by K. M. Shea
For the most part, the bandits had been subdued, not killed. “Why did they attack?” Gwendafyn murmured. “They were outnumbered and had terrible equipment.”
Tari pushed her blonde bangs from her eyes and opened her mouth to answer.
“Tari!” Arion leaped off his horse before it skid to a halt next to Tari’s mare. He reached up and carefully helped her dismount, his eyes evaluating her—likely looking for injuries.
“I’m fine, Arion,” Tari said in Elvish.
“You always say that,” Arion grumbled back in Elvish that was almost too guttural to understand before he switched to Calnoric, shouting orders to his men.
The Honor Guards nodded and got to work, but Arion wrapped his arms around Tari and kissed her.
Gwendafyn smiled and averted her eyes. A small part of her longed for such a relationship, but it was no use. Benjimir would never look at her like that. Even if he ever got over her sister. Yvrea was bright, lighthearted, and cheerful. Gwendafyn was sarcastic, bloodthirsty (if going by her passion for swords), and outspoken.
Gwendafyn felt something on her wrist before she was abruptly yanked from her saddle. Unprepared as she was, she hit Benjimir with the grace of a sack of flour.
The Calnor prince caught her anyway and set her down. “You’re of good health, no, pristine—blast! What’s the word?”
“Uninjured?” Gwendafyn suggested.
Benjimir gave her a murderous glare but yanked her into a hug and held her there with the force of a bear trap. He exhaled deeply as he held her head against his chest.
“Benjimir?” Gwendafyn asked. She could hear the frantic battering of his heart even through the material of his shirt. Is he really that upset?
“You will receive as many defensive lessons as you want—in any weapon of your choice,” he said.
His voice didn’t shake, but there was an extra tightness coiled in it that was unfamiliar. She closed her eyes and leaned more into him. “Thank you.”
“If you get yourself killed on something small like this, I’d never forgive you,” Benjimir muttered into her hair.
Gwendafyn laughed and pulled back from him long enough to smile.
Benjimir scowled at her. “We were just attacked. How can you be smiling?”
Because your heartbeat doesn’t lie—you really were concerned for me.
“I’m just glad you are uninjured as well,” Gwendafyn said. “Though those bandits were so obviously ill prepared for us, I would have a few questions for you if you had gotten yourself hurt.”
Benjimir rolled his eyes. “You give an elf a few weeks of swordsmanship classes and suddenly she knows everything there is to know about fighting.”
Gwendafyn cleared her throat and attempted to say, in Calnoric, “I have the best and brightest teachers.”
Benjimir raised his eyebrows. “Not bad—did the trio of daftness teach you that?”
“Thad, Wilford, and Grygg? Yes.”
“Small surprise. Let’s go.” Benjimir released her only long enough to drape an arm over her shoulders and tug her along.
“Where?” Gwendafyn asked, snagging Nox’s reins as Benjimir escorted her along.
“I have to continue giving orders, and you’re coming with me,” Benjimir said. “I need to keep an eye on you to make sure my heart doesn’t try to make a break for it again.”
Gwendafyn laughed when Benjimir smirked at her and let him nudge her along.
We likely will never have what Tari and Arion do, but I will gladly settle for friendship.
Gwendafyn slathered strawberry jam on a piece of cinnamon bread as she glanced around the table.
Gwendafyn and Benjimir—with the Honor Guards—had returned from their raid late the previous night. To celebrate, King Celrin and King Petyrr called for the two royal families to break their fast together.
I wish they hadn’t, Gwendafyn fought to keep her eyes open. Then I could still be sleeping right now.
Yvrea hummed under her breath as she poured a fruity smelling breakfast tea from a porcelain teapot. “It’s such a beautiful morning—and I am so glad you’ve returned safely, Fyn,” she said as she poured a cup for Gwendafyn as well.
“Mmhmm,” Gwendafyn said, feeling about as lovely as an unwashed rag.
King Petyrr smiled broadly at her from his position at the head of the table. “Daughter-in-law!”’ he boomed—having learned Gwendafyn actually understood that phrase.
Queen Luciee—tall and icy at his side—spoke to a translator in a murmur.
“Queen Luciee,” the translator started, “wishes to greet King Celrin, Queen Firea, Princess Yvrea, and her daughter-in-law Princess Gwendafyn.”
Gwendafyn managed to look up from her bread long enough to offer the queen an empty smile. It grew in size and warmth when Arvel seated himself directly across from her with a wink.
Gwendafyn swallowed her bread. “Good morning,” she said to him in Calnoric. I hope I said that right…
Arvel nodded in return. “Good Morning.” He added the gesture for “bond partner.”
The third prince, Peregrine, was not present—but he wasn’t in Haven at the moment anyway, having taken Benjimir’s position in visiting allies and neighboring countries—but Vincent and his young wife Claire sat farther down the rectangular table. (Gwendafyn’s parents were placed at the opposite end from King Petyrr—which often led to shouting as King Petyrr insisted on talking to his friend during breakfast.)
The doors creaked open, and Gwendafyn went back to shredding her breakfast bread.
“Good morning,” Benjimir said in Calnoric to his family before repeating the phrase in Elvish to Gwendafyn’s family. He stopped by her chair to kiss the top of her head, and Gwendafyn rallied the energy to look up at him and smile.
She was surprised, however, when he plopped down in the chair next to her instead of taking his usual spot between Queen Luciee and Arvel—which also afforded him a fine view of Yvrea.
Rollo shuffled in behind Benjimir. He covered a yawn with his fist, then grinned down at Gwendafyn and Yvrea as he positioned himself between them.
King Petyrr started talking. In her tired state, Gwendafyn couldn’t pick out anything at all recognizable, so she was excessively relieved when Rollo started translating for her and her sister.
“King Petyrr wishes Prince Benjimir a good morning, and says he is happy he returned home safely,” Rollo said.
Benjimir answered him in Calnoric, before abruptly switching to Elvish. “I will make the report in Elvish as well, so you may hear our results, King Celrin.”
King Celrin smiled slightly at Benjimir. “I thank you, son-in-law.” He delivered the joke with all apparent seriousness, but the twinkle in his eye belied him.
Benjimir laughed, then launched into an explanation in Calnoric.
Gwendafyn sipped her tea and wanted to hum in pleasure when the drink seemed to prod her mind into a slightly more-awake state. At least she no longer had to fight to keep her head up, and she could pick out a few phrases Benjimir spoke in Calnoric.
Benjimir took a sip of water from a crystal glass before switching languages. “The raid was successful,” he said, looking down the table to King Celrin, “in that we stamped out all bandit forces in the area. We were ambushed on our way to the town we intended to use as our base of operations but received mostly minor injuries and were able to capture the majority of the forces that attacked us. There were no guard casualties.”
Both King Celrin and Yvrea nodded thoughtfully, then looked to Gwendafyn.
Why are they looking at me like that? Am I supposed to say something? “The guards fought valiantly,” she offered.
Yvrea’s sweet face was lined with worry. “It sounds like that is so.”
Gwendafyn patted her sister’s hands, then gave up all pretense of eating and rested her left hand on the table and held on to her teacup with her right.
Benjimir shifted slightly in his chair. “When we finally did reach the town, we set up
camp as planned. Gwendafyn and Lady Tarinthali remained behind with the injured while we imprisoned the bandits we had captured. We spent nearly two weeks rooting the remaining bandit forces out of Sacred Wood—with the help of Wizard Edvin.”
In a move that appeared to be casual—but Gwendafyn knew had to be expertly calculated—Benjimir placed his hand on top of hers and intertwined their fingers, then proceeded to brush the side of her palm with his thumb.
“It sounds like it was well done,” King Celrin said.
“Indeed, you were quite prompt in your mission,” Firea, Gwendafyn’s mother, smiled, revealing dimples. “Several ladies and I were discussing the possibility of Lady Tarinthali having her child abroad.”
Benjimir smiled politely as he continued to play with Gwendafyn’s hand. “Thank you.” His smile was affable and easy as he added, “I’ve decided to open the Honor Guard up to female applicants.”
Gwendafyn gaped at him in shock. What did he—why would he…?
King Celrin set his goblet down. “I beg your pardon?” he asked politely, but Benjimir was already speaking in Calnoric, likely telling his family the—
“WHAT?” King Petyrr yelped so clearly even Gwendafyn could understand it.
The king’s jaw dropped as he stared at his son, but Gwendafyn could physically see the muscles on Queen Luciee’s face tighten as she narrowed her eyes and her pose turned haughty.
Prince Vincent froze with a spoonful of oatmeal halfway up to his mouth, and Arvel looked similarly shocked. But Princess Claire smiled and clapped in glee…until Queen Luciee shot her a glare that made her shrink in her chair.
Queen Firea cleared her throat. “As Lessa is not at all responsible for the Honor Guard, we have no say in the matter, but hasn’t the Honor Guard—and the Calnor army—always been a male-only organization?”
“It has.” Benjimir paused to let the translators whisper to his family. “But we are in a time of radical change. Why not smash this unnecessary tradition as well?” He smiled at Gwendafyn and squeezed her hand, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. He remained there, his warm breath hitting her neck, and Gwendafyn could still only exchange shocked looks with Prince Vincent and Arvel.
“Benjimir,” Queen Luciee frostily started—her words did not thaw as she continued to speak.
“Do at least have the decency not to molest Princess Gwendafyn at the breakfast table, so Queen Luciee says,” Rollo whispered the translation.
I am almost certain she did NOT want that translated.
“There is often wisdom in tradition,” Firea said.
Gwendafyn flattened her lips and had to bite her tongue to keep a caustic remark from slipping.
“Perhaps,” Yvrea said. “But in this case, I think Benji is right. Why can’t there be female Honor Guards?” she asked. “The current forces are already stretched thin as it is with the added influx of guarding new cultural treasures—like Lady Tarinthali. Besides, we elves have just as many female Evening Stars as we have male Evening Stars.”
King Petyrr squinted as he scratched his cheek, then started speaking.
“His Majesty King Petyrr expresses his concern for the matter,” Rollo whispered to Gwendafyn and Yvrea.
Benjimir once again squeezed Gwendafyn’s hand, then spoke deliberately in Elvish. “Unless you remove me from my position as leader of the Honor Guard, I’m going to do this,” he said, meeting his father’s gaze.
Queen Luciee’s face took on a viper-ish look, but King Petyrr looked thoughtful as he tilted his head and studied his son.
Arvel threw his linen napkin onto the table and grinned. “I think it’s a marvelous idea,” he said.
Gwendafyn momentarily lost track of the conversation as her glee surfaced. I understood an entire sentence in Calnoric. And it wasn’t fed word-for-word to me by my teachers! She paused. And it means Arvel agrees with him?
“Prince Arvel voices his support for Prince Benjimir’s proposal,” Rollo said. “Queen Luciee objects, but King Petyrr is considerate,” he summarized.
He’s expressing things…nicely. Gwendafyn could tell by the odd word she could pick up that things were not going as smoothly as Rollo implied.
“No,” Queen Luciee declared before the rest of her words were lost in an icy rush.
King Petyrr folded his hands over his jolly belly. “Why?” he asked in Calnoric.
“Why?” Yvrea whispered to Gwendafyn after Rollo translated.
“He’s asking for an explanation, I think?” Gwendafyn glanced at Rollo, who nodded.
Yvrea smiled at Gwendafyn. “I think it’s your influence on Benji.”
Gwendafyn considered placing her hand on Yvrea’s forehead to see if she were warm with a fever. As if I have that kind of sway over Benjimir the Snake. “Why would you think that?”
“He’s more open in public ever since you married,” Yvrea whispered. She glanced past Gwendafyn—confirming Benjimir was occupied arguing with his mother—then continued. “He used to be unapproachable. I knew it was an act—Benji is secretly soft-hearted—but it seemed like he thought he couldn’t let anyone know that.”
“I don’t know that I would call him soft-hearted,” Gwendafyn said carefully. Sly, yes. Cunning, certainly. Manipulative? He’s the master! But soft-hearted? Yvrea really does see the best in everyone—myself included.
“He is,” Yvrea insisted. “He holds back—and not because he’s afraid. It’s more like…he couldn’t be bothered because there wasn’t anyone important to him that would motivate him to do so.”
The observation surprised Gwendafyn—for it was not so rosy-hued as she would have expected from Yvrea—but she still wanted to laugh that her sister had so horribly missed how the Calnor Prince felt about her. Gwendafyn snorted. “You are incredibly important to him, Yvrea.”
Yvrea shook her head. “It’s not the same.”
You are right, because he loves you. Gwendafyn held the words back and instead smiled at her sister—who of course returned the gesture with enough warmth to brighten the room.
Rollo cleared his throat. “If you will excuse me, Princess Gwendafyn, Her Majesty Queen Luciee has some questions for you.”
“I’ll translate for her,” Benjimir said in Elvish.
“No,” Queen Luciee said in Calnoric, her voice encased in ice. “….don’t trust you…change words.”
“Rollo, did the queen just imply Benjimir might not tell her the truth?” Gwendafyn murmured.
“Um…yes,” the translator said.
A muscle in Gwendafyn’s eyebrow jumped in irritation. “I see.” It’s a shame Queen Luciee was not bonded to Aunt Lorius. I’m certain they would get along splendidly. No, she is worse than my aunt. At least Aunt Lorius believes in what she presses upon me. Queen Luciee enjoys crushing the spirit of others. Gwendafyn had not missed the way the queen had shot down Princess Claire…
“….Unnecessary, Luciee,” King Petyrr said. “Benjimir and Gwendafyn married….love each other,” he said.
Queen Luciee narrowed her eyes. “I’ve thought…suspicious…an elf could love Benjimir.”
Benjimir stiffened next to her, the expression on his face unreadable.
In that moment, Gwendafyn wished she could wipe the smug look off the queen’s face. She knows Benjimir loves Yvrea—she must have been informed of it when he was sent into exile. How could she say such a hurtful thing to him when she is his mother?
Anger rolled off Gwendafyn in waves. It was only years of experience in shoving her rage down that kept her from glaring. Instead, she fixed an unconcerned smile on her lips.
Rollo cleared his throat. “Queen Luciee wishes to ask if it is true you sing a ballad to Prince Benjimir after lunch every day.”
Benjimir squeezed her hand, but Gwendafyn ignored it and made a show of widening her eyes and fluttering them. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I’m not going to let her try and make Benjimir look like an idiot.
“Of course,” she said in Calnoric. When she gl
anced from Queen Luciee to King Petyrr she saw their look of confusion. Bother the grunts of Calnoric! They are so hard to achieve. I must be mangling this. “Rollo, could you tell them I said of course?”
Rollo nodded. “Yes, Princess Gwendafyn.” He addressed the royal family across the table in flawless Calnoric.
“In fact,” Gwendafyn continued in Elvish. “It is one of the most enjoyable parts of my day. We laugh—and once he even cried over a tragic ballad, though he will deny it—and enjoy each other’s company. I love spending time with Ben.”
Benjimir twitched at the as-of-yet-unused nickname, but he managed to stare adoringly at her.
Yvrea placed a hand over her heart. “How touching! I know you do not normally like to sing for others, sister. It is a testament to your love for Benji,” Yvrea said.
“Yes,” Gwendafyn said carefully as Rollo translated their interaction into Calnoric. She turned to look at Benjimir. Thinking of all he had done for her—the way he had silenced her aunt, finding fencing instructors for her, letting her come with him to Sacred Wood—she felt a slow, genuine smile slide across her lips. “I love him as I have loved no other.”
Benjimir’s adoring smile faded from his lips, and an unreadable expression stole across his face as he studied her. “Gwendafyn…” he murmured.
Queen Luciee narrowed her eyes and said something in Calnoric—something nasty based on the nasally pitch of it.
“Enough, Luciee,” King Petyrr growled, “…not have you…doubt our son and daughter-in-law!”
“What did she say?” Yvrea whispered to Rollo.
“Something I’ll not repeat,” the translator said tightly. Gwendafyn had never seen him in anything but high spirits. However, at the moment, he slightly narrowed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists.
“I agree with Prince Benjimir,” King Celrin said suddenly. A translator must have whispered Queen Luciee’s words to him, for his usual expression of tranquility was gone, and instead he wore a handsome smile that was as sharp as the edge of a sword. “The marriage of my daughter and Benjimir has opened my eyes. I see we have many useless traditions that we have clung to out of our fear of insulting one another. We held up Tarinthali and Arion as once-in-a-millennium soul mates. Benjimir and Gwendafyn have proven us wrong, and I am beginning to realize that by even thinking it was so, we terribly hurt the relationship of our countries.”
