The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,14

employees.

But I can’t fail. Failure might get me kicked out of the trade department. I’ll just have to make certain I shore up my ignorance as swiftly as possible. She tried to ignore the anxiety that squeezed her heart, and squared her shoulders when Rollo knocked on the door.

Myth was once again surprised when Rollo casually shoved the door open without waiting for a reply. “Your Highness!” He trooped into the room, booming in Calnoric. “I’ve brought you your new translator.”

“Hello—and come in, of course!” Prince Arvel stood up from the desk he was seated at and crossed the room, a smile flashing across his face.

Rollo grinned at the younger man, then turned and beckoned for Myth to enter, shutting the door when she reluctantly did so. “Mythlan, this is His Highness, Crown Prince Arvel of Calnor.”

4

Myth recognized Arvel, of course. She’d seen him at enough public celebrations to recognize him when he started frequenting the library. Over the years he’d grown taller. In fact, since he’d become crown prince, he’d surpassed his brothers and become the tallest of them all. He’d been lanky and a little awkward for a year or so, but he’d filled in since then, and now looked, Myth supposed, like an idealized variation of his title: the charming prince with fair hair and boyish features.

Myth bowed, her voice managing to sound calm even though she felt anything but. “Greetings, Your Highness. I am Mythlan, daughter of Wylorym and Lusana. I am to be your temporary translator.” She was tempted to stress the temporary bit given Rollo’s introduction, but that seemed unwise.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Mythlan,” Arvel said.

Surprised, Myth met his gaze when she stood up from her bow.

“Since we’ve been patrons of the library together for so long,” he supplied.

“Yes,” Myth carefully said—she hadn’t thought he’d recognize her. She was just one of the many library visitors. But his observation took the edge off the disappointment of her new role; he must be kind if he noticed a small thing like that.

“I look forward to working together with you—hopefully we’ll have fun despite all the socials we’ll attend,” Arvel said.

“Your Highness, the point of many of those socials is to be fun,” Rollo said.

“Fun maybe for you,” Arvel snorted. “But you could talk the leg off a chair. Are you staying long, Rollo?”

“No, unfortunately not. Your father needs me, and I already gave Mythlan a rundown of what to expect.”

“I understand. Good luck with my father—watch out for all his cats and dogs,” Arvel advised. “If you step on a tail, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I shall do my best.” Rollo offered the prince a quick bow, then smiled at Myth. “Remember, Mythlan, seek me out if you are unsure about anything. I’d be glad to teach you.” He flapped his outer robe and was out the door before Myth could think of a coherent response, leaving her alone…with the crown prince.

Crown Prince Arvel leaned against the edge of his massive desk. “Thank you for agreeing to take the position. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“I will do my best, Your Royal Highness.”

Arvel ruefully rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around his uniquely organized office. “I suppose you’ll need a work space…I don’t run into many elves during my workday, but I still imagine you’ll want a spot of your own.”

Myth turned in a slow circle, studying what would likely be her main location as long as she served Crown Prince Arvel.

The study was a bright and cheerful room. The back end bubbled out of the building and was encased in glass from the floor to the domed ceiling. It looked out over a corner of Rosewood Park—the massive gardens the palace curled around—which added vibrance to the room.

The bookshelves that lined the walls were, curiously, only about a third filled. End tables, however, cluttered up much of the room and were stacked high with paper, bound logbooks, and records. A cabinet was stocked to the point of bursting with inkwells, quills, and candles, and more than a few jackets made of fine cloth were scattered around the room, horrendously rumpled and nearly covered by the paper stacks.

“If I may have a chair, that will be enough, Your Royal Highness,” Myth offered.

“Nonsense. We’ll get you a table, too. I can call for some servants to bring one in—I just have to stop being a pig and put away my papers so we’ll have the space for it.” Arvel