pulling all-nighters,” Myth dryly said.
“It does hurt,” he admitted. “Because I still love my mother, no matter how poisonous she can be.”
Fleetingly, Myth thought of her own, absentee Father.
When she had arrived in Haven after her mother’s death, scared and sorrowful, he had given her the choice to join either the Translators’ Circle, or the Enchanters’ Guild. He didn’t take the time to grieve the loss of her mother with her—to remember her life and cherish her memories. Rather he had stiffly and politely dealt with Myth as if she was a stranger. Since then, she had lived as a student of the Translators’ Circle and only seen him fleetingly.
But even though he only looked upon her with cold detachment, a tiny part of Myth still loved him, and still grieved their relationship that never was.
“I think I can understand a little.” She pressed her lips together and glanced at Arvel. “But you know she is wrong, yes?”
“In her conduct? Of course. She must face consequences for her dishonorable actions and—”
“That’s not what I meant.” It was only because it was Arvel that Myth dared to interrupt.
“Then what are you referring to?”
“The hurtful things she spews at you—they are lies.” Myth met Arvel’s gaze. “You will make an excellent king, and already you are a wonderful crown prince. Not because of your bloodline or who your parents are, but because you’re intelligent, diligent, and valiant. You do what is right. Queen Luciee does whatever best suits her. She can’t understand you and your motives, and she hates your actions because they reveal her for the shallow, terrible creature that she is.”
Silence filled the dining hall for several moments—not an uncomfortable silence, but rather a contemplative quietness.
Arvel stared at her during those serene moments. Something that could have passed for a smile played at his lips, but there was a certain amount of pain that bled through as well, making it a smile of the heart more than one of mirth.
“Thank you, Myth,” he said abruptly. “It means a lot to me that you believe that. Because it’s you, I know you’re speaking the truth and not just being nice.” His pained smile became more of a grin. “Although I’ll spare myself the embarrassment of asking if I rank above Fyn yet.”
“You don’t,” Myth, judging the prince wanted humor at the moment, emphatically said, changing the tone of the conversation.
“Ouch.” Arvel slapped both of his hands over his chest. “Did you have to be quite that truthful?”
Myth copied one of her professors and looked down her nose at Arvel in play bravado. “As I have said before, Your Royal Highness. You aren’t my prince!”
Arvel chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “You never were particularly impressed with my title. You’ve been more worried about making a mistake in your translations than bowing and scraping to me.”
“I am employed as your translator, not your personal valet,” Myth sourly said. “Of course I’m going to be more concerned about making a translation mistake that might possibly affect the social and political world!”
“That’s right…you don’t care about my title.” Arvel spoke almost distractedly as he stared at Myth. “You never have…it’s always been about your role.”
She was tempted to sink deeper into her chair—this kind of intense focus reminded her a little too much of the Prince of Seduction. She chose to fill the air with chatter rather than give Arvel the mental peace to make the switch. “I looked down on social translators as a student—I thought it was an easier and flashier choice,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard Arvel. “I was so wrong. Do you have any idea how many books on customs and manners I’ve had to read in the past few weeks? It’s mind boggling how you Calnorians choose to be so fussy in the way people of different genders and stations must present themselves!”
“And yet you chose to read more rather than ask a senior translator,” Arvel reminded her, humor returning to his eyes.
“Senior translators don’t have time to waste on the likes of me,” Myth gloomily said.
Arvel had started to peer down at the logbook—which highly gratified Myth. But at that statement, he narrowed his eyes and returned to his intense scrutiny of her. “Pardon?”
Myth studied him carefully, taking in his body language—which was relaxed but steady. She didn’t see any sign of Him, but she still chose her words carefully. “The other translators are busy. They should not be bothered.”
“Rollo invited you to ask him