The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,19
than a few fluttering hearts among his female peers. “Have a great night.”
Myth bowed and turned to go, but was surprised to find the doorway filled.
The newcomer was a tall, willowy woman who appeared approximately middle aged, though she was still a great beauty with bronze colored hair that glowed in the light of the candles, smooth skin, and full lips that were curled into a smile that was almost…cruel.
“Hello…Mother.” Arvel’s smile was more polished and professional than the bright one he tended to throw around.
“Arvel.” Queen Luciee lifted an eyebrow and flicked her eyes at Myth.
Arvel was quiet for several moments, then slowly spoke. “Please allow me to introduce my new translator, Mythlan.”
“Well met, Your Majesty.” Myth bowed, resting her hands on the thighs of her pants as she kept her posture perfect.
Queen Luciee stepped farther into Arvel’s study, revealing the three handmaidens waiting for her in the hallway. “You seem young for a translator.”
“I am a mere apprentice, Your Majesty.”
“An apprentice has been assigned to my son, the Crown Prince of Calnor?” Her elegant voice dropped into an icy tone, and she seemed to draw herself taller.
“It doesn’t matter.” Arvel stepped in front of Myth, hiding her from view. “Did you need something?”
The heavily jeweled bracelets on Queen Luciee’s wrists clicked as she extended her hand.
One of the handmaidens rushed to place a packet of papers on her palm.
Queen Luciee took them and fanned herself for a moment, making her hair flutter. “As I recall it, the orders for all elven goods and imports are to leave tomorrow with the party heading to Jubilee.”
“Yes,” Arvel said. “The orders have been recorded. I sent them to the translators who will take the orders and deliver them to the various guildhalls in Jubilee and then bring the ordered goods and materials back here to Haven.” Although Arvel’s tone was polished and calm, there was a wariness to the way he rocked back on his heels.
“I’m sorry, then, to ruin your hard work, but the Fultons made a rather large purchase order, and it wasn’t discovered until today that several mistakes were made in their request. Here is the corrected order.” Queen Luciee held the papers out to Crown Prince Arvel.
He stared at the papers. “The deadline to submit an order—and make any changes to it—passed three days ago.”
“Come now, Arvel. This is for the Fultons—my family, and yours as well.” The queen’s smile grew, her red lips a mocking curve that Myth itched to yank off her face.
“We can’t make exceptions,” Arvel flatly stated.
“Can’t we? Am I not the Queen of Calnor?” Her tone was soft but dangerous, and her eyes burned. “Do I not have at least this much power?”
Arvel’s shoulders slumped for a fraction of a moment before he reached out and took the papers. “Why are you doing this?”
“My dear Arvel, you cannot believe I arranged for this on purpose. It was a simple mistake.” She laughed, a harsh, unforgiving noise. “Although perhaps it would be best if, in the future, you are not so rude to my guests, hmm?”
Arvel’s fingers tightened convulsively around the papers, making them crinkle.
Myth looked from the papers to the queen, trying to comprehend how she could be so unfeeling toward her own offspring.
Is she lacking in all feelings of motherly affection? Or is she just a terrible being?
“Thank you for fixing this little error, son.” Queen Luciee patted Arvel’s cheek as if he were a small boy. “The Fultons do so appreciate it.” Her skirts—wide and thick—made a swishing sound as she glided to the door. “Good night.”
5
Crown Prince Arvel was stone still as her footsteps retreated down the hallway. Even after they fell out of Myth’s range—and her senses were sharper than a human’s—he remained still.
Myth bit her lip, then finally dared to venture a quiet, “Your Royal Highness?”
He exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath for a long time. “Yes, sorry about that.” He turned around and offered Myth a smile—though she thought perhaps there was a tired sort of shadow around his eyes now. “That’s Mother. She’s…something.” He ambled back to his desk and spread the “corrected” papers out in front of him.
Myth watched for a few moments, before she confirmed, “You are in charge of the trade exchange between Lessa and Calnor?”
“No—not entirely. I just manage the initial orders from Calnor—specifically when merchants and nobility place the orders. Father still oversees the rest of it—he has to make certain the right tax rates are applied to