The Prince's Bargain

by K. M. Shea

  Myth tapped her fingers on the table. “If the Fultons sell the goods they marked as lost, missing, or ruined, they not only get the tax benefit of making money without reporting it to the crown, they can still mark it up high, and as long as it is cheaper than the goods legally sold with the tariff, they’ll make a higher profit margin. Simply put, they make a lot of money.”

  “Precisely.” Arvel rubbed his face. “They’ve been more obvious about it lately. In previous years they’d only lose a shipment or two per year. But their greediness has driven them further, so now the family head, Lord Julyan—my mother’s brother—reports extreme losses on nearly every other shipment.”

  “If they are that belligerent, it seems like it will be easy to prove your suspicions and successfully charge them.”

  Arvel finally met Myth’s gaze, his lips twisting in a puzzled frown. “Charge them?”

  “Isn’t that why you were researching this?” Myth asked. “So you could charge them and bring them to justice?”

  Arvel knit his fingers together and leaned over the table. “No, actually, that hadn’t occurred to me. I was just gathering dirt on them so if Mother or Uncle Julyan try to push me into marriage—or into making trade-related exceptions for them—I can force them to back off.”

  “But you already know they’re going to try to bully you, and you’ve nearly confirmed they’re breaking the law. Wouldn’t the natural consequence of their actions be to charge them?” Myth hesitated, unsure of her proverbial footing.

  This is where I would benefit from some of the lessons and classes social translators receive.

  “Unless,” she said carefully, harboring no desire to make accusations against Queen Luciee if she had misread the situation. “Because of the Fultons’ relationship to Queen Luciee…are they considered above the law?”

  “No!” Arvel snarled, his voice thick and hot. A moment passed, and he cleared his throat. “Sorry. I meant to say no…they are not above the law.”

  Myth mashed her lips together and nodded slowly.

  Arvel raised an eyebrow. “You have something more to say?”

  “No, I’d be overstepping my social position.”

  “It’s too late to back out now. Tell me, please.”

  “I’m just a translator,” Myth protested. “I assure you I have nothing particularly enlightening to say—if anything I’m more likely to blurt out something unacceptable because I still haven’t found a true reference book that clearly outlines what politics are acceptable to discuss.”

  “Myth, you’re not just a translator, you’re my friend.” Arvel’s voice was soft enough to make Myth hesitate. “I want to know what you think. I value your opinion.”

  “Well…it’s just that I think you should charge them because they’re engaging in criminal activity. But if you’re concerned that they will try to push you around, then I would doubly recommend that you bring them to justice.” Myth carefully picked her words, taking care to use the phrases Arvel had spoken.

  “And why is that?” Arvel asked.

  “Arvel…you’re the crown prince,” Myth said. “There should be a world of consequences for the way they’ve treated you—politically if not through the court system. It’s about time they learn they can’t bully the future King of Calnor—whom they have no power over.”

  “Unfortunately, the Fultons control a great deal of trade,” Arvel said.

  “Is that so?” Myth politely inquired. “They are not alone in that ability. Your sister-in-law could bring a halt to all trade with Lessa if she wished. You could bring a halt to all trade with Lessa.”

  Arvel tapped his fingers on the table for a few quiet moments, before his hands strayed to an inner pocket of his jacket. “You’re right.”

  It seems to me I’ve spoken enough. Now would be the time to stay silent so he can draw his own conclusions. Myth studied him with unblinking eyes, and kept quiet.

  “Father said he gave me the position as chief liaison over elven trade to give me power. It’s acceptable to use it.” Arvel spoke slowly, as though he were unraveling his thoughts. “We’ve let the Fultons run amok too long. And they’ve gotten too bold to let it become this obvious. If I announce we’re seeking to bring charges against them, I can ask some of Father’s aides to dig into their tax records. Because if they’re lying about losing merchandise, I’d bet my best dagger that they’ve falsified plenty of other records.”

  Myth made a noise in the back of her throat and picked up her teacup. “I am glad you agree.”

  “Mother is going to be a problem. I’ll have to come up with a plan to reckon with her, or she’ll come after me with her claws,” Arvel sighed.

  Myth, about to sip her tea, paused with her teacup hovering just below her lips. “She would hurt her own child?”

  “Not physically—at least I don’t think she would.” Arvel’s thoughtful expression was back, and he rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “But she’ll rip me to shreds with her words. And after this I imagine she’ll use every petty trick she can to make my life miserable. But she can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do, so it will just be…uncomfortable.”

  A grunt of disgust escaped Myth’s control after she finished her tea and set her teacup down. “I would hope you are wrong about her actions. But I suppose I can see the effect they’ve had on you already.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He is my employer…how frank can I be? Myth met the prince’s blue-eyed gaze. But he did say we are friends, and I care enough about him that I don’t want this to be true of him.

  She took a moment to collect her thoughts, then spoke slowly. “You don’t value yourself enough. It’s not that you lack confidence in your competence, but you are willing to subject yourself to rude behavior from others…and you seem to believe your only true value is in your title.”

  Arvel tipped his head curiously. “Isn’t it?”

  “No!” Myth frowned deeply and shook her head at him. “And that’s exactly what I’m referring to. Your title is a part of you, but it’s not your essence; it’s not your soul. It’s a duty you have, yes, and it is a position of power. But regardless of whether you were the crown prince or a stable boy, you are brilliant and passionate.”

  Arvel stared at the table for several long moments.

  Myth moved her empty teacup to the wooden tray, believing that would be the end of the discussion. “Now that you’ve decided on charging the Fultons—”

  “Do you value me?”

  “…I beg your pardon?”

  “You said I don’t value myself. Do you value me?”

  Myth rolled her eyes and was considering bestowing a scoff on the prince, but she felt a change in the air.

  The pleasant light of sunset became heavier somehow, and more golden. There was a thickness to the air that hadn’t been there before, and almost against her will, Myth slowly raised her eyes.

  He felt…different.

  The bright blue of his eyes seemed smoldering, and his smile was dangerously tilted to the side. He was still, and his posture was relaxed, but the way he looked at her made Myth feel like a rabbit trapped between the paws of a blue-eyed wolf.

  What is going on? What happened to all of his usual boyish charm?

  “I…what?” Myth said.

  Arvel pushed his seat back and stood, towering above the table. “That’s hardly an answer, Myth. And I’m waiting with bated breath.” His chuckle was a sound so rich and throaty it pressed Myth back into her chair.

  “Um,” Myth said with all intelligence.

  Arvel slowly ambled around the table, drawing closer to her.

  What is this? What is this? Myth’s thoughts stumbled over one another as she tipped her head back so she could peer up at Arvel as he lingered above her. I should stand. Or move. Or SOMETHING! She tried to move her feet, but it seemed she couldn’t do more than grip the edge of the table. How can my own body fail me like this because of a, a…smile?!

>   Once he was at her side, Arvel placed a hand on the table and leaned over it. He wasn’t crowding her, precisely. But with this different air around him, he seemed to take more space, and she felt his closeness as her hair prickled on the back of her neck.

  His smile evened out as he openly studied her. But it wasn’t one of his normal grins, it was something much more.

  Stop smiling! Myth screamed in her head. And stop looking at me! Then I’d be able to function.

  “What’s your answer?” His voice was quiet, but had that edge to it that Myth couldn’t quite pin down.

  “You are…that is to say…”

  It’s unfair that I am a linguist, and yet Arvel is able to rob me of that ability with just a smile! This is cheating, I know it!

  “Yes?” Arvel leaned the tiniest bit closer.

  Rather than stare into his eyes—which Myth was positive would make her as stupid as a chicken—she fixed her eyes on the folded collar of his shirt. “Of course I value you. Er, you are my employer.”

  “And friend?” Arvel leaned the tiniest bit closer, and Myth was supremely aware of…him.

  “And friend,” Myth agreed with a squeak. “As long as your definition matches mine.”

  His teeth flashed as he smiled. He opened his mouth again, but thankfully—blessedly—the squeaky wheels of a pushcart trundled closer and closer.

  Arvel straightened up and turned around, breaking the heavy air.

  Myth sucked in air, and her muscles were roughly the consistency of a pudding tart.

  One of the library pages pushing a cart neatly stacked with books popped out of a space between the shelves. She bowed to Arvel and Myth, then maneuvered her cart to the side and began shelving books.

  Stars be blessed—she’s staying here! Myth almost collapsed in relief, but she gave Arvel a sneaking glance, just in case.

  He ran a hand through his hair—which was more coppery in the reddening light of the sunset—and he ruefully grinned down at her, his usual smile back. “I think we’ve done enough work for tonight. Are you ready to depart?”

  Myth didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded, relaxing only when Arvel retreated to his side of the table and began gathering up his materials.

  Myth automatically followed his example, and hoped her face didn’t reveal what she was thinking.

  What was that? And why did Arvel decide to trot it out now?

  “He smoldered, Blaise. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Myth forced her posture to a perfect straightness—more because the practice felt reassuring than because it was socially required. “He’s always fairly charming and quick to smile. But this was different.”

  Blaise carefully scanned the guests of the garden party, probably looking for any unsuspecting elven enchanters she could pounce on and test her Elvish on. “It certainly sounds different. Mind you, I haven’t seen the crown prince overly much, but I’ve seen enough to know the pleasant smile you’re referring to. Can’t say I’ve ever seen him throwing around such a flirtatious smile like the one you’re describing, and he doesn’t have a reputation for it, either.”

  Myth glanced at Arvel again—this was a conversation she did not want him to overhear—but he was laughing at something Prince Benjimir said to Blaise’s mentor, the Wizard Edvin. It seemed he was safely involved in his conversation, and she relaxed minutely, allowing herself to enjoy the pleasant atmosphere of the gardens.

  The night’s garden party was one of the annual events the royal families of Lessa and Calnor threw every year for the elven enchanters and human wizards—or so Arvel had told her on their short walk over. (Thankfully, he’d returned to acting normal, but Myth wasn’t fooled. Beneath Arvel’s clear smiles and easy laughter, something…burning lurked.)

  “It was…”

  “Unexpected?” Blaise offered.

  Myth wildly shook her head. “That’s not even half as strong enough as the word required to describe it!”

  The moon cast a silver light on the guests and the tables filled with food that had been assembled for the party. Candles secured in brightly colored elven paper lanterns hung from string, providing extra light so the guests weren’t stumbling around in near-darkness.

  Blaise reached up and prodded one of the lowest hanging lanterns. “He scared you that badly, did he?”

  “I wasn’t scared!” Myth scoffed. “But he was so intense. And his smile…it’s like, like he was a prince of seduction!”

  Blaise snorted in her laughter.

  Myth scowled. “Stop laughing!”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just…Do you really know what that word means?” Blaise wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

  “Seduction? Of course I do!”

  “I would dearly love to hear in what context you learned it, then.” Blaise’s smile turned sly as she grinned up at Myth.

  “You aren’t taking this seriously.” Myth again scanned the gardens to make sure no one—specifically Arvel—had moved into hearing range. But currently Blaise and Myth were the only two standing at the edges of the party, next to a giant hedge that formed a back wall for this particular section of the garden.

  The songbirds had returned to their nests, their voices swapped for the pleasant chirp of crickets that was just audible over the gurgling splash a tiny waterfall made. The waterfall was part of a stream that snaked around and through the clearing occupied by the party, but Myth had strategically positioned herself by the waterfall so it would cover her conversation with Blaise.

  “I disagree, I am taking your story quite seriously,” Blaise said, drawing Myth back into their conversation. “If I thought he’d crossed the line with you I would have acted already. But it doesn’t seem like—for all his ‘seduction’—he did anything improper. Or am I wrong? Did he crowd you in any way? Or touch you inappropriately?”

  “No. He was a normal distance, and he didn’t touch me,” Myth said. “It’s just…that smile!”

  “Yes, how dare he smile?” Blaise snickered.

  “It was intimidating.”

  “You were scared, then.”

  “No. It, it threw me off balance and startled me.”

  “What you really mean to say is that no one before your Prince of Seduction had the guts to lay siege to that impassable serenity of yours,” Blaise said. “He has caught you off-guard—something you aren’t used to.”

  Myth pressed her lips together. “When phrased like that, it makes me sound like an idiot.”

  Blaise patted Myth’s hands. “A pure idiot.”

  Now it was Myth’s turn to scoff.

  Blaise shrugged. “You’re an elf. It sounds like he’s coming at you from a very human way of courtship; it is bound to rattle your elven sensibilities, where your people flirt by—I imagine—exchanging flowers you grew for each other or something.”

  “We elves are not that righteous in our courtship—and he is not coming at me, as you so barbarically phrased it.”

  “Sure,” Blaise agreed. “But, Myth…” The apprentice wizard trailed off and waited until Myth glanced curiously at her. “If he ever makes you feel uncomfortable, tell him—and then tell me.” Blaise pushed a lock of her russet hair out of her face and glanced at the topic of their discussion. “I get the impression he’s an honorable sort who would be horrified if he knew he made you uncomfortable and would instantly cease. But just in case I’m wrong, I still want you to tell me, too.”

  Myth smiled, and basked in the warmth of her friendship with Blaise.

  When all was said and done, Blaise was the only person Myth knew without a doubt fully cared for her—not just as a translator or student, but as a person. Blaise was more concerned, more invested in Myth, than her own father was. For that, Blaise would have her loyalty forever. “I will,” Myth said. “Thank you, Blaise.”

  “Of course.” Blaise awkwardly cleared her throat, then straightened her skirt. “If you don’t think he’s coming at you, what prompted it?”

  “I believe it was due to o
verworking,” Myth theorized. “The relief caused him to act…strangely.”

  It was the only even remotely reasonable explanation Myth could come up with.

  Arvel was the crown prince and her employer. And though she hadn’t known him long, it was apparent he was honorable. Which meant there was no reason for him to approach her—a mere translator—with any sort of thoughts of romance.

  He had rattled her, but Myth had learned enough of Calnorian culture in her reading to know that crown princes didn’t go around marrying commoners—even elven commoners.

  “You know, for being so intelligent you certainly like to delude yourself,” Blaise said. Before Myth could scoff out a reply, she added, “Don’t look now, but I think your seducer is on his way over.”

  9

  “Don’t call him that!” Myth hissed through teeth clenched in a smile. She raised her gaze, and sure enough, Arvel and Prince Benjimir were winding their way through the party.

  Arvel would smile and pause long enough to exchange quick greetings with any of the wizards or elven enchanters they encountered. Benjimir, however, rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and looked handsomely bored.

  “Hello, Myth.” Arvel smiled warmly at her, then slightly inclined his head at Blaise. “And you must be Myth’s wizard friend—I’ve heard much of you.”

  “I am Apprentice Wizard Blaise, Your Royal Highness.” Blaise curtsied with a surprising amount of manners that she usually only trotted out for whatever elven enchanter she was trying to corner. “I count myself lucky to be a friend of Myth’s.”

  “This is my brother Benjimir, the Commanding General of Calnor’s armies and a prince,” Arvel motioned to his older brother.