The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,43

much, and I’ll pick up a sword myself before I let someone harass Fyn like that again.” She turned the full power of her gaze on Myth, who felt the keen difference between a monarch greedy for power, and one brimming with power. “If she targets you, Translator Mythlan, please do not hesitate to tell myself, or Celrin, or Gwendafyn.”

Myth bowed. “I thank you, My Queen, but I am just a humble translator.”

It’s sweet of her to offer, but I’d be surprised if she remembers it a week from now. Not that it would reflect poorly upon her. However, she has bigger worries than protecting an apprentice translator.

Queen Firea studied her for a moment and must have read something in Myth’s expression. “A good ruler cares for all her people. Tell us, Translator Mythlan. That’s an order.” She set a motherly hand on Myth’s cheek and smiled to soften her words.

“Yes, My Queen,” Myth gurgled.

“King Celrin, Queen Firea, I apologize you had to witness something so ugly.” Arvel’s smile was tired and worn out. “And I thank you for stepping in on behalf of my translator.”

Once Myth made the translation, King Celrin patted Arvel on the shoulder. “You’re an excellent crown prince, Arvel. Your father thinks so as well.”

Myth was slightly confused at the sudden change in topic, but relayed King Celrin’s words regardless.

“Thank you, King Celrin. It means much to know you think so.” Arvel’s pleasant smile made its return as Myth translated his thanks.

The elven monarchs kept up a steady trickle of entertaining conversation until Princess Gwendafyn and Prince Benjimir arrived. Then, Myth was allowed to fade into the background as Benjimir, sitting next to his brother, translated for him. King Petyrr marched into the room minutes later with Translator Rollo, two footmen, and a scullery maid carrying an excessively fat orange cat, and breakfast proceeded in a delightfully civil fashion without the presence of a certain queen.

It wasn’t until they left the breakfast room, however, that Myth let her shoulders slump, and rubbed her eyes. “That was awful. I don’t understand how you survived…” She trailed off when she realized her rude comments were warranted but were, perhaps, a little too informal given she was conversing with the crown prince—friend or not.

“Having that woman as my mother?” Arvel supplied. “Come. We both could use some sunshine.” He led Myth out of the open-air corridors that snaked around the outer edge of the palace and down a brick path that weaved into Rosewood Park.

Birds played in a bird bath, and several hummingbirds buzzed around Myth’s head as she followed Arvel deeper and deeper into the gardens.

“It wasn’t this bad when my brothers and I were children,” Arvel said. “And even once I was older, Mother wasn’t too interested in me until Father made me his heir. Before then, Benjimir took the brunt of it.”

He slowed to a stroll and peered up at the leafy canopy created by giant trees that stretched their branches out over the path. “But she got even worse once Benjimir married Gwendafyn. The role of queen has more power than one would think, usually. She can work within the governmental system, but her real power lies in her sway over society. Mother used to run the place…but even though Gwendafyn is only a princess, she’s eclipsed Mother. That’s really gotten Mother…upset. As she is queen, she should still have all the power and control. But it seems like she hasn’t realized that if she wasn’t such a harpy, everyone wouldn’t have flocked to Fyn so quickly.”

“I see.” Myth briefly rubbed her nose, which itched from the heavy floral scent of the yellow and purple blossoms they passed. “That’s going to affect whomever you marry, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Arvel agreed. “No matter who I marry, the courts aren’t going to abandon Gwendafyn’s lead when she successfully saved them from Mother’s clutches.” He sighed and stopped his forward progress through the gardens. “Unfortunately, based on the girls who have approached me with very obvious matrimonial goals, I don’t think it’s occurred to them.” He took refuge under one of the trees and seemed to stare unseeingly at the gurgling stream that trickled along with them.

Myth observed him for a moment, and then shrugged. “No one could hope to compete with My Princess Gwendafyn.” She made the statement with a bit more pride and challenge than she normally would have, in hopes of inspiring a smile or something less serious than the expression Arvel wore currently.

As it was,