of a certified social translator with her new position, so she could make a case that since Arvel read the numbers to her it could be considered part of her social translator duties and was thus permissible.
Arvel tapped his cookie on the rim of his teacup. “That would be brilliant. Thank you.”
“There is no need to keep thanking me, Your Royal—that is, Arvel.”
Arvel gave her an approving smile that seemed entirely too perky considering the late hour. But maybe that was just jealousy talking—she was the elf and was supposed to be untouched by fatigue. But she felt like she had rubbed pebbles in her eyes while Arvel still looked as fresh and happy as he had when she had initially returned from the library.
“But it’s a good work around,” Arvel argued. “And I think it’s the only way we’ll finish in time.”
Myth took another bite of her cookie. “Perhaps.”
I’ll need to be extra diligent. Of course my seniors will be horrified if I make a mistake, but any error would reflect poorly on Arvel as well.
With that unhappy thought lingering, she leaned back in her chair, attempting to relax in their amiable silence.
Arvel had opened one of the magnificent windows in the back of his office, and Myth could hear the crickets chirping outside in the gardens.
She stood and stretched her arms above her head, feeling her muscles pull tight. Taking her cookie with her, she walked to the back of Arvel’s office so she could breathe in more of the cool air and peer outside.
Fog had settled over the gardens, cloaking them from sight.
Because Arvel’s office jutted out of the palace, she could see up and down the wall of the building. Most of the rooms were darkened; only a few hallways that emptied out into open-air corridors were dimly lit this late at night.
Arvel’s chair scraped as he stood up and joined her at the windows.
He leaned against one of the window panes as he glanced up at the evening sky, which was obscured by clouds. “I keep thanking you because there’s no way I could have fixed this without you,” he abruptly spoke, breaking the silence. “All the translators had finished for the day. I could have declared it a royal emergency, but that would be a lie. It’s no emergency of any sort, just Mother and the Fultons throwing their weight around.”
Myth frowned. “What do you mean? Surely it was a mistake on their end.” She glanced back at the exhaustive list of changes sitting on Arvel’s desk. She didn’t know if her tongue was loosened by the snack or the late hour, but she dourly added, “A massive, embarrassing recording error that I hope makes them hang their heads in shame for being such cakes about it.”
Arvel chuckled. “I think that’s the first negative thing I’ve heard you say about the situation. Well done! Sadly, no. It’s not an error. It’s a punishment. From Mother—although I suppose her family supports it as well. She had no way of knowing you’d be capable of helping, so she probably just wanted me to fail to teach me a lesson.”
Myth’s frown deepened. “Why would she punish you?”
Arvel shrugged. “She keeps throwing eligible young ladies at me—the kind she would want me to marry—and I persist in evading them.”
Myth slowly blinked as she tried to comprehend what Arvel was telling her. “I apologize. My informal Calnoric must be off. Do you really mean to say your Mother and her family have purposely produced extra work for you with the intention that you should fail because you don’t like the young ladies they suggest as marriage candidates?”
“Yep.”
Later, Myth blamed Arvel’s charming personality for what came next. (He was too open, too cunningly pleasant so that he’d lowered her guard to a point she hadn’t recognized, or she would have kept a better rein on her tongue.)
“Is Her Majesty, Queen Luciee of Calnor, an animal that intends to eat her own young?”
Arvel broke into such heaving gusts of laughter he folded in half and grabbed his sides.
Myth ignored the prince’s laughter—she wasn’t done. “And are the Fultons daft? Did it not occur to Queen Luciee nor her family that you are the crown prince? Once you get enough power you can make their lives a misery!”
Several minutes passed before Arvel could speak. “They’re hoping to get me under control before then.” He was still grinning, but he finally tamed his good humor. “That’s why they care so much about who