The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,57
nodded respectfully to the middle captain—Thad, Arion had called him. “Captain Thad here was captured with me and was nearly killed defending me before Fyn came and rescued us. And Fyn is usually accompanied by the Trio of Daftness and their men if she’s sent out on a mission that involves the Honor Guard.”
“If you esteem them so, has it not occurred to you that your nickname for them is hurtful?” Arvel suggested.
“It matters not,” Arion said stonily. “They deserve it.”
Arvel glanced at the Honor Guard Captains, curious to see if they were angered. To his surprise, the trio looked rather contrite. Captain Thad guiltily stared at the ground, Captain Wilford stared at the ceiling, and Captain Grygg veered between wincing and looking pleased.
What an interesting group. Perhaps it will be fun to work with them.
“However,” Arion continued, “there is no one else I trust more in the Honor Guards. Given your intention to pin the Fultons down, you need protection—specifically from guards you can trust.” Arion motioned to the trio. “That is them.”
“Commander,” Captain Grygg sniffed. “You’re going to make us emotional with such kind statements like that!”
“They are also insipidly stupid,” Arion acidly said. “But I believe you have an abundance of intelligence, so you will balance them out.”
Arvel slowly nodded—not that he agreed with Arion’s assessment, but the earlier part about the Fultons. “Thank you for your great concern in this matter, Arion. I’m aware there’s a chance I’ll be attacked again; but I’m personally hoping Uncle Julyan will change his tactic and make a political move to throw doubt on me as the crown prince instead.”
“Uncle Julyan has the temperament of a thug,” Benjimir said. “He wouldn’t think of doing anything with even a fraction of the finesse needed for a social campaign against you. Nor is he that skilled in subtlety—as you have told me, his illegal dealings became quite flagrant when Grandfather died and he took over as the leader of the Fultons.”
Arvel shrugged. “I’d rather overestimate than underestimate my enemy.”
Benjimir rolled his eyes, but Arvel was more concerned with Myth. He glanced over at her and warred with himself for a moment.
No, I need to make the offer. I care more about her wellbeing than my satisfaction or happiness.
“Myth,” he began. “As you’ve probably assessed, things are going to get dangerous from here on. There’s a high chance I’ll be attacked again—or maligned in some way. You don’t have to keep working with me.”
Myth glanced at Arion and Benjimir before she responded with a touch more formality than anything she would have used if it was just the two of them. “It is my honor to aid you, Your Highness. I believe your work is worthwhile.”
“Maybe, but you are an apprentice trade translator. You didn’t sign up for any of this political garbage.” Arvel brushed his fingers against her forearm. “I want you to know you’re free to leave, and I don’t expect you to put your life on the line to help. Normally I’d say you’re safe because you’re an elf, but your role in helping me in all of this might blind Uncle Julyan to regular propriety.”
Myth pressed both of her lips together, and her eyes went steely for a moment. “As made obvious by his trade scheme—through which he drags us Lesser Elves into the mud as cohorts in a way.”
“No one could conceive any way to blame the elves for this, Myth,” Arvel said firmly.
She nodded, accepting the fact as her gaze drifted down. She studied her feet for a few moments, then blurted out, “I’d like to stay.”
Even though she was the one who had spoken them, Myth seemed surprised by her words because her eyes widened and she briefly glanced to the side. A moment of her fine lips pressed together, and she nodded, having made her decision.
“Yes, I’ll stay,” she repeated. “Although if you feel I am not a big enough help, I make the request that you release me so you may bring in someone to better fill this vital role in your investigation.”
Arvel couldn’t help his smile, or the warmth that filled his heart. She’s staying. It might be foolhardy for both of us, but I’m glad she’ll stand with me in this. “Thank you, Myth.”
He wanted to hug her or at least squeeze her hand—it would probably make her squawk adorably—but Benjimir and Arion were still present, and Benjimir was watching them with too much interest.
Myth slightly bowed. “Of course, Your Royal Highness.”
“We’ll