either of you got hurt in your exuberance.” He carelessly waved to them and stalked off.
Before Myth could even sigh in relief, Arvel took her hand in his and pulled her outside the Celebration Hall.
That got her heartbeat spiking. She scurried along at his side, trying to catch a glimpse of his face to make certain the Prince of Seduction hadn’t surfaced, but the torchlight was sputtering at best, and it wasn’t until they were outside in one of the open-air corridors that Arvel finally slowed down.
“That was dangerous,” Arvel grimly said. “I was hoping you would avoid his attention. Why did you tell him you helped me?”
“Because I’m not stupid,” Myth said bluntly. “He would have figured it out—perhaps even in the next few minutes if he asked King Petyrr or Queen Luciee. And then he would have been more on his guard if he thought I would openly lie to him. Also, it is not an elf’s nature to tell lies.”
Arvel sighed deeply and squeezed her hand. “You’re right, of course. It’s just…I don’t want you to be put in harm’s way.”
“Is he really that cold blooded—and arrogant—that he’d try to hurt you, his nephew and the crown prince?” Myth tugged her hand from Arvel’s grasp. He let go, and she felt oddly cold without his hand gripping hers.
“I don’t know.” Together they strolled along the corridor. Myth didn’t know quite where they were going, but she figured the farther they were from the Celebration Hall—and Arvel’s horrid uncle—the better. “In the past Father put limits on the Fultons so they wouldn’t get too out of hand, but he never provoked them the way that I am. Of course, they weren’t quite so bad as this back in the day. Maybe it’s because Uncle Julyan took over. He seems to be more power-hungry, whereas Grandfather was always just concerned with maximum profits.”
Myth’s throat twisted at this very unloving portrait of the Fultons. Slowly, she reached out and touched Arvel’s forearm. “Are you all right?”
“Hm?” Arvel blinked. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“That sounds very hard to live with.”
Arvel paused mid step and turned toward Myth.
She couldn’t tell if he was staring at her, or out into the gardens just past her because they were in a shadowy part of the corridor. Suspicious, she slightly narrowed her eyes. “Arvel.”
Arvel grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her behind him.
11
“What is—” Myth broke off when she stabilized herself on the stone wall and looked up. Three men stepped out of the shadows of the gardens. Black fabric covered the lower halves of their faces, and their gray, hooded cloaks obscured the definition of their bodies, but their bared weapons gleamed in the moonlight.
Arvel pulled daggers out of his jacket, slipping them between his fingers as he stepped between the men and Myth.
Myth looked from the attackers’ swords to Arvel’s daggers, disbelieving of what she was witnessing because of the sheer impossibility of it.
No…there’s no way any ruffian could be casually skulking around the palace like this. And any fiend smart enough to get past the Honor Guards wouldn’t be dumb enough to attack the crown prince! Humans are foolish, but surely not that stupid!
It seemed, however, that they were.
The nearest man rushed Arvel, stabbing his short sword at Arvel’s chest.
Arvel, moving like lightning, stepped to the side and casually thrust his right arm out, catching the attacker on the right wrist so his blade bit through the man’s black clothing.
The man grunted in pain, and Arvel hooked his dagger around the attacker’s wrist and yanked it down, then forced it up behind his back with a swift shove that made the man shout and drop to his knees.
That display was enough to convince Myth she wasn’t hallucinating.
She sucked in as much air as she could get, then shouted in Calnoric, “The crown prince is under attack! In the corridors by the Rosewood Park! Three armed men!” She took another deep breath, then screamed in Elvish, “Three armed ruffians are attacking the crown prince! Just outside Rosewood Park.”
She kept the shouts up, even as the attacks continued.
The second and third man reached Arvel simultaneously.
One of them, who bore a large dagger, swiped at Arvel, attempting to gut him.
Arvel twirled his dagger in his left hand so the blade was parallel to the side of his hand. Similar to his first attack, he slid his hand under this man’s wrist. Unfortunately, the man must have been wearing wrist guards, because he didn’t