Royal Magic

by K. M. Shea

  “You are exiled from Haven and Jubilee, Lorius,” Celrin said. “You may claim your belongings, but then you are to leave. You may stay in the lands of our mother that you inherited or go wherever you wish, but you will not return to this city or to the capital of Lessa.”

  “You cannot do this,” Lorius objected. “Perhaps I was harsh on Gwendafyn, but don’t you see? I am only concerned for what is best for Lessa!”

  “But you aren’t, are you?” Benjimir asked, his voice dark. “If that were so, you would rejoice in what Gwendafyn has done for us. Farewell, Princess Lorius. We will never see you again.” Benjimir slid his arm around Gwendafyn’s waist and switched to Calnoric. “Guards, now.”

  The Honor Guards each put a hand on Lorius’ upper arms and walked her from the foyer. Lorius shook her head as she went but did not resist.

  Gwendafyn stared after her and edged closer to Benjimir.

  He scooped her into an embrace and briefly rested his cheek on top of her head. “What she said are lies. You know that, yes?”

  Gwendafyn swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak.

  “Gwendafyn,” Celrin said.

  Reluctantly, Gwendafyn pulled herself from Benjimir and faced her father.

  King Celrin held out his hand.

  Gwendafyn shuffled over to him and let her father wrap his arms around her.

  “I am so sorry,” he said. “I should have stopped this years ago. I failed you.”

  “You didn’t know—you couldn’t have known,” Gwendafyn croaked. “And she had never been like she was…today.”

  “It matters not,” Celrin said. “Though I professed a desire for more between Lessa and Calnor and worked to overcome custom there, I allowed tradition to stifle you. I should have broken it instead of asking you to bear it. I apologize.” Celrin gently set his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back so he could meet her gaze. “I am proud of you, my extraordinary daughter. Your use of your magic is to be praised and applauded, and I am in awe of your unfathomable spirit and the courage you have shown. Well done.”

  Gwendafyn smiled and had to rapidly blink her eyes to keep tears from falling again, but she gave in with a laugh and once again hugged her father.

  Yvrea piled on, stretching her arms wide to embrace both Gwendafyn and Celrin, and after a moment, Firea did the same.

  In that moment, Gwendafyn thought her heart might burst from joy and happiness. Finally, she knew. Though she was sarcastic, calculating, and loved swords…her family recognized her, and they were proud of her.

  15

  Prized

  “Gwendafyn fought with great bravery. I am proud she was able to stand with our allies and help them in their hour of need. I am proud she was able to serve the country of her husband, which has become her home as well.” Celrin paused to let the translator standing with him finish, then continued. “I am also proud to once more have a warrior among our ranks. She has become a light among the elves. And I hope she, Lady Tarinthali, and Yvrea will continue to bring about a new age of friendship and prosperity between Calnor and Lessa.”

  The crowd—composed of human nobility but with a large number of elves as well, perhaps the most elves present since Gwendafyn and Benjimir’s wedding—clapped with greater animation than usual, and a daring young elf who had to be an Evening Star in training even whistled.

  Celrin smiled. “This evening, we honor Gwendafyn, Benjimir, and the Honor Guards they fought with…”

  As Celrin continued with his commendations, Benjimir listened with contentment.

  Once upon a time it would have bored him to death, but it was Gwendafyn Celrin was really applauding. After everything she had been through, she deserved every bit of praise that was offered.

  He briefly clenched his fists at the memory of her horrible aunt, but relaxed.

  Gwendafyn would never again have to face her wretched aunt. And Benjimir would do everything in his power to see that she never again had to face such personal pain.

  Strangely, he didn’t think he was alone in his vow.

  As he looked out at the crowd, who listened to Celrin with rapt attention—most likely because the elf king so rarely spoke in public—he spotted several young ladies wearing dresses with one sleeve, made very similarly to the first gown Gwendafyn had worn that was designed by a Calnorian seamstress.

  When they clapped, several older men called out Elvish cheers, and Benjimir was willing to bet the night’s music would include several of the new songs circulating Haven that praised a nameless dark-haired beauty with the night sky in her eyes.

  The courts were shifting. Queen Luciee had already lost much of her power. Young women now chatted with Claire as if they had been the best of friends all their lives, and Benjimir had been welcomed back into the good graces of the nobles shortly after he married.

  Gwendafyn was becoming the new driving force behind Calnor’s nobility.

  Benjimir smirked and glanced at his wife, wondering if she had noticed the changes she had inspired. Probably not.

  It worked exactly as Gwendafyn had predicted. Everyone looks at Tari and Arion with stars in their eyes—they are legends and harbingers of prosperity. But Gwendafyn…they have claimed her as their own.

  Tari and Arion would be recorded in the history books as the force that changed the destiny of Lessa and Calnor. But Gwendafyn’s legacy would be passed on in its people. And Benjimir was part of that.

  He nearly smiled as he watched Gwendafyn—who stood with her mother and kept switching back and forth between looking so beautiful she was almost ethereal to blushing in pleasure at her father’s praise.

  “You keep looking at her like that, and Arvel will take pains to tease you worse than he already does,” King Petyrr murmured to him.

  They stood together—separated from the rest of their family—as the Calnor representatives from the bandit raid.

  “Perhaps,” Benjimir said. “Or he might finally realize that the disappearance of all his favorite books are inexplicably linked to his fawning over Fyn.”

  King Petyrr chuckled lowly. “You’ve changed, Benjimir, since you married your elf maiden. You’re happier now…and a better person.”

  Benjimir considered the backhanded compliment, then nodded. “Yes,” he said simply.

  “If you want it, the position of Crown Prince is yours,” Petyrr said.

  Shocked, it took every ounce of will Benjimir had to only turn his head to look at his father and not twist around and gape at him in disbelief.

  “What?” he managed to murmur instead of shout in shock.

  Petyrr’s expression was devoid of its usual mirth. The wrinkles of his face and the knowing look in his eyes made the wisdom the king hid deep in his laughter surface. “You’ve matured and proven you have what it takes to rule. But the choice is yours.”

  Benjimir blinked as he tried to adjust to this new development, but it didn’t bring him as much joy as he would have thought. He had spoken the truth to Lorius when he said his position didn’t matter to him anymore. He was content with his life—he liked it more, in fact.

  He enjoyed riding afield with the Honor Guard—something he hadn’t been able to do much when the tasks of Crown Prince had kept him in Haven.

  And while once he would have jumped at the return to power and what it would have meant…that no longer mattered.

  Thinking of what he did care for, Benjimir glanced at Gwendafyn and instantly made up his mind. “Thank you for the honor. I am proud I have recovered your good will, Father, but no. I must refuse the role.”

  “Why?” King Petyrr asked.

  Benjimir watched Gwendafyn slip her hand in the hidden pocket of her dress, probably to caress the dagger Arvel—the wretch—had given her to commemorate her win against the bandits.

  “Because it would kill Gwendafyn.”

  She married me because I wasn’t the heir. And while she would not shirk her duties as Crown Princess, it would be, effectively, clipping the wings of a haw
k. I cannot do that to her. I love her. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize it, but I know it now, and I will do everything in my power to see that she is happy.

  King Petyrr nodded. “Fair enough. I thought that would be your reply. So! Would you take over as the Commanding General of Calnor’s armies?”

  Benjimir wrinkled his forehead in confusion. Sometimes it is impossibly hard to keep up with him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “A time of change is upon us, Benjimir. The elves have been forced to face some of their long-held traditions and adjust them to do what’s best for the country. We must do the same. The idea that the king must be one and everything to the people is outdated and frankly impossible. Arvel will make a fine ruler—he’ll focus on the economy and Calnor’s growth. But he will be a better king if he has you standing beside him, focusing on the defense of the people and the matters of the army.” Petyrr raised an eyebrow at him and put on a smirk that was not unlike Benjimir’s own. “Don’t you think?”

  “This is the real reason why we’re standing separate, isn’t it?” Benjimir mused. “Because you intended to announce me as the new Commanding General right on the heels of Celrin reminding everyone that I’m married to a hero and I commanded the Honor Guards who faced the bandits.”

  “Or because I would be announcing you as the heir again. Is that a yes, then?” Petyrr asked.

  And I thought I was the best manipulator of the family.

  Shaking his head slightly, Benjimir exhaled a breath of laughter. “Yes. It would be my honor to be the Commanding General, and to help Arvel.”

  I would especially like to “help” him find a queen.

  King Petyrr nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent,” he said as the crowd once again clapped for Celrin. “If that is so, we’re up!” He barreled forward to join Celrin in addressing the crowd.

  Benjimir reluctantly followed his father and was surprised when Yvrea stepped forward as well.

  Celrin nodded to Petyrr and motioned for Yvrea and Benjimir to stand with them.

  “As part of our efforts to bring forth change, we will begin with our very government.” Celrin looked expectantly to Yvrea.

  The sunny elf was all seriousness as she addressed the crowd. “One month from now, I, Princess Yvrea, will return to Jubilee and remain there to serve as regent in my Father’s absence.”

  That’s a surprise—though it makes sense. I imagine Gwendafyn will be sad to see her leave.

  Benjimir risked a glance over his shoulder and was surprised to see Gwendafyn’s expression of dismay.

  When she realized he was looking at her, she pressed her lips together and discreetly twisted her hands into the gesture for “apologies.”

  Apologies? What does she have to be sorry for? Unless…does she think I still have feelings for Yvrea? Benjimir almost laughed aloud at the thought. No. This is my brave and conniving bride. She wouldn’t be that oblivious. Though swindling her into returning my love—romantically speaking—is going to be an uphill battle, I imagine.

  “In the future,” Yvrea continued, “my sister Princess Gwendafyn will serve as the Lessa and royal elvish representative in Haven. As she is now a princess of both countries, I am positive she will represent Lessa with great skill.”

  “Princess Gwendafyn will be the ideal representative,” King Petyrr said, picking up the narrative, “as she is the bond partner of Prince Arvel and the beloved of my son Benjimir. And just as our allies are marking a new era, so must we of Calnor. I am happy to announce that Prince Benjimir will be taking over as the Commanding General. Not as the Crown Prince, but as the permanent leader of Calnor’s armed forces.”

  The combined announcements brought several moments of shock as the translator—working quickly—finished all the speeches.

  The elven nobles were the first to clap—their expressions thoughtful as they slowly nodded and eventually smiled. The nobility of Calnor were a little slower to react. Most of them bugged their eyes and seemed to think the world had been tilted on its axis. Heads whipped to look from King Petyrr to Queen Luciee, then to Gwendafyn in the confusion. When they finally remembered to clap, they did so with a strange mixture of uncertainty and bravo.

  Benjimir raised his eyebrows at the clapping crowd. It’s fascinating, how much can change in just a few months…

  Gwendafyn watched the speeches unfold with a mixture of concern and pride.

  The changes the kings had just announced were nothing short of miraculous—especially Yvrea’s return to Jubilee.

  For the first time in centuries, the Elves of Lessa were breaking tradition and shrugging off the specter of the High Elves.

  And for Benjimir to be the commander of Calnor’s armed forces, and not the king! (When her father-in-law had first made the announcement, Gwendafyn nearly froze in shock and horror until she realized exactly what he was saying.)

  Benjimir will make an excellent general. He truly cares about his men and the welfare of the people. Arvel, I assume, will become the Crown Prince. It’s an ideal arrangement. Benjimir will hold Arvel back from becoming a little too focused on his studies, and Arvel will give Benjimir the free rein and trust he needs to feel like he is doing something worthwhile.

  A small, selfish part of Gwendafyn was relieved King Petyrr had made the official announcement that Benjimir was no longer in line for the throne.

  Though things were changing drastically, she had no desire to be a queen. Gwendafyn had barely escaped one cage. She did not want to throw herself into another—no matter how respected or beautiful it was.

  But Yvrea is leaving…how will Benjimir take that? Will he hate me? For it seems my presence here is why she is returning to Jubilee… But I didn’t know!

  Gwendafyn studied Benjimir as King Petyrr continued with his speech, searching for any sign of unrest in him. While he was an excellent actor, there were usually small things that gave him away—the miniscule difference in the set of his shoulders, the positioning of his hands.

  But as she watched, Benjimir appeared mostly to be unbothered. He wore his usual brisk and polite court smile, but his stance was almost liquid and the planes of his face relaxed.

  But why is he so unaffected?

  Gwendafyn startled from her reverie as everyone began clapping again.

  The two kings acknowledged the crowd—King Petyrr by laughing and waving, King Celrin with a serene smile and slight nod.

  “May the festivities begin!” they declared, each in their own language.

  Gwendafyn started for Benjimir—she needed to explain to him that she had not known of Yvrea’s departure—but several military officials crowded the stage and eagerly congratulated him.

  She paused mid-step. Perhaps I should wait until he and I can speak less publicly?

  “Little Fyn!” Yvrea said in her sing-song voice as she wrapped Gwendafyn up in a gentle hug. “My congratulations and joy for your husband and his new role! You will make a splendid general’s wife, I think!” She winked conspiratorially.

  Gwendafyn forced herself to smile. “Thank you. I am certain Benjimir is up to the challenge—though I imagine he would enjoy hearing your congratulations himself.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” Yvrea laughed. “He will hardly notice in the flood of well-wishes he is about to receive.”

  I wouldn’t say that. Gwendafyn nodded slowly but let the matter end there. She had more important questions to pursue. “Perhaps…but I wanted to ask you about your return to Jubilee. When you and Father asked me to become an official representative of our family last night, it was implied that Father would return to Jubilee to rule.”

  “That was the first plan, yes. But when we began to discuss the future of the country, we realized it made more sense for me to return to Jubilee in preparation for the next few decades.” Yvrea knit her fingers together with a bright and satisfied smile. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “No, I can’t say I do,” Gwendafyn said. “But I don’t know what you are referring to when y
ou say ‘in preparation.’ What must you prepare for? Your marriage?”

  “No, it is something much larger than that.” Yvrea glanced over her shoulder at the ever-growing glut of men and women surrounding King Petyrr and Benjimir. She threaded her arm through Gwendafyn’s and tugged her away. Together they descended the staircase of the dais and took up an empty spot by one of the walls of the dazzling Celebration Hall.

  “Father and I recognize that there are aspects of our government that must change,” Yvrea said. “Haven is—for the most part—the political seat of Calnor. The royal family lives here—and has lived here for decades. King Petyrr rules from here, and Benji will run the armies from Haven as well. While they take tours and travel—like your bandit raid—the majority of Calnor’s nobles live in Haven. Don’t you agree?”

  Gwendafyn nodded. “Yes.”

  “That is not the same for Lessa,” Yvrea said. “Yes, the ruler of Lessa, his or her consort, and the heir of the royal family live in Haven, but the rest of the family does not. While Father manages the country from Haven, a regent has always been required because day-to-day matters are still handled in Jubilee. Moreover, the majority of elven nobles stay in Jubilee, and only a small fraction live in Haven.”

  When Yvrea paused and looked at her expectantly, Gwendafyn agreed. “Of course,” she said. “It has been so ever since Calnor and Lessa first became allies.” …as Lorius has drilled into my mind for years.

  “It can no longer be so,” Yvrea said, shocking Gwendafyn. “Just as you showed—and proved—that it has been unfair of us to lean so heavily upon Calnor and expect them to stand alone, Father and I realized that this separation between Jubilee and Haven only damages our people.”

  “The tradition was established because we did not wish to overwhelm the humans, I believe, and wished to show them how willing we are to compromise for the alliance,” Gwendafyn said.