The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,7

the most senior translators still kicking up their heels here in Haven, and he already wasn’t doing much.”

“You wound me, Your Majesty.” Rollo clutched his heart, but laughed openly.

“Ben is fluent in Elvish and doesn’t need Rollo much except for transcribing stuff, but I thought Gwendafyn still needed a translator,” Arvel said.

The elven princess’s Calnoric had improved a lot over the past few years. She could understand most conversations, but her accent still made her words difficult to decipher at times. She had such a beautiful sing-song voice and persisted in trying to make the guttural and perhaps ugly Calnoric language sound as beautiful and musical as Elvish. She still needed a translator in social situations—if Benjimir wasn’t lurking around her, which, admittedly, was a rarity.

“Gwendafyn is perfect,” King Petyrr declared. “Only louts can’t understand her, in which case they are hopeless and shouldn’t be blessed with my sweet daughter-in-law’s wise words.” A decisive nod peppered his words.

Arvel cracked a grin at King Petyrr’s blatant favoritism. He knew his father loved him and his brothers, but King Petyrr had badly wanted daughters, and spent most of Arvel’s teenage years monologuing about his future daughters-in-law. Benjimir had been rather out of favor with King Petyrr for an ugly stunt he had pulled years prior. But falling head-over-heels for Princess Gwendafyn and conning her into marrying him had restored his older brother to heights previously only reserved for their youngest brother Vincent, who had been the first of the four princes to marry.

“The problem,” King Petyrr continued, “is you.” He scratched his beard as he studied Arvel.

“I believe His Majesty means to say that it is you, Crown Prince Arvel, who most uses my services as I frequently accompany you during social events and some governmental meetings,” Rollo volunteered.

“Didn’t I say that?” King Petyrr twisted around in his chair again to peer at the translator.

“It was not eminently obvious, no,” Rollo said with good humor.

“Ah, well, Rollo is right.” King Petyrr shrugged. “Since you can’t speak a lick of Elvish, you still need a translator.”

“I’ve gotten better at the hand gestures,” Arvel objected.

Before the times of Tari and Arion, humans and elves were able to exchange pleasantries—or perhaps the idea of pleasantries—through a sort of sign language. It was easier to learn—for while most elves were like Gwendafyn and had a difficult time sounding guttural enough for Calnoric, humans had an equally difficult time mastering the lilt that prevailed in the elven language as well as their horrible grammar system.

King Petyrr snorted. “Bosh! You’ve only practiced the gestures because you know Benjimir doesn’t know them overly well, and you like pulling his goat and talking to Fyn without him understanding what you’re saying.”

“Yes,” Arvel agreed.

“Regardless, you hang around with darling Gwendafyn and Benjimir enough in social situations that you don’t need a translator quite as skilled as Rollo.” King Petyrr eyed him. “Particularly because you could study Elvish a bit more.”

“It seems my new translator is only working part time?” Arvel guessed.

“No, you are too vital in government for that,” King Petyrr grunted. “You need to start having a translator on hand at all times given that you are the crown prince. That need will only grow as you continue to take on more royal responsibilities and roles.”

“You will be given an apprentice translator to accompany you throughout your day,” Rollo jumped in. “Ordinarily we would never put an apprentice in such a position by themselves, but we are so tight on translators we don’t have much of a choice. It is hoped that between the apprentice translator, Benjimir, and Gwendafyn, you will be able to make it.”

Arvel adjusted the cuffs of his long-sleeved jacket, surprise tugging at his thoughts.

He hadn’t ever thought Rollo would step down as Arvel’s and Benjimir’s shared translator, but it made sense given how much better at Elvish Benjimir had become over the past few years. His wife could translate the rare word or phrase Benjimir didn’t understand, or interpret any writing that was necessary.

But this change presented an unexpected opportunity.

Arvel was often told by his parents what he was going to do, but this was a rare instance in which Petyrr needed a friend of Arvel’s…so what could he bargain for?

“All right.” Arvel flashed Rollo and King Petyrr a grin. “It makes sense to me.”

King Petyrr relaxed minutely. “Thank you for understanding,” he gruffly said. “Padrach has been with Celrin and me for ages. It’s a tough thing to see him go, but the elven crown