed his wine cup. “It seems Arvel has made his choice.”

“Indeed!” King Petyrr chortled. “That was a match I never saw coming—though they suit each other quite well. Translator Mythlan will make an excellent queen, and her skills will complement Arvel’s once they become monarchs. I imagine their reign will be a time of economic and intellectual boom for both Lessa and Calnor, while Benjimir and Gwendafyn can keep us all safe.”

“I am interested to see how her breakthrough in translating High Elf runes affects the future,” King Celrin said.

“Yes,” King Petyrr agreed. “It’s another step toward understanding High Elf magic—one I didn’t think we’d see in our lifetime.”

“Indeed.” King Celrin idly rubbed his chin. “Speaking of the happy couple…did you ever tell Arvel that all along Mythlan was the only candidate for the position as his translator?”

“No!” King Petyrr almost violently shook his head. “The boy thinks he’s so smart because he bargained for her. He’ll complain endlessly if he realizes Rollo and I had already selected her—and had to beg and bribe the trade translators into lending her out. But she was the only apprentice in any department with the fluency to handle the position. None of the social apprentices are even half as fluent as she.”

“You cannot fool me, friend,” King Celrin laughed. “You could have found another translator, but you chose her.”

“Yes, because it was almost a certain thing she was going to be the next Trade Chairwoman—not because I thought she’d turn Arvel lovesick.” King Petyrr sank a little lower into his chair, and his cat purred as it sat on the