Chapter 9 #2
Arvel put his bread down. “What if I told you it was a Calnorian custom for translators to eat with their employers?”
“I would be forced to chide you for attempting such a paltry lie,” Myth dryly said.
“I’ve already read into the details of dining as a social translator, and I stood as your translator for two royal breakfasts.
It’s too late to…” Myth paused. She knew what word she wanted to use, but it kept escaping her.
“Hoodwink?” Arvel suggested.
“Yes! It is too late to hoodwink me now.”
“Maybe, but I feel like the biggest git sitting here eating when you have to stand behind me.” Arvel abandoned his bread for baked apple slices.
“It is what is custom for our positions.”
“Who cares about what’s proper? Father routinely brings his favorite cat to court sessions. That can’t be considered proper in any world.”
“When you are king, you also won’t have to care about what’s proper.”
“One of the upsides of the job,” Arvel agreed.
Myth counted the places at the table—which was heavily decorated with porcelain dishes and enough flowers to make the room smell like a garden. “Is Princess Gwendafyn going to break her fast this morning?”
“Yes, she’ll be here. She got back in last night. If she arrives before Benjimir I can ask her to sit by me, if you like.”
Myth opened her mouth to reply.
“Provided you don’t tell me she’s too good to sit with a lesser like me.” Arvel nonchalantly buttered a hot muffin, then twisted in his chair to grin at her.
Myth laughed quietly, but snapped her jaw shut when the door opened to admit another royal, Queen Luciee.
“I knew we shouldn’t have gotten here so early,” Arvel sighed.
The queen’s eyes narrowed, and she swept up to the elaborately set table, her fingers clenched white with fury. “Arvel,” she said. “My silly boy. What have you done ?”
“I buttered my muffin,” Arvel blandly said.
“I am referring to your massive error in opening an investigation against the Fultons— my family, and your flesh and blood!” The queen’s voice was icy in her anger, but she sat in her chair directly across from Arvel with all elegance and poise.
“It’s not an error,” Arvel said. “They broke the law.”
“You have no right!”
“I do, actually. Father made me Chief Liaison over Elven Trade.” Arvel methodically consumed his muffin and ignored his mother.
Myth, however, wished she could meld with the wall. This was not a conversation she wanted to be privy to.
Think of trade logs , she told herself. And balance sheets.
“And you actually believe you are smart enough for such a responsibility?”Queen Luciee waved off the maid who tried to fill her teacup.
The maid dipped a curtsy and beat a hasty retreat, slipping through the door that the kitchen staff used.
Myth wished she could follow her.
Arvel speared a second muffin. “Father thinks I am.”
“Your father has always lacked in wit,” Queen Luciee said. “He is hardly a competent judge.”
Arvel finally looked up. “Father is a brilliant king.”
“He’s a dreamer, and too inept to harness the power he has. You will make the same mistakes if you don’t wise up and begin establishing the right social connections.” Queen Luciee’s eyes hardened. “Which is why you need to announce you are dropping the investigation against the Fultons.”
Arvel wiped his fingers off on his napkin. “No.”
“You foolish boy. You will regret this, if you don’t fix it,” Queen Luciee warned. “The Fultons have stayed in line this long because of the respect the Crown shows them. If you step out of line, they will strike, regardless of their blood ties to you!”
Myth’s attempt to muse over the latest records she’d been assigned to copy was dashed with the queen’s blatant fury. Instead, she itched to throw one of the beautiful vases of flowers at the older woman’s head.
“You seem to be mistaken, Mother.” Arvel’s voice was still as amiable as ever, and he paused to sip his tea. “It is our family that rules Calnor. Not the Fultons.”
Queen Luciee bared her teeth, which were gritted, and her veneer of elegance cracked as she leaned forward.
“Listen well, Arvel. You are useless as a crown prince. Your popularity now is only a direct result of your brother and his wife. If you wish to have any sway over the other nobles, you will need the Fultons. Alone you haven’t the strength to make the nobles bow to you, nor have you the intelligence based on your social incompetence! ”
“Brow-beat me all you like, Mother. But it’s not going to intimidate me, or make me drop the investigation,” Arvel calmly said.
Myth heard footsteps in the hallway, through the cracked door.
They were quiet and long strided, and there was no familiar click of weapons in the gait, which was a sound that accompanied every member of the Calnorian royal family.
This most likely meant that it was elven royals outside, specifically King Celrin and Queen Firea, as Her Princess Gwendafyn frequently carried a sword or dagger as well.
The pair lingered outside the door, likely in respect for Queen Luciee’s conversation with Arvel. Unless Translator Rollo was with them, they had no idea what was taking place inside the room.
Well. They’re best suited out of everyone to spare Arvel.
“You fool,” Queen Luciee spat at her son. “I had hopes you wouldn’t disappoint me as Benjimir did, but you’re worsethan him. He, at least, had the intelligence to marry up.”
Myth discreetly slithered down the wall. She cast one last glance at Queen Luciee—who was still snarling at Arvel—then “happened” to bump the door open.
Sure enough, on the other side of the door stood the stately elven king and his beautiful queen. Myth curtsied and murmured in a voice that she hoped Queen Luciee wouldn’t register, “My King Celrin, My Queen Firea.”
“Good morning, Translator Myth,” King Celrin said.
Queen Firea offered Myth a quick smile, but her attention was mostly on Arvel and Queen Luciee…her gaze hardening the longer she watched the queen shout at her progeny.
Myth stepped to the side, giving them the option to enter.
King Celrin took a few steps toward his customary seat, but paused when he realized Queen Firea had remained with Myth.
The elf queen slightly narrowed her eyes and tilted her head back. “What is she saying to the dear crown prince?”
Myth had been hoping she’d ask. She bowed slightly to hide the satisfaction she was sure encased the curve of her lips. “Currently, Queen Luciee is telling Crown Prince Arvelthat he is an unintelligent and weak child who is not worthy of the position he’s been granted.”
Queen Firea narrowed her eyes. “ What? ”
King Celrin strode up to his seat. “Please inform Queen Luciee I was under the impression she was better than this, Translator Myth. Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure,” Myth feelingly said.
Queen Luciee had finally noticed the elven monarchs’ arrival, and she stiffly sat back in her chair. “Good morning to you, King Celrin, Queen Firea.”
Myth waited until Queen Luciee looked at her before delivering the translation. “King Celrin wishes to inform you that he believed you were better than this.”
“I’m sure I don’t know to what he is referring,” Queen Luciee airily laughed. “This was just a cherished moment of parental advice.”
Myth faithfully relayed the translation.
King Celrin benignly studied his empty teacup. “Really? Calling your son unintelligent and weak is what Calnor calls parental advice?”
Myth made the exact translation, taking great satisfaction at the sallowness that spread across Queen Luciee’s face.
“No, I didn’t state that…it must have been a mistake in the translation,” she coyly said.
She stood and came around the table, aiming for Myth—who was still standing by Queen Firea.
When she got close enough, she said in a harsh whisper,“You dared to translate a private conversation between a mother and her son? You wretch .”
Arvel stood up so fast he kicked his chair to the ground. He whirled around, his upper lip curled back, but Myth spoke before he could reply.