The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,38

Myth.

“You aren’t taking this seriously.” Myth again scanned the gardens to make sure no one—specifically Arvel—had moved into hearing range. But currently Blaise and Myth were the only two standing at the edges of the party, next to a giant hedge that formed a back wall for this particular section of the garden.

The songbirds had returned to their nests, their voices swapped for the pleasant chirp of crickets that was just audible over the gurgling splash a tiny waterfall made. The waterfall was part of a stream that snaked around and through the clearing occupied by the party, but Myth had strategically positioned herself by the waterfall so it would cover her conversation with Blaise.

“I disagree, I am taking your story quite seriously,” Blaise said, drawing Myth back into their conversation. “If I thought he’d crossed the line with you I would have acted already. But it doesn’t seem like—for all his ‘seduction’—he did anything improper. Or am I wrong? Did he crowd you in any way? Or touch you inappropriately?”

“No. He was a normal distance, and he didn’t touch me,” Myth said. “It’s just…that smile!”

“Yes, how dare he smile?” Blaise snickered.

“It was intimidating.”

“You were scared, then.”

“No. It, it threw me off balance and startled me.”

“What you really mean to say is that no one before your Prince of Seduction had the guts to lay siege to that impassable serenity of yours,” Blaise said. “He has caught you off-guard—something you aren’t used to.”

Myth pressed her lips together. “When phrased like that, it makes me sound like an idiot.”

Blaise patted Myth’s hands. “A pure idiot.”

Now it was Myth’s turn to scoff.

Blaise shrugged. “You’re an elf. It sounds like he’s coming at you from a very human way of courtship; it is bound to rattle your elven sensibilities, where your people flirt by—I imagine—exchanging flowers you grew for each other or something.”

“We elves are not that righteous in our courtship—and he is not coming at me, as you so barbarically phrased it.”

“Sure,” Blaise agreed. “But, Myth…” The apprentice wizard trailed off and waited until Myth glanced curiously at her. “If he ever makes you feel uncomfortable, tell him—and then tell me.” Blaise pushed a lock of her russet hair out of her face and glanced at the topic of their discussion. “I get the impression he’s an honorable sort who would be horrified if he knew he made you uncomfortable and would instantly cease. But just in case I’m wrong, I still want you to tell me, too.”

Myth smiled, and basked in the warmth of her friendship with Blaise.

When all was said and done, Blaise was the only person Myth knew without a doubt fully cared for her—not just as a translator or student, but as a person. Blaise was more concerned, more invested in Myth, than her own father was. For that, Blaise would have her loyalty forever. “I will,” Myth said. “Thank you, Blaise.”

“Of course.” Blaise awkwardly cleared her throat, then straightened her skirt. “If you don’t think he’s coming at you, what prompted it?”

“I believe it was due to overworking,” Myth theorized. “The relief caused him to act…strangely.”

It was the only even remotely reasonable explanation Myth could come up with.

Arvel was the crown prince and her employer. And though she hadn’t known him long, it was apparent he was honorable. Which meant there was no reason for him to approach her—a mere translator—with any sort of thoughts of romance.

He had rattled her, but Myth had learned enough of Calnorian culture in her reading to know that crown princes didn’t go around marrying commoners—even elven commoners.

“You know, for being so intelligent you certainly like to delude yourself,” Blaise said. Before Myth could scoff out a reply, she added, “Don’t look now, but I think your seducer is on his way over.”

9

“Don’t call him that!” Myth hissed through teeth clenched in a smile. She raised her gaze, and sure enough, Arvel and Prince Benjimir were winding their way through the party.

Arvel would smile and pause long enough to exchange quick greetings with any of the wizards or elven enchanters they encountered. Benjimir, however, rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and looked handsomely bored.

“Hello, Myth.” Arvel smiled warmly at her, then slightly inclined his head at Blaise. “And you must be Myth’s wizard friend—I’ve heard much of you.”

“I am Apprentice Wizard Blaise, Your Royal Highness.” Blaise curtsied with a surprising amount of manners that she usually only trotted out for whatever elven enchanter she was trying to corner. “I