The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,42

me drop the investigation,” Arvel calmly said.

Myth heard footsteps in the hallway, through the cracked door. They were quiet and long strided, and there was no familiar click of weapons in the gait, which was a sound that accompanied every member of the Calnorian royal family. This most likely meant that it was elven royals outside, specifically King Celrin and Queen Firea, as Her Princess Gwendafyn frequently carried a sword or dagger as well.

The pair lingered outside the door, likely in respect for Queen Luciee’s conversation with Arvel. Unless Translator Rollo was with them, they had no idea what was taking place inside the room.

Well. They’re best suited out of everyone to spare Arvel.

“You fool,” Queen Luciee spat at her son. “I had hopes you wouldn’t disappoint me as Benjimir did, but you’re worse than him. He, at least, had the intelligence to marry up.”

Myth discreetly slithered down the wall. She cast one last glance at Queen Luciee—who was still snarling at Arvel—then “happened” to bump the door open.

Sure enough, on the other side of the door stood the stately elven king and his beautiful queen. Myth curtsied and murmured in a voice that she hoped Queen Luciee wouldn’t register, “My King Celrin, My Queen Firea.”

“Good morning, Translator Myth,” King Celrin said.

Queen Firea offered Myth a quick smile, but her attention was mostly on Arvel and Queen Luciee…her gaze hardening the longer she watched the queen shout at her progeny.

Myth stepped to the side, giving them the option to enter.

King Celrin took a few steps toward his customary seat, but paused when he realized Queen Firea had remained with Myth.

The elf queen slightly narrowed her eyes and tilted her head back. “What is she saying to the dear crown prince?”

Myth had been hoping she’d ask. She bowed slightly to hide the satisfaction she was sure encased the curve of her lips. “Currently, Queen Luciee is telling Crown Prince Arvel that he is an unintelligent and weak child who is not worthy of the position he’s been granted.”

Queen Firea narrowed her eyes. “What?”

King Celrin strode up to his seat. “Please inform Queen Luciee I was under the impression she was better than this, Translator Myth. Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure,” Myth feelingly said.

Queen Luciee had finally noticed the elven monarchs’ arrival, and she stiffly sat back in her chair. “Good morning to you, King Celrin, Queen Firea.”

Myth waited until Queen Luciee looked at her before delivering the translation. “King Celrin wishes to inform you that he believed you were better than this.”

“I’m sure I don’t know to what he is referring,” Queen Luciee airily laughed. “This was just a cherished moment of parental advice.”

Myth faithfully relayed the translation.

King Celrin benignly studied his empty teacup. “Really? Calling your son unintelligent and weak is what Calnor calls parental advice?”

Myth made the exact translation, taking great satisfaction at the sallowness that spread across Queen Luciee’s face.

“No, I didn’t state that…it must have been a mistake in the translation,” she coyly said. She stood and came around the table, aiming for Myth—who was still standing by Queen Firea. When she got close enough, she said in a harsh whisper, “You dared to translate a private conversation between a mother and her son? You wretch.”

Arvel stood up so fast he kicked his chair to the ground. He whirled around, his upper lip curled back, but Myth spoke before he could reply.

10

“I apologize, Queen Luciee. But you’re not my queen. I am not beholden to you as I am to My Queen Firea,” Myth said in her calmest tone. She met the queen’s enraged gaze and slowly let the tiniest hint of a smile grace her lips.

Queen Luciee snarled. “You—”

“Enough!” Queen Firea shouted the word in Elvish, but the anger in her voice made the meaning plain. “Translator Myth.” Queen Firea’s voice was ageless in her anger—like the fury of a storm. “Kindly inform Queen Luciee that if she threatens anyone again—especially Arvel or yourself—the elves will cease all trade with the Fultons and refrain from acknowledging her publicly—even after her death.”

Myth relayed the words in the most toneless voice she could muster.

Queen Luciee’s rage-white skin tone spread, and she cast Myth a poisonous look. However, she refrained from speaking, and instead strode from the room with an angry huff.

Once Queen Luciee had left, King Celrin retreated to his wife’s side and kissed her forehead. “I knew Gwendafyn didn’t get it solely from my family.”

Queen Firea shook her head. “I’ve seen that woman eye up Gwendafyn too