mischievous grin that had only grown even though he’d reached his late thirties.
Arvel bowed. “Good evening, Father.”
“It is, isn’t it?” King Petyrr turned around to face his retinue—he always seemed to have a crowd trailing behind him. Probably because it took a crowd to cope with his boisterous personality and strong presence…and quite possibly the well-meaning chaos he left in his wake. “What are you all doing here?”
One of the secretaries pushed her glasses farther up her nose. “Your Majesty, you really shouldn’t bring a dog into Haven’s library.”
“Oh. Yes, you’re probably right. Here, take him out, then.” He passed the portly dog over to the secretary, who staggered with the animal’s unexpected heft.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The secretary gave him a wobbly bow and craned her chin up as the pug tried to lick her. She scurried off, disappearing into the shelves.
King Petyrr turned his fierce gaze onto the rest of his followers. “Off with you all, too!”
“Your Majesty,” the remaining secretary protested.
“Before we even entered this place, I told you I wished to speak to my son alone. Shoo!” He flapped his hands at them.
The guards set off in a manner formed from repetition at this task, but the secretary was far more reluctant to leave, and in the end had to be dragged off by one of the guards. Curiously, Rollo didn’t move to join them.
“There!” King Petyrr beamed in satisfaction and casually whipped his golden crown off his head and tossed it on the table. The crown had left an imprint in his thinning hair, but King Petyrr somehow still managed to look kingly despite it. “Alone at last! Hullo, Arvel. Managed to escape the social, did you?” He lowered his considerable girth into the chair directly across from Arvel, Rollo taking up the position just behind his shoulder.
“You didn’t see me leave?” Arvel asked.
“Course not! That hall was packed so tightly I didn’t even get to see a glimpse of dear Gwendafyn.” King Petyrr mournfully sighed at the thought of his daughter-in-law. “But you’re like clockwork. An hour and a half after an event starts, you make your escape. It was time for you to slip out, so I thought I’d meet you here.”
“I was unaware I was that predictable. Though I can’t say I’m surprised. What did you need to discuss?”
“It’s a small matter,” King Petyrr rested his hands on the table and sighed. “We’re short on translators.”
“We’re always short on translators,” Arvel said. “It’s been that way ever since Ben and Fyn started making their visits to Lessa, and King Celrin of the elves started sending more elven nobility here to Haven.”
“Hear, hear,” Rollo sighed dramatically.
“It’s a bit more serious this time,” King Petyrr grunted. “My personal translator is getting sent off with the party that’s leaving for Lessa in a few days. He’s going to serve the elven Crown Princess Yvrea for a few seasons.”
That is surely a sign the elves are getting ready to move their government here.
Unlike Calnor—whose royal family lived in Haven—the elves ruled from their capital city, Jubilee, and were frequent visitors to Haven. At least, that’s how it had been for centuries.
The current elven ruler, King Celrin, and his eldest daughter—the crown princess—intended to change that. Rather, the father-daughter-duo were actively working to transport their seat of power to Haven, so the two royal families and their courts would co-exist in the shared city.
It was another one of the drastic changes that had been proposed in the past decade. Truthfully, there were so many now, Arvel had a hard time keeping track of the ways everything was so rapidly changing.
Arvel rubbed his fingers on the edge of the table, which had smoothed with age. “You’re out of a translator? That can’t be good.”
“Oh, I’m not the one at a loss.” King Petyrr jerked his thumb back, pointing at Rollo. “Because Translator Rollo has agreed to take the position, for now.”
“I see,” Arvel spoke slowly, buying himself time to think.
Rollo was a good friend of Benjimir’s, and had officially served as the translator for Benjimir, Arvel, and Gwendafyn for years. He wouldn’t lightly offer to change positions, which meant this was more than a temporary fix. Besides, Arvel knew his father. King Petyrr might appear to be a jolly, amiable man, but he had the cunning of a fox.
Arvel flicked his eyes from his father to his friend. “Is switching out Rollo really the best choice?”
King Petyrr folded his arms across the bulge of his belly. “He’s one of