Chapter 20 #4
“ Iloveyoutoo! ” Myth was so desperate to answer, the words gushed out, nearly indecipherable.
Arvel blinked. “What?”
Myth tried to breathe and found it surprisingly difficult. “I, just so happen, to love you,” she said to her feet.
“I couldn’t hear you.” Arvel’s tone was sly and teasing. “What was that?”
“I said—NO!” Myth looked up in time to see that the Prince of Seduction had surfaced. “No, no! None of this!” She shook her finger, indicating to all of him.
“Why not?” Arvel asked with a false innocence as he invaded, moving a few steps closer.
“Because I can’t handle you like this! And, and no!”
“But you said you love me,” Arvel pointed out.
Myth could feel her cheeks burn as she rapidly backed up. “I, I do.”
“But you don’t like it when I do this?”
Myth squawked when Arvel scooped her up into an embrace that tipped her against his chest.
“N-no?” she squeaked with no conviction whatsoever.
“Personally, I think you’re adorable when you’re ruffled.” Arvel laced his fingers through the fringe of her ponytail with one hand, and kept the other at her waist. “It’s fun to know I can affect you so, when you’re often unflappably calm.”
“So glad I can amuse you.” Myth groused into his chest and grabbed the lapels of his jacket—as she seemed prone to doing. “I—”
Arvel had one eyebrow raised, and his smile was roguish as he slipped his hand from her hair to the back of her neck. “Yes?”
Just desserts, her mind whispered. Because he’s enjoying this too much. And if I can switch from a trade to social translator in the span of a day, I can summon the guts to do this.
Before she could back down or talk herself out of it, Myth leaned in and kissed Arvel. She could feel her cheeks burn, but Arvel’s choked exclamation of surprise made the embarrassment worth it, and it only took an additional moment for her to realize she really liked kissing Arvel.
The warm pressure of his lips was so satisfying, it bordered on overwhelming. She could practically feel the love that flowed between them.
He tilted her head just so and deepened the kiss, and Myth lost all sense of time as she clung to his jacket—probably wrinkling it beyond hope.
When they finally came up for air, Myth was almost stupid in her joy.
“ Please say—after that kind of a kiss—you’ll marry me?” Arvel begged.
Myth laughed and slid her hands up to link them behind his neck.
“It means you’ll have to become the queen someday, but I’ll try to make it worth the trouble.” He practically purred as he kissed her ear.
“It sounds like work,” Myth impressively managed to say. “How can you say for certain you’ll be able to properly compensate me?”
“The finest dresses, the best food, jewels—anything you want.”
“Do you really think that kind of answer is going to move me?” Myth dryly asked.
“Ah, I suppose I should have chosen better for my audience. In that case, you can buy as many books as you want, learn as many languages as pique your interest, you’ll have more access than ever to Fyn, and there’s me of course.” Arvel batted his eyelashes at her and grinned winningly.
Myth made a show of narrowing her eyes. “Hmm…I suppose I’m willing to marry a crown prince if I must in order to get you out of the deal.”
The laughter in Arvel’s eyes faded into something deeper and more enduring. “Myth, I don’t think you know just how much that means to me. Which is why I’d do anything for you.”
Myth tilted her head so their foreheads touched. “And I don’t think you realize just how much that means to me . Thank you, Arvel.”
He scooped both of his arms around her shoulders, wrapping her in a tight hug that felt like he was pushing every bit of love that he could into the gesture.
Myth’s eyes fluttered shut as she treasured the moment.
She had never wanted a prince—she’d never aspired for anything beyond becoming a trade translator.
And while Arvel had laid waste to the only career she’d ever pictured—and she knew the life he offered her would be harder—their relationship would be filled with a special kind of love she’d never thought she’d find.
Myth loved Arvel. And, incredibly, he loved her back.
“Can I interpret that as a yes?” He interrupted her thoughts with a cheeky poke to her shoulder. “Yes, you’ll marry me?”
“Yes!” she said with exasperation.
Before she could say anything more, Arvel swooped down and kissed her again, this time more deeply.
And in his arms, with his lips pressed to hers, Myth knew she’d never been happier.
* * *
In a different part of the castle, King Petyrr poured King Celrin a cup of elven wine and smiled so widely it threatened to split his face. “It’s done, Celrin!” he said in broken Elvish.
“It is indeed,” King Celrin responded in thickly accented Calnoric. “Allow me to congratulate you on the most perfect of outcomes.” He took his cup and raised it in a toast.
The two were alone in their joint study, and—due to years and years of practice and perseverance—were finally to the point where they could communicate with each other through broken phrases, bad accents, and a swirl of hand gestures.
“It worked out well.” King Petyrr eased himself into his cushioned chair. “There were a few times I mis-stepped, but in the end it went as planned.”
“You were right, taking down the Fultons was the display of power Arvel needed to win the respect of the nobles,” King Celrin said.
“And just in the nick of time.” King Petyrr patted his lap, attempting to encourage a furry orange cat to hop on before he gave up and picked the purring animal up.
“Our children are glorious, but Benjimir and Gwendafyn are almost too dazzling. If Arvel sat around and contemplated his navel much longer, he’d never win his people over and would have to rely on Benjimir and Gwendafyn to provide all the social and military power needed to do anything in Calnor. ”
“A position that surely would have made Benjimir and Gwendafyn most unhappy,” King Celrin acknowledged. He watched his long-time friend out of the corners of his eyes. “And how are you?”
King Petyrr sneezed when the cat swished its tail under his nose. “Hmm? What do you mean?”
“I am not so optimistic as to call your marriage with Luciee warm…but I know you loved her.” King Celrin chose his words delicately. “It was why you waited so long to correct the Fultons.”
“Rather, it’s why I was forced to pawn off the unpleasant task on my own son, hmm?
” King Petyrr’s smile was sad, and he petted the cat with a gentleness that belied his gruff appearance.
“I did love Luciee. And I let that love get in the way not only of doing what was right, but acting in love. If I had done something earlier, it would not have gotten this bad.”
King Celrin leaned across the gap between their chairs so he could set his hand on King Petyrr’s shoulder. “It was Luciee’s choice to aid her brother.”
“Yes,” King Petyrr agreed. “And her exile was necessary. But I’m glad my sons have chosen worthy women.”
King Celrin observed his wine cup.“It seems Arvel has made his choice.”
“Indeed!” King Petyrr chortled. “That was a match I never saw coming—though they suit each other quite well. Translator Mythlan will make an excellent queen, and her skills will complement Arvel’s once they become monarchs.
I imagine their reign will be a time of economic and intellectual boom for both Lessa and Calnor, while Benjimir and Gwendafyn can keep us all safe. ”
“I am interested to see how her breakthrough in translating High Elf runes affects the future,” King Celrin said.
“Yes,” King Petyrr agreed. “It’s another step toward understanding High Elf magic—one I didn’t think we’d see in our lifetime.”
“Indeed.” King Celrin idly rubbed his chin. “Speaking of the happy couple…did you ever tell Arvel that all along Mythlan was the only candidate for the position as his translator?”
“No!” King Petyrr almost violently shook his head.
“The boy thinks he’s so smart because he bargained for her.
He’ll complain endlessly if he realizes Rollo and I had already selected her—and had to beg and bribe the trade translators into lending her out.
But she was the only apprentice in any department with the fluency to handle the position.
None of the social apprentices are even half as fluent as she. ”
“You cannot fool me, friend,” King Celrin laughed. “You could have found another translator, but you chose her.”
“Yes, because it was almost a certain thing she was going to be the next Trade Chairwoman—not because I thought she’d turn Arvel lovesick.
” King Petyrr sank a little lower into his chair, and his cat purred as it sat on the slope of his belly.
“Given his aspirations for trade and Calnor’s economy, I thought to foster his relationship with the future leadership of the trade translators—to make his future a little easier.
That is my one regret; Chairwoman Errim is going to murder me—financially speaking. ”
“I imagine Mythlan will continue to work as a translator—socially and in matters of trade—all her life,” King Celrin said.
“Yes, but Chairwoman Errim was setting her up to be her replacement, and Mythlan can’t very well be that if she’s the queen .” King Petyrr shivered. “I expect all trade translation fees are going to double this year.”
King Celrin chuckled and sipped his wine some more. “She’ll make an exceptional daughter-in-law.”
King Petyrr instantly brightened. “She will, won’t she? She’ll be another beautiful jewel of Calnor—intelligent and stunning! Do you think she’ll call me Father?” He hopefully peered at King Celrin, upsetting his cat.
“Perhaps,” King Celrin offered. “Regardless, I am certain she will be happy to join your family.”
“I hope so.” King Petyrr returned to petting the orange feline, soothing it into purring again. “I do like her. I was worried Arvel wouldn’t find a match—that boy is almost too smart for his own good. But she is an excellent foil to him.”
King Celrin stood up to refill his wine cup and fetched King Petyrr’s pint of human mead from the table. “To the future monarchs of Calnor?”
King Petyrr took the wooden pint and tapped it against King Celrin’s wine chalice. “To the future monarchs of Calnor! May they be better than the previous generation, and may their love be the stuff of stories.”
King Celrin sipped his wine and watched as King Petyrr took a massive swig. “You know,” King Celrin said. “This match will double the number of half Calnorian half elven grandchildren you could have.”
King Petyrr actually spat out his drink in his glee. “You really think so?”
“I do. And it means the next generation of Calnorian royalty will be half elf.”
“…”
“…”
“This calls for more celebration! More wine, more mead! This is one of the best days in my life—no, that’ll be the day more of my grandchildren are born. But such happy times await us, Celrin!”
King Celrin laughed, gratified to see his friend’s good humor restored. “They do indeed, my friend. They do indeed.”