by K. M. Shea
Gwendafyn rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“But what if I mean it?” Benjimir asked, his expression morphing into the dutiful one he brought out whenever they needed to be particularly convincing in their act.
Sometimes I do wish he weren’t so sneaky. He says hurtful things without meaning to. Gwendafyn held in her grimace of pain and instead made a show of patting his hands and looking around the room. “The show is unnecessary, Benjimir. You don’t have to pretend when it’s just me.”
His face went blank before he slapped on a smirk. “What if I’m not acting?” He leaned so close, Gwendafyn could feel the heat of his body.
Her heart leaped in her chest, and she had to clear her throat to keep her voice strong. “Come now, Benjimir. We both know whom you love,” she said in a quiet but strong voice.
Benjimir pulled back and stared at her.
Gwendafyn shifted uncomfortably and was almost relieved when an elven footman entered the room. “Our Princess Lorius,” he announced.
That relief fled when Lorius floated into the room, a pleasant smile on her face, and her sharp eyes sought out Gwendafyn.
Gwendafyn stilled under the look of reproof in her aunt’s eyes, even as Yvrea trotted forward to hug their aunt.
“Fret not, my wife,” Benjimir murmured—using that title again. He draped an arm around her hips and leaned closer so he could whisper in her ear. “I will listen carefully for even a single thoughtless word from her—for I intend to keep the promise I made on our wedding day.”
Gwendafyn briefly leaned her head against his shoulder as she watched her family greet Lorius. “Thank you.”
Benjimir said nothing, though he squeezed the hip his hand rested on.
Gwendafyn watched with growing dread as her aunt slowly worked her way through the royal families—greeting those from Calnor and Lessa alike.
No, no, no, don’t work the room: say you’re tired and wish to retire to your quarters.
Despite her hopes, Lorius purposely meandered towards the back of the room, descending on Gwendafyn and Benjimir after she had greeted everyone else.
“My Princess Gwendafyn and His Highness Prince Benjimir,” Lorius said coolly.
Gwendafyn curtsied slightly. “Aunt Lorius.”
Benjimir merely blinked. “Yes,” he said.
“It is to be hoped you are enjoying your married life?” Lorius asked.
The question made Gwendafyn uneasy. She knows this is an act… She wanted to paw like her black gelding when he grew nervous.
“Haven’t you heard?” Benjimir asked, his voice laced with lazy arrogance. “We’ve been hailed as having the romance of legends—second only to Lady Tarinthali and Sir Arion, of course. Isn’t that right, Gwendafyn?”
Benjimir slipped a finger under Gwendafyn’s chin and tipped her head so she looked at him and not her aunt.
“Hn.” Lorius did not comment on the act and shifted her attention to Gwendafyn. “I should like to call upon you while I am here in Haven for a private luncheon, niece.”
Nope—there’s no way I can let that happen. It won’t be a pleasant time, guaranteed. “Private?” Gwendafyn asked in a reasonable impression of a bewildered elf. She widened her purple eyes as she blinked at her aunt. “Must we exclude my dear husband and lovely sister? Do you not wish to see them as well?”
“I will remain in Haven long enough to properly visit with all my beloved kinsmen,” Lorius said serenely. “But I do wish for the chance to speak with you. There is much, I imagine, for us to speak of.”
Gwendafyn swallowed down a hiccup of panic. How do I get out of this?
“I’m sorry, Princess Lorius, but I’m afraid it won’t be possible.” Benjimir gazed down at Gwendafyn with enough warmth to make her toes curl. “I cannot be parted from Gwendafyn. She has become…precious to me.”
Lorius smiled indulgently. “How strong your love is, Prince Benjimir.”
The words struck Gwendafyn right in the heart—likely just as Lorius meant them to.
“But are you not busy with the responsibilities as leader of the Honor Guard?” Lorius asked. “Unless, my niece, do you have many responsibilities as well?”
“I have lessons,” Gwendafyn said, keeping her wording vague. Whether or not I’m out of her control now, Aunt Lorius would die if she knew I was now getting lessons in swordsmanship. Besides, strictly speaking, it wasn’t untrue as she attended her Calnoric lessons with the Translators’ Circle with great regularity and seriousness.
“Only lessons?” Lorius slightly raised an eyebrow. “You have no work to complete?”
“As a princess of Lessa and Calnor, I have become something of a professional guest,” Gwendafyn smiled. “It is a rare day that I do not have some sort of social event with either of my families.”
“How difficult that must be for you,” Lorius said, her voice neutral. “Socializing can be so…tiresome. And it is a good use of your position and power.”
Gwendafyn blinked at the open attack—though what hurt most was she recognized the truth in her aunt’s words. I’ve been frittering my time away and do nothing to help our countries…but freedom was all I longed for, and now I finally have it! But am I not all the more selfish as a result?
Benjimir chuckled. “Obviously—or you wouldn’t be visiting Haven so frequently, would you, Princess Lorius?” Benjimir raised both of his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth hinted at a smirk.
Lorius slightly tilted her chin up as she studied Benjimir.
Before she could speak, Yvrea glided up to them and tucked her arm in Lorius’. “Are you ready to see your rooms, Aunt Lorius?” she asked cheerfully. “I asked that you be put in the room next to mine—in Gwendafyn’s old room.”
“Gwendafyn no longer lives in the elf wing?” Lorius asked.
Yvrea laughed and shook her head. “Of course not! She and Benjimir have joint quarters in the Calnor royal wing.”
“Another break in tradition, I see,” Lorius said as she turned away.
Yvrea laughed. “I know—isn’t it splendid?”
Lorius made a noise in the back of her throat but let Yvrea lead her away.
Gwendafyn sagged in relief when she left the room. “At least that’s over,” she mumbled.
“I do believe your aunt is looking to find fault in every little thing you do,” Benjimir said.
Gwendafyn shrugged slightly. “Not really—just in all the ways I break tradition.”
“Mmm,” Benjimir said. His eyes took on a dark, cold hue Gwendafyn hadn’t ever seen before. “Don’t let that witch corner you alone. And if she tries, tell me.”
Gwendafyn hesitated. “It’s not that serious, Benjimir. She’ll chide and scold me, but she wouldn’t do anything else.” She’s not as bad as your mother, anyway. Though I might feel more pain from her words.
“That doesn’t matter.” Benjimir’s voice was as hard as steel. “I won’t allow her to come to our home and knowingly hurt you as she passes her ridiculous judgements on you. And if she tries, she’s going to learn just how ruthless humans can be.” Benjimir narrowed his eyes and rested a hand on the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist as Yvrea escorted Lorius from the room.
Gwendafyn stared at Benjimir, a question on her lips. Why does he feel so strongly about this?
“Heyooo!” Arvel said cheerfully as he joined them. “You look ravishing as usual.” He said a word in Calnoric that Gwendafyn did not understand, then winked and made the sign for “bond partner.”
Gwendafyn smiled widely and replied in Calnoric. “Thank you.” She hesitated, then glanced from Benjimir—who was still glaring at the door—to Arvel. “Did I say that right?” she attempted to ask in Calnoric.
“Thank you? Yes. Though your lilt was a little too thick to make out all the words of your question,” Arvel said.
Gwendafyn flattened her lips in displeasure at her failure.
Arvel laughed. “You’re learning well, sister-in-law. ….Patience.” He winked
again, then swiveled to face Benjimir. “Why do you look murderous, big brother?”
“Various reasons.” Benjimir finally dragged his gaze away from the door and frowned at his brother. “Did you want something?”
“Wanted to ask…questions about the bandits.” Arvel rocked back on his heels.
Gwendafyn stepped away from Benjimir so his hand slid off her hip. “I will leave you to your discussion,” she said in Elvish. Before she could make her farewells to Arvel, Benjimir slid his arm back around her waist.
“Do you have something you have to do?” he asked.
“No.”
He tugged her a little closer. “Will this conversation bore you?”
Gwendafyn blinked in surprise. “No.”
Benjimir kissed her cheek. “Then stay.” Returning his attention to Arvel, he asked in Calnoric, “What about the bandits?”
“Do you have any new theories why they’re suddenly stirring up since we’ve managed to put some of the groups down?” Arvel asked.
“A few,” Benjimir grimly said.
Gwendafyn looked back and forth between the brothers with something akin to surprise. He’s never asked me to stay before… Something like hope briefly stirred in her, but Gwendafyn ruthlessly stamped it out. Yvrea and I are as opposite as can be. If he loved her, he could never love someone like me.
Even so, she couldn’t help the warmth that settled in her heart as Benjimir slid his hand soothingly up and down her back, pausing only to lightly tug her braid, even as he continued his conversation with his brother.
10
The Fight Ring
Gwendafyn ducked, slipping under Thad’s lunge. She shifted her balance as she popped upright and rammed into him with all the force she could muster.
Thad was knocked backwards and tucked his arms to his chest to reestablish his guard. Gwendafyn jabbed his throat with her elbow—making him choke—then chopped down on his wrist, so he dropped his sword with a clatter.
“I yield,” he gurgled, then coughed.
Her wooden sword was a familiar weight in her hand as she completed a fancy twirl Wilford had taught her, then rested the tip on the ground. “I’m sorry,” she said in careful Calnoric as she watched Thad sit down heavily on the dusty ground of the practice ring. “Was I too scratchy?”
“Rough,” Thad croaked in correction. “You mean rough.”
“Was I too rough?” She repeated.
Thad gratefully took the waterskin Evlawyn offered him. When he finally regained his breath, he wiped his mouth off on the sleeve of his uniform. “That was an acceptable way to defeat me. But…are you well?”
“Well?” Gwendafyn repeated the word carefully.
Wilford scratched his chest. “Has something happened to make you upset?”
Gwendafyn squeezed the hilt of her practice sword. If they can tell I am unsettled, that means I am acting mistrustful and childish. Aunt Lorius is here, but nothing has happened yet.
Since her aunt’s arrival, she thankfully hadn’t run into her alone, nor did her aunt renew her request for a private audience with her. But…
At every social event—every meal—Gwendafyn could feel her disappointed and dissatisfied gaze upon her.
She disapproved when Gwendafyn wore clothes of Calnor design. She sighed whenever Gwendafyn was free to leave as Celrin and Yvrea began discussing Lessa policies. And when Gwendafyn attempted to talk with King Petyrr and her brothers-in-law, Lorius criticized her inability to speak clear Calnoric. (Granted, Lorius couldn’t speak Calnoric. Not to mention Gwendafyn’s grasp of the language had greatly increased since her aunt’s arrival, mostly because Lorius didn’t understand Calnoric, which was a great motivator. Moreover, longer Calnoric lessons meant fewer opportunities to see her!)
Though Lorius hadn’t said any of her critical thoughts, the open disapproval was hardly encouraging. Moreover, her accusation that Gwendafyn was wasting her time and efforts still stung like an old wound.
I’m disappointed with myself that I’ve let her disconcert me so. What does it matter if she disapproves? I am now a princess of Calnor. She can try to sort me into her usual customs and traditions, but I am out of her power now.
“Gwendafyn?” Wilford asked.
“I am…unsettled,” she finally acknowledged. “I apologize it has affect me.”
“Affected,” Thad groaned as he stood up. “Wrong tense—it should be past tense.”
“Affected,” Gwendafyn dutifully repeated. “I will not let it…affect me anymore.” She glanced at Thad, who gave her a thumbs up. “But being that…” Gwendafyn sighed in displeasure at her painfully slow words, then twisted around so she could shout in Elvish to Tari. “Could you please tell them I would like something more challenging? Perhaps two of them can come at me at once.”
Tari sat under one of Seer Ringali’s razor-edged parasols with a dozing baby Braydynn tucked in her arms. “Going to channel your aggression, are you?”
Gwendafyn twirled her sword again. “I’d like to, yes.”
Before Tari could translate, Thad said in Calnoric, “You just asked for a challenge, didn’t you?”
Tari beamed. “Good catch!” she called to the guard in Calnoric. “Your Elvish improves every day.”
Thad busied himself with brushing dust off his clothes, but he didn’t duck down in time to completely mask the way his face reddened.
Grygg rubbed his hands together and grinned slyly at Gwendafyn. “A challenge, you say?”
Gwendafyn nodded and shifted in place—her irritation making it hard to stand still.
“Perfect! I’ve been waiting for this day since our first training session.” Grygg laughed as he opened a drawstring bag and pulled out what looked like a money pouch, some paper, and an inkwell and stylus.
Seer Ringali eyed Grygg. “Tarinthali,” he said. “What is Number Three doing?”
“I’m not certain,” Tari replied in Elvish before she switched to Calnoric. “What are you doing, Grygg?”
“We fumbled horridly when you were all….., Lady Tari,” he said, speaking a word Gwendafyn didn’t recognize.
“Repeat, please.” Gwendafyn relaxed her grip on her practice sword’s hilt only so she could drum her fingers on the guard.
“Aggravated—it means upset or frustrated,” Thad explained, having recovered from his bout of embarrassment. He turned his attention back to Grygg. “You mean in letting her drink the Honor Guards dry?”
“No, I do believe we couldn’t have stopped that if we wanted,” Wilford laughed as he folded his arms behind his head as he ambled up to Grygg. “Did you mean in getting found out by the colonel?”
“Nah—that was just as inevitable as Lady Tari’s drinking,” Grygg snorted. “I mean we didn’t profit off it. Which we should have, after all the suffering the colonel put us through!”
“Well said,” Wilford grumbled.
Gwendafyn rested the edge of her wooden sword on her shoulder as she watched Grygg bustle about with his supplies. “You intend to profit off my…aggravated?”
“Aggravation,” Wilford corrected, saying it slowly so Gwendafyn could repeat after him.
“And yes, Princess Gwendafyn, I do,” Grygg added.
Thad groaned and rubbed his eyes. “If the prince finds out, we’ll be thrown from the Honor Guard.”
“Really? I don’t think he’d mind much—unless she loses. Then he might have our heads for being poor trainers,” Wilford frowned slightly.
“I agree,” Tari called to them. “Regardless of the outcome, though, Arion will likely still chew you out.”
“Chew you out?” Gwendafyn repeated the unfamiliar phrase. With her heavy accent it barely sounded at all like Tari’s words. She frowned in frustration at her inabilities and had to fight off the desire to scuff her foot in the dust of the practice grounds.
“Yell at us,” Thad translated before he turned to Tari. “It is very likely he will. But I will take my punishment in exchange for my fellow guards taki
ng some of my blows.” He rubbed his throat. “That last session hurt.”
“Sorry,” Gwendafyn repeated with true regret. What’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t let my anger unsettle me so!
As Thad waved her off, Grygg beamed. “You’re really catching on to Calnoric, aren’t you?”
Gwendafyn smiled. At least Aunt Lorius’ presence can be a good motivator for something…
Seer Ringali tapped his fan on his knee as Tari finished translating for him. “Number Three has yet to explain what method he will employ to make a profit.”
“I’m so glad you asked.” Grygg put his hands on his hips once Tari relayed the question. “I was thinking of a good, ol’ fashioned arena match.”
Though Gwendafyn could hear his words, she had no idea what they meant. “Arena match?”
“I don’t want to do this,” Phelps complained, loudly.
“Come on, Phelps. Be a pal.” Wilford smacked Phelps on the back.
The Honor Guard darkly eyed him. “I am not a pal, but a sacrifice.”
“Nonsense,” Thad said briskly. He stood at the side of the practice ring, his arms folded across his chest. “You are working as our crowd-pleaser. With you fighting Princess Gwendafyn, we can cheer and draw the attention of other off-hours guards. You’re building excitement!”
Phelps peered at Gwendafyn, who did her best to smile at him.
Despite her efforts, the edge of her anger must have burned through, for he stubbornly shook his head and backed away from her. “I don’t want to build excitement,” he said. “Why don’t one of you face her in the ring, and I’ll cheer?”
“We can’t do that,” Grygg threw his arms out in front of him in a gesture of frustration. “Just about everyone has seen us fighting the princess. It won’t be unusual.”
“I’ve already fought the princess, too!” Phelps declared.
“Yes, but that was just one day. And Princess Gwendafyn has improved quite a bit since then,” Thad said.
Phelps eyed Thad with the disapproval of an upset mother-in-law. “You owe me,” he grumbled as he shuffled forward into position.
