Chapter 4
M yth recognized Arvel, of course. She’d seen him at enough public celebrations to recognize him when he started frequenting the library.
Over the years he’d grown taller. In fact, since he’d become crown prince, he’d surpassed his brothers and become the tallest of them all.
He’d been lanky and a little awkward for a year or so, but he’d filled in since then, and now looked, Myth supposed, like an idealized variation of his title: the charming prince with fair hair and boyish features.
Myth bowed, her voice managing to sound calm even though she felt anything but. “Greetings, Your Highness. I am Mythlan, daughter of Wylorym and Lusana. I am to be your temporary translator.” She was tempted to stress the temporary bit given Rollo’s introduction, but that seemed unwise.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Mythlan,” Arvel said.
Surprised, Myth met his gaze when she stood up from her bow.
“Since we’ve been patrons of the library together for so long,” he supplied.
“Yes,” Myth carefully said—she hadn’t thought he’d recognize her. She was just one of the many library visitors. But his observation took the edge off the disappointment of her new role; he must be kind if he noticed a small thing like that.
“I look forward to working together with you—hopefully we’ll have fun despite all the socials we’ll attend,” Arvel said.
“Your Highness, the point of many of those socials is to be fun,” Rollo said.
“Fun maybe for you,” Arvel snorted. “But you could talk the leg off a chair. Are you staying long, Rollo?”
“No, unfortunately not. Your father needs me, and I alreadygave Mythlan a rundown of what to expect.”
“I understand. Good luck with my father—watch out for all his cats and dogs,” Arvel advised. “If you step on a tail, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I shall do my best.” Rollo offered the prince a quick bow, then smiled at Myth.
“Remember, Mythlan, seek me out if you are unsure about anything. I’d be glad to teach you.
” He flapped his outer robe and was out the door before Myth could think of a coherent response, leaving her alone… with the crown prince.
Crown Prince Arvel leaned against the edge of his massive desk. “Thank you for agreeing to take the position. I’m sure you’ll do great.”
“I will do my best, Your Royal Highness.”
Arvel ruefully rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around his uniquely organized office. “I suppose you’ll need a work space…I don’t run into many elves during my workday, but I still imagine you’ll want a spot of your own.”
Myth turned in a slow circle, studying what would likely be her main location as long as she served Crown Prince Arvel.
The study was a bright and cheerful room. The back end bubbled out of the building and was encased in glass from the floor to the domed ceiling. It looked out over a corner of Rosewood Park—the massive gardens the palace curled around—which added vibrance to the room.
The bookshelves that lined the walls were, curiously, only about a third filled.
End tables, however, cluttered up much of the room and were stacked high with paper, bound logbooks, and records.
A cabinet was stocked to the point of bursting with inkwells, quills, and candles, and more than a few jackets made of fine cloth were scattered around the room, horrendously rumpled and nearly covered by the paper stacks.
“If I may have a chair, that will be enough, Your Royal Highness,” Myth offered.
“Nonsense. We’ll get you a table, too. I can call for some servants to bring one in—I just have to stop being a pig and put away my papers so we’ll have the space for it.” Arvel picked up a stack of papers and made his way to the bookshelves.
“You are too kind, Your Highness.” Myth fidgeted with her hands—she didn’t know what to do with them or what kind of protocol was required, and it was making her nervous. Her gaze strayed to the bookshelves, and she wondered how one who frequented the library so often came to have so few books.
Or perhaps that is why he frequents the library? You can see the library entrance from his doorway, after all.
“Ah,” Arvel chuckled. “Wondering why the shelves are empty?”
Myth guiltily peeled her eyes from the shelves and ducked her head. “My apologies.”
“No, no. It’s understandable. I used to keep these shelves packed.
Unfortunately, I had to move all my favorites to my private quarters.
” Arvel made a face. “My brother, Benjimir, got into the habit of stealing my books whenever I annoy him. He suggested I could stop baiting him, but where’s the fun in that?
Instead, I resort to hiding my books in less dignified places.
” Arvel’s lips were curved in a fond smile, and he stared expectantly at Myth.
Oh. He wants a reply.
“Is Your Royal Highness close to Prince Benjimir?” Myth asked, hoping the question wouldn’t be viewed as prying.
She was rewarded with his smile brightening into a grin.
“Pretty close, yes. We work together a lot, which helps. He still helps with the Honor Guards and is also responsible for most of the army now—which he can have!” He shook his head a little and put another stack of papers on his sparsely populated bookshelves.
It seemed to Myth that Arvel had a thoughtful personality and was quick to laugh, even at himself.
This boded well for her—even if she was at her most diligent, her ignorance would create mistakes.
He, thankfully, seemed like he wouldn’t mind if she occasionally mispronounced a title.
(Although she was going to do her best to avoid errors.)
“Do you read and write in Calnoric?” Crown Prince Arvel asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“I am not yet skilled at it,” Myth automatically replied with the elven saying of humility, as was custom. She wasn’t perfect, after all, so there was no way she could claim skill at it even with all the work she did.
“I see. Well, no worries! I have trade translators who help me with that sort of thing.” Crown Prince Arvel pushed a few end tables into a corner and stacked them, opening up floor space.
“Regardless, I look forward to working with you. I hope you enjoy your time as a social translator—since Rollo said you are actually a trade translator?”
“Trade translation work is my area of study, yes,” Myth confirmed. “But I shall serve you to the best of my ability, and seek to improve my understanding so that I might complete my work.”
Arvel’s grin was warm like sunshine, and it transformed his classic good looks into something inviting and more charming rather than just picturesque. “We’ll have fun together,” he said. “I promise.”
* * *
Thankfully, Myth’s first evening as the crown prince’s translator passed without any mortification.
Blessedly, Crown Prince Arvel had several days that lacked any type of social engagement at all, making Myth’s transition as his translator easier than she expected.
A part of her suspected this might be by design—the prince appeared to be spontaneously charming, but she was starting to think it was actually a result of careful observations, in the same way he’d known her from the library. But she wasn’t yet certain.
Regardless, she was thankful for his empty schedule, and—despite her disappointment in pausing her studies as a trade apprentice—was coming to enjoy the work.
As they walked down the hallway together in the early afternoon hours, having just left the library and veering back to Arvel’s office, Myth was daring enough to feel satisfied.
She’d just spent the past two hours translating for Crown Prince Arvel and the elf librarian who was on duty while they conversed about elven imports, and the impact the increased presence of elven nobility in Haven would have on the countries’ economies.
Even more exciting, she’d had the time to find two books that contained in-depth studies on Calnorian culture and were written by elven scholars, and an additional mathematics book that looked at various ways to calculate ledgers—which would be useful to know once she was made a trade translator.
“You seem pleased with your books,” Arvel observed as he walked at her side.
Mythlan, the books happily tucked against her sides, nodded. “I have never been granted the honor of borrowing books from the library. Thank you for requesting it on my behalf.”
“Of course! You’ll need something to occupy yourself this afternoon. I’m going over some palace expenditures, and I don’t expect any elven company—unless Gwendafyn drops in for a visit. Ah…”
He trailed off when he noticed the Honor Guards standing at attention by the entrance to his study.
“Never mind. It looks like we’re in for company after all,” he said.
Myth fell back a few steps, letting Arvel reach them first. “Guard Commander Arion,” he said. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
The tallest man of the clutch of guards studied the crown prince with a furrowed brow and stormy eyes. “Your Royal Highness.” He bowed, his posture crisp and precise. “May I speak to you?”
“Always! What’s brought you to me? I don’t think the Honor Guard has submitted any requests for anything needed from Lessa.” Arvel opened his study and beckoned for Sir Arion to follow him in.
“Not at this time, Your Highness.” Sir Arion pivoted to face Myth and bowed to her. “After you,” he murmured in passable Elvish.
“Thank you.” Myth bobbed a quick curtsy, then slipped inside.
She made for her newly assembled station—a simple but beautifully polished table—and sat down in her comfortably padded chair and avoided looking at the two men.
She briefly glanced up in surprise when Arion stepped into the study and closed the door, shutting out the guards.
It only took a moment, however, for her to quietly set her books down and busily open them, intending to immerse herself in her work so she wouldn’t overhear anything.