The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,97

to the country.

Arvel inhaled deeply and steeled himself, his gaze unfaltering as he stared her down.

“I never meant for him to wound you.” Queen Luciee’s eyes briefly darted to the arm where Arvel had been injured in the first skirmish. “And I didn’t think he’d actually attack you.”

Arvel paused for a moment, trying to interpret his mother’s proud words.

“I was uninvolved with the second attack. And if I’d known…” A tiny bit of human emotion escaped her control and flashed across her face, making her frown. In a moment she’d reschooled herself, her chin held high. She gave him a miniscule nod, then swept on without even glancing at Benjimir or Gwendafyn—though that might have been because Gwendafyn blatantly rested her hand on the hilt of her sword.

Once the queen reached her carriage, she ascended the stairs with the help of a footman and disappeared inside, the shadows of the carriage innards swallowing her up.

One maid climbed in after her while the other scurried over to the second carriage—which was piled with luggage, with one of the benches stacked with crates—and slipped inside after securing a spot for the pug she carried.

Everyone exhaled the collective breath they’d been holding.

“That’s it, then.” Benjimir stepped out of line first, turning to Arvel and King Petyrr. “My men and I will escort her to the manor, and I’ll set up a guard and a message system before returning.”

Arvel smiled. “Thank you, Ben. I appreciate it.”

“I can’t refuse my future monarch when he makes a request, can I?” Ben teased.

“Take care, and good luck,” King Petyrr said.

Benjimir shrugged. “It won’t be hard on me. I don’t intend to speak to her again if I can help it. And I’ll be home as swiftly as possible.” He swiped Gwendafyn’s free hand and kissed it, finally drawing his wife’s attention from the queen’s carriage.

“Are you sure Wulf and I shouldn’t come with you?” Gwendafyn asked.

“I’d rather have you here keeping an eye on Arvel. Just in case.” Although his tone sounded cool and unconcerned, Arvel saw the furrow of his brother’s brow, and happily stood a little straighter. “And I know you and Lady Tari are very excited to continue discussions with Translator Myth about reading High Elf runes.”

“We still haven’t had much time to speak of it,” Gwendafyn agreed.

King Petyrr chuckled. “Sounds like you’ll be busy, daughter-in-law. Safe travels to you, Benjimir.”

“Of course.” Benjimir snapped a salute to King Petyrr and Arvel, paused long enough to fondly smack Arvel on the back, then walked arm-in-arm with Gwendafyn, sweeping toward his waiting troops.

The line of waiting officers bowed gravely to King Petyrr and Arvel, then turned their attention to Benjimir as he started shouting instructions.

Arvel relaxed a little. Benjimir’s men had always treated Arvel with respect, but the way his father’s aides—clustered behind him—threw themselves into a bow whenever they caught sight of him was new.

Things had changed in the court as a result of the Fultons’ treatment.

Gwendafyn claimed the air was cleaner, but, personally, Arvel noticed that more of the nobles treated him with the kind of esteem they afforded Benjimir. They didn’t speak so informally to him, or chase after him. It seemed that King Petyrr crediting Arvel with the investigation and judgment of the Fultons had won him the nobles’ respect.

Arvel wasn’t sure it was as bad as he’d been dreading. Certainly, they were more aware of his power, now. But the young ladies had gotten less…open in their pursuit of him, and he’d come to befriend the Honor Guards assigned to protect him and Myth, and found he actually liked having them around to joke with instead of seeing them as a ball and chain—like he had feared.

“I’m sorry, lad.” King Petyrr spoke suddenly, breaking Arvel’s thoughts.

Arvel blinked and tried to puzzle the apology out. Failing to do so, he inquisitively tilted his head. “I beg your pardon?”

King Petyrr watched Benjimir mount up and lead the massive military escort as they started to file out of the palace grounds, marching toward the main gates that divided the palace from the rest of Haven. “This shouldn’t have been your burden. You shouldn’t have had to muzzle your own family, and sentence your own mother like that.” He sighed, and for once his jolly smile was gone, giving Arvel a rare glimpse at the incredibly intelligent man hidden behind the laughter and happy shouts. His eyes were troubled as he peered up at Arvel. “But I was overly optimistic…and as a result you had