The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,27
wine. “She’s pretty impressive.”
Outraged, Myth turned on her employer. “Pretty impressive? Pretty impressive? My Princess Gwendafyn is a walking legend, and I dare you to find anyone more outstanding, kind, and deadly!”
Arvel thoughtfully tilted his head. “It seems like you have a bad case of hero-worship for Fyn. Want me to introduce you two?”
“Don’t you dare,” Myth hissed. “My Princess Gwendafyn is the smiling sun which we lessers can bask in the warmth of! You cannot bother her with a simple matter like introductions when she has so many demands on her time.”
Arvel rubbed his chin. “I don’t know how I like being considered a lesser.”
“Compared to My Princess Gwendafyn, you are quite lesser.” Myth watched Princess Gwendafyn with fascination as the elven princess embraced her mother and then her father.
“Quite lesser? Are you forgetting that I, too, am a royal?” Arvel playfully complained. “Much less the crown prince?”
Myth stared blankly at him. “So?”
“Wouldn’t being the future monarch of Calnor put me on equal footing with Gwendafyn, even if she is legendary?” Arvel winked and nudged her a little.
Ohhh, he’s fishing for a compliment, is he? He’s going to be doomed to disappointment. With everyone fawning over him, he hardly needs my praise!
Myth went through the extra effort of keeping her expression calm and her voice insistent. “She is My Princess Gwendafyn. You are just a crown prince.”
“Just the crown prince?” A strangled sounding noise escaped from Arvel’s mouth, and he gaped at her as if she’d grown another head. “Your sense of hero-worship makes you mean, Myth.”
Myth sniffed. “Hardly. It is simply that you cannot compare to the splendor of My Princess Gwendafyn.”
“Fine. Then what does that make me in your thoughts?”
Myth tapped her chin and looked thoughtful, before innocently widening her eyes. “My employer?”
This time Arvel’s mouth dropped. “Employer? Not even a royal?”
Myth shrugged. “As I am an elf, you’re not my prince.”
“But, but—Gwendafyn is my bond partner! That should give me some claim to a higher status.”
Myth gave Arvel her best pitying look.
Arvel narrowed his eyes. “What’s that look for?”
“I am sad for you that you are resorting to citing weak connections to claim a higher level of importance. I did not know you needed such praise to thrive.”
“What? You…” Arvel gaped at her for a moment, then erupted into loud laughter.
Myth took his wine flute from him so he didn’t drop it, then demurely looked down as many of those present in the room peered in their direction.
“There, there, Your Royal Highness,” Myth said soothingly once his laughter wasn’t as loud. “I am terribly sorry no one delivered this devastating news to you sooner.”
“You are wicked.” Arvel took his wine flute back. “I’m never believing that placid expression of yours again.”
“There, there, Your Royal Highness,” Myth repeated. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “You are a very majestic specimen. It’s a wonder anyone can gaze upon your splendor and not be blinded.”
“Harridan!”
“Your tone tells me that word is not a compliment, Your Royal Highness. This is why you cannot match the splendor of My Princess—”
“Gwendafyn, yes, yes.” Arvel laughed. “Thank you, Myth—although I told you to call me Arvel.”
“I assume it wouldn’t be proper in such a formal setting.”
“Nonsense! Besides I am—as you said yourself—a lesser.” He grinned at Myth, giving her his brightest smile again.
Myth, curious, looked around to see if her theory about his smile fluttering the hearts of eligible ladies was correct. Disappointingly, there were no young ladies around, but she did spy a rather distinguished elf gliding in their direction.
“I believe we’re about to have some company,” Myth murmured.
“Understood. Time to look presentable and play nice.” Arvel stood straight and dimmed his smile to something more in the polite range. “Seer Ringali, a pleasure to see you again. I hope your travels were uneventful?”
Seer Ringali—the mentor of Lady Tari and the godfather of her firstborn—was tall, even for an elf, and carried a fan painted with blue flowers…as if the pretty design could detract from the razor-sharp edge that lined the top folds of the fan.
(As an Evening Star he—like Lady Tari and Princess Gwendafyn—was an exception to the general rule that most Lesser Elves couldn’t handle bloodshed or even fighting.)
Once the robed warrior was just a few steps away, Myth bowed to him. “Crown Prince Arvel extends his greetings to the esteemed Seer Ringali, and expresses his pleasure in seeing you again and hopes your travels were uneventful.”
Seer Ringali slightly bowed his head at Arvel. “Greetings, Crown Prince Arvel.