The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,66

Myth reached across the carriage and handed Wilford his walking stick. “I recommend using a lever.”

Wilford made a grunting noise, but he grabbed the walking stick and used it to hoist Grygg back to his side of the bench. Then he made a show of fixing his clothes—which hung so loosely over his frame it made him appear thinner—and adjusted his glasses. “Thank you, Myth, for the assistance.”

“We can’t make a mess of this.” Thad watched the scuffle with narrowed eyes, which disappeared behind hazed glasses as he put them back into place. “Might I remind you two that I have a wife I love very much whom I wish to return home to safely this night?”

Grygg and Wilford groaned together, leaning back on their bench seat.

“No, you don’t need to remind us about Evlawyn because you speak of her every hour of every day,” Wilford groaned.

“We know she has ‘the sweetest laugh’, ‘the kindest heart’, ‘the most beautiful smile’, that she greets you every evening with a cup of stinkin’ tea, that she wears an apron embroidered with hearts when she makes you dinner…” Grygg listed, ticking each thing off on his fingers.

“There’s no need to get snippy about it.” Thad raised his chin so high it nearly sent his nose poking into the carriage roof. “It’s hardly my fault I’ve managed to find someone who makes my life a joy, fills it with color, and loves me deeply while the two of you stay alone—unmarried—and slip more and more into the darkness that is eternal bachelorhood.”

Wilford brandished his walking stick in Thad’s direction. “Enough, you! We’re happy the way we are!”

“Yeah,” Grygg chimed in. “We’re plenty happy!”

“Is that why you were both so gleeful when you learned His Royal Highness’s translator was an elf maiden?” Thad asked.

“Now you’re just making us look bad!” Wilford complained.

Myth smiled. “I think both Captain Wilford and Captain Grygg are admirable men of a high caliber.”

“I told you to drop the titles,” Grygg said.

“And there’s no need to throw us scraps, Myth,” Wilford gloomily added. “Thad reminds us often of our singleness.”

“You are both still valiant and diligent,” Myth said. “Sir Arion believes so as well, or he would not have assigned you to His Royal Highness.”

Wilford sniffed. “Aww, thank you!”

“Yes, thank you, Myth. You have a heart, unlike some people.” Grygg glared at Thad, who shrugged. “And to assure you we’re not unsavory, we like you just fine. We just had different…hopes seeing how we were told you were single.”

“Then we saw you with His Royal Highness,” Wilford helpfully added. “And that hope flew the coop, screaming like an eagle.”

Myth paused in the middle of adjusting the lapels of her jacket. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh!” Grygg had to roll himself upright, but due to his enlarged girth he almost tipped over again. “That reminds us! Since we’re friends now, do you have any friends you could introduce us to?”

“Single, female friends,” Wilford said.

Myth tilted her head in thought. “I suppose so?”

The two men brightened, but before they could say anything more the carriage rolled to a stop.

“It appears that we’re here,” Thad said.

There was an instant change over the lighthearted trio.

Gone were their sly prods and informal jokes.

Wilford hunched over, slightly curving his shoulders; Grygg lost his huge smile and instead put on a pinched expression with his eyebrows wrinkled and his nose drawn up; and Thad popped a wad of what looked like tree resin in his mouth and started chewing loudly.

By the time the carriage door swung open and a servant had lowered the steps, the trio looked believably like ancient scholars.

Myth peered through the window, studying the town house—which was narrow but deep, and shoved tightly between its neighboring homes. An iron fence marked off the front yard, and already Myth could see glimpses of where the Fultons’ illegal profits had been put to use if the elven silk draperies that hung across the front windows were any indicator.

Wilford led the charge and went down the carriage steps, a believable wheeze escaping through his lips. When he reached the ground, he leaned heavily on his walking stick and peered up at the sky. “This really the place?”

“Out of the way, you old coot!” Grygg had to waddle down the stairs with his extra padding, and he almost knocked into Wilford.

“Who are you calling old coot?” Wilford demanded.

“Obviously you’re so old you can’t even recognize we’ve come to the wrong address,” Grygg heaved his belly up and started