The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,98

to clean up my mess for me.”

Arvel glanced behind them—Myth, Rollo, and all of King Petyrr’s aides and usual procession stood back far enough that they wouldn’t hear this quiet conversation. “You’re referring to Mother and the Fultons?”

“Yes. I knew when I married her that Julyan had…ambitions, and that she’d toss aside just about anything to help him. But when we had you and your brothers, I’d hoped she’d change, or at least not do anything illegal. I let her have run of the court because I frankly don’t care what noble has hurt feelings, and I thought that would be enough.” The smile lines around King Petyrr’s mouth and eyes seemed deeper, and made him look older, unlike his usual good cheer. “It wasn’t. I was too optimistic, too hopeful to stop her and Julyan before it became too much. I’m sorry.”

Arvel thought for a moment. “You can’t apologize for Mother’s decisions—or Uncle Julyan’s conduct. They made their own choices.”

“Perhaps, but as king it is my role to do what is best for my people—and that includes you, Benjimir, Peregrine, and Vincent. And I failed you all.” King Petyrr rested his thumbs on his sword belt and watched Queen Luciee’s carriage disappear through the gates.

Arvel stood with him, any words refusing to come.

I know Father is a good king—an excellent king. He’s brought so much prosperity to Calnor…but I think Mother’s actions hurt him more than they hurt me. And I don’t know that I can say anything to lessen that pain.

“You’ll be a good king, Arvel. The way you handled the Fultons proves you were the right choice to name as my heir.” King Petyrr nodded several times, then glanced at Arvel again. “But because you’re going to be a good sort of king, there will be a few times when you’ll be tempted to do what you believe is right for the country instead of what’s right for you. Mark my words, lad. Marry for love. Because any woman who loves you—not as the future king, but for yourself—will love our country, and she’ll be just the sort of queen you need, no matter her station or lineage.”

Arvel rapidly blinked, shocked by King Petyrr’s words. He risked glancing back at Myth, placidly standing next to Rollo—who hadn’t stopped talking ever since Benjimir and Gwendafyn had made their exit. Does he know? I haven’t tried to hide it, but I didn’t think he’d notice…

“Father, are you saying…?”

King Petyrr met Arvel’s gaze, his expression giving nothing away. He nodded once, then his face bloomed into his usual hearty smile. “And you’d best find love soon, lad! Another wonderful daughter-in-law to add to the family, and then maybe Gwendafyn and Benjimir will finally settle down long enough to give me a few blessed grandchildren.” He smiled dreamily, then slapped Arvel with enough force to make him stagger.

Arvel coughed as King Petyrr laughed.

“I’m off to find Celrin and Firea—best let them know Luciee is gone. Good luck, my boy!” A wink, and King Petyrr was off. Rollo, his aides, and a few guards ran to catch up with him as he marched up the tall staircase.

Arvel shook his head as he watched his father trundle away.

“Is everything all right?”

Arvel swung around and smiled for an entirely different reason when he found Myth standing next to him.

She was impeccably dressed with her pristine jacket, crisply pressed shirt, and smooth breeches. Her silvery hair—still pulled back into a ponytail—swayed in the breeze, and she glanced worriedly from Arvel to King Petyrr.

Yes. She’ll make a fantastic queen.

He had loved Myth for a while, now. But every day in the nightmare that was the Fultons had shown him a new way he loved her.

She was concerned about him—not as the crown prince, but as her friend. She was fearless, diligent, and she hadn’t shied away when he’d revealed the ugly side of his family to her.

But how am I going to convince her to marry me?

“Arvel?” she asked, biting her lower lip.

“Everything is great.” Arvel grinned at her. “And it’s only going to get better.”

Three days after they had seen Queen Luciee off, Myth sat at her table and carefully studied Arvel.

It was night. The hour of dinner had already passed—Myth had gone off and eaten, but Arvel remained behind. She’d come back to check on him, and was surprised to find him still working.

What could possibly have him pulling these late hours? She glanced outside, where dusk was settling in the sky and casting