The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,16

the honor of borrowing books from the library. Thank you for requesting it on my behalf.”

“Of course! You’ll need something to occupy yourself this afternoon. I’m going over some palace expenditures, and I don’t expect any elven company—unless Gwendafyn drops in for a visit. Ah…”

He trailed off when he noticed the Honor Guards standing at attention by the entrance to his study.

“Never mind. It looks like we’re in for company after all,” he said.

Myth fell back a few steps, letting Arvel reach them first. “Guard Commander Arion,” he said. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

The tallest man of the clutch of guards studied the crown prince with a furrowed brow and stormy eyes. “Your Royal Highness.” He bowed, his posture crisp and precise. “May I speak to you?”

“Always! What’s brought you to me? I don’t think the Honor Guard has submitted any requests for anything needed from Lessa.” Arvel opened his study and beckoned for Sir Arion to follow him in.

“Not at this time, Your Highness.” Sir Arion pivoted to face Myth and bowed to her. “After you,” he murmured in passable Elvish.

“Thank you.” Myth bobbed a quick curtsy, then slipped inside. She made for her newly assembled station—a simple but beautifully polished table—and sat down in her comfortably padded chair and avoided looking at the two men. She briefly glanced up in surprise when Arion stepped into the study and closed the door, shutting out the guards. It only took a moment, however, for her to quietly set her books down and busily open them, intending to immerse herself in her work so she wouldn’t overhear anything.

That was one of the unexpected aspects of her temporary position. As a trade translator she only discussed work. As a social translator assigned to the crown prince, she was frequently told to stay at his side even as he discussed important matters that she frankly had no business knowing and no desire to hear.

Yet another reason why I cannot wait to return to my department. I imagine social translators must have to sign some sort of oath when they take their positions, to guarantee their discretion.

“How can I help you, Sir Arion?” Crown Prince Arvel lowered himself into his chair with a sort of casual grace, while Sir Arion remained standing despite the open chair the crown prince pointed to.

“I’ve come to ask you to reconsider your position on personal guards,” Sir Arion said. “It was understandable when you were first made heir that you didn’t want assigned protection. But it is my belief that, should you remain unguarded much longer, certain persons may take advantage of this.”

Myth glanced at her borrowed mathematics book with longing, but she’d read that book when she was off duty. Instead, she paged through one of the social books until she found a chapter that seemed particularly necessary to read—Calnoric formal greetings—and absently heard the thump Crown Prince Arvel made when he planted his elbows on his desk.

“You’re referring to the Fultons,” he said.

Myth froze, staring unseeingly at the words on the page.

The Fultons were a powerful Calnorian noble family. They specialized in trading—both across the country and beyond the borders of Calnor. But what was perhaps most notable about them in this particular context was that the Queen of Calnor, Her Majesty Queen Luciee, was a member of the Fulton family.

Arvel thinks his mother’s family would attack him?

The idea was so…foreign, and sad. They were his family; they wouldn’t try to hurt him, would they? But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t her business.

It took every ounce of Myth’s will to keep from looking up. She forced herself to turn a page in her book, and once again tried to read.

“It is not my place to suppose what the Fultons are and are not capable of,” Sir Arion replied with an admirable amount of calm.

“I’m not naive, Arion. I know they’re a threat.” Crown Prince Arvel sighed. “They were relatively leashed when Mother presided over the social courts and controlled who was in and who was an outcast. But she lost that power to Gwendafyn, who is now the indisputable social darling. I imagine they feel threatened, and are afraid that their power will wane as Mother’s influence has.”

Focus. Court intrigue is not part of my calling as a trade translator. Myth guiltily gripped the sides of her book.

“Arvel, I am the Guard Commander,” Sir Arion said. “I do not care for the actions of the court, or the petty squabbles between nobles. Your safety is, at this