Royal Magic

by K. M. Shea

  King Petyrr stiffly strode across the room and flung the study door open. He roared into the hallway with the strength of a bear, but Gwendafyn could hear the laughter in his voice as he did so.

  “His Majesty King Petyrr has just requested a proper drink and for scholars to begin writing messages to announce your impending nuptials,” Rollo said.

  When King Petyrr turned around and impatiently beckoned for him, Rollo bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, Princess Gwendafyn. King Petyrr requires my assistance—but please allow me to be the first to congratulate you.” Rollo balefully eyed Benjimir. “Even though you did not think to tell me despite our decade-long friendship.”

  Benjimir slightly shook his head as he raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Thank you for your help, Rollo.”

  The translator sniffed, then hurried to King Petyrr’s side just as the king got his hands on a Lesser Elf scholar and shook him in his joy.

  “I am surrounded by overly emotional men,” Benjimir muttered in Elvish.

  “They’re not over emotional; it is merely that they love you,” Gwendafyn said.

  Benjimir snorted. “I’m so certain.” He raised an eyebrow at his father’s back and nodded at him. “This just might be the happiest day of his life—even if he would prefer you marry Arvel.”

  “I think that was a test, not an actual piece of advice,” Gwendafyn said.

  Benjimir turned his green eyes to her. “You are overly optimistic given your ability to scheme and manipulate.”

  Gwendafyn laughed. “No, sometimes you just need space to see what is really there.” She straightened her stance when she saw her father slowly cross the study—which was becoming crowded with cupbearers, scholars, and translators who were all being pulled into the orbit of King Petyrr’s enthusiasm.

  “King Celrin,” Benjimir murmured. He tipped forward in a bow, then met the elf king’s gaze. “I hope you will also give your blessing to our union?”

  Before Celrin could reply, King Petyrr barked out, “Benjimir!”

  “One moment, please; I apologize, of course.” Benjimir flashed his polite smile then began edging his way through the crowd, making way to his father, leaving Gwendafyn alone to face hers.

  “Father,” Gwendafyn said, her smile more confident than she felt. If he planned to call it off, he wouldn’t have let King Petyrr get so excited, which means we’ve won. I hope?

  “You are certain this is what you want, Little Fyn?” Celrin asked.

  “Yes,” Gwendafyn said.

  Celrin slowly nodded. “It’s not the life I would have chosen for you.”

  Nor I. I never thought I’d marry a man as crooked as Benjimir! Gwendafyn wisely held her tongue as she listened.

  “It will be more complicated than you think. Lady Tarinthali and Sir Arion—with their special unity—had troubles bridging the differences between our cultures. And they were viewed with something of awe. You two might be the children of kings, but you have not been blessed in the same spectacular way. The people will watch you with all diligence.”

  “I know,” Gwendafyn said. “It is my hope—and Benjimir’s—that our union will bring our people closer together.”

  “I’m sure.” The words were spoken with all sincerity, but Gwendafyn could have sworn she felt the ever-rare edge of sarcasm to them. “Just be careful,” Celrin added.

  Gwendafyn nodded, assuming he was referring to Benjimir-the-exiled-and-disgraced-prince, but his next words shocked her.

  “And be patient with Benjimir.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  Celrin turned slightly so he could thoughtfully gaze upon the human prince. “He has scars. Really, he believes he is broken, and it has made him as skittish as a frightened horse. You will have to overcome that.”

  I don’t understand. Does he really believe that we are in love? “I will do my best, Father.”

  Celrin smiled at her and briefly rested his warm palm on her head. “I believe you will.” He began to turn away, likely to join King Petyrr, then paused. “And Little Fyn.”

  Her glee running high, Gwendafyn beamed. “Yes?”

  “Congratulations in finding the alternative route to tradition.” A nod, and he was gone, swept into the crowd surrounding King Petyrr.

  Gwendafyn’s jaw dropped. Oh, he knows. He absolutely knows. But then why is he allowing Benjimir and me to continue?

  Benjimir resurfaced and fought his way to Gwendafyn’s side. He leaned closer and smiled, masking the words he whispered. “He bought it?”

  “Not at all. But he’s going to let it go.” Gwendafyn slowly eased out the breath she had been holding. “It seems this is actually going to work. Our fathers will tell the rest of our families…” Gwendafyn trailed off, feeling awkward given that Yvrea would be among the first to learn. Cautiously, she glanced over at Benjimir.

  The Calnor Prince wore a smile edged with sarcasm. “I’m not going to back out now if that’s what you’re wondering. Yvrea will be disgustingly happy for both of us, and she’ll never suspect a thing.”

  Though his words were cold and uncaring, Gwendafyn didn’t miss the sadness that briefly glittered in the depths of his green eyes.

  I wonder if Father is right about him. But, no, he’s not broken, just manipulative.

  Gwendafyn made a face when a lock of her braid threatened to slip free. “Are you ready for all that will come next?” she asked as she struggled to put it back in place.

  Benjimir watched her with vague interest. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I wasn’t.”

  Gwendafyn shrugged, but she couldn’t help the very real smile that played on her lips. This is it—I’m really going to be free. Even Aunt Lorius won’t be able to snatch me from this!

  Two months passed in a flurry of activity, planning, and an abundance of parties. Faster than she imagined, Gwendafyn stood outside the massive cathedral doors.

  Next to her, Yvrea, overcome by joy, dabbed at her eyes with a white, silk handkerchief. “I’m so happy for both of you. You look so beautiful together, and Benji will treat you right, I just know it!”

  Gwendafyn stood proudly in her gauzy white dress, nearly drowning under her white veil. Similarly, she was also overcome by emotion: glee.

  This is the best possible outcome! I’ve avoided my fate as regent, and with Benjimir still running the Honor Guard, I’ll never have to go back to Jubilee if I don’t want to. And I most certainly don’t want to!

  “It’s just so romantic how you fell in love, just like a story book!” Yvrea sighed. “I know his family will dote upon you, though I pride myself in knowing I loved you first. But you two are going to be so happy!”

  And if anyone tries to take my swords from me, I can slug them in the gut! All I have to do is smile prettily at “Benji” every once in a while if he happens to be back from his bandit patrols, and I can do whatever I wish! And the most amazing thing is if a human questions me, I can tell them it is how we do things in Jubilee, and they’ll never know otherwise! Gwendafyn sighed in happiness.

  “Oh, dear. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but this is such a wonderful occasion!” Yvrea sniffled, then put her handkerchief away. She smiled lovingly at Gwendafyn and squeezed her arm in affection. “But I mustn’t hog you. Our dear aunt requested that I give her some time alone with you before you say your vows, so I will do just that.”

  Gwendafyn was so deep in her self-satisfaction she didn’t hear her sister’s words until it was too late. “Wait, what?”

  Yvrea had already cracked open the great doors and was half into the cathedral. She winked at Gwendafyn, then mouthed, “I love you. Congratulations,” before she slipped entirely inside.

  Gwendafyn froze for a moment, her glee forgotten. She hadn’t seen Aunt Lorius since she had been sent to Haven in punishment. Not even when Benjimir had been absent from Haven for two and a half weeks as he and Sir Arion hunted bandits had it been suggested that she return to her old role.

  “Your role
as regent is over,” Celrin explained when she asked him about it. “You have a new part, that of being a member of the Lessa royal family and the Calnor royal family.”

  Be that as it may, Gwendafyn knew her aunt was not happy with this upset. She could see it in Lorius’ eyes when she was present for her aunt’s arrival the previous morning, and she felt Lorius’ displeasure throughout the evening meal.

  Gwendafyn flinched when the whispered hush of skirts gliding over stone reached her tapered ears. Reluctantly, she turned to face her aunt as she drew closer.

  Lorius nodded serenely. “Gwendafyn,” she said.

  Gwendafyn tried to swallow and almost choked on her own spit. “Aunt Lorius.”

  “I am disappointed in you,” Lorius said in a voice soft with sadness. “I thought better of you than…this.” She gestured from the door to Gwendafyn.

  Gwendafyn raised her chin. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.

  “You dishonor yourself and all of us Lesser Elves with this farce. Or is it merely that you are not strong enough to rule over your unruly emotions? Are you so poorly disciplined that you would resort to this rather than take up your position as regent and act with the grace a king’s daughter should exude?” Though Lorius’ voice was quiet, her words were like cudgels to Gwendafyn’s back.

  “It’s not like that.” Gwendafyn forced herself to stand tall when she really wanted to cower. “My marriage to Prince Benjimir has the opportunity to change our people for the better.”

  “What is best for everyone is to observe the rules and laws that have been tested over centuries and to take up the roles each was born into,” Lorius said sharply. “You were born to be a regent, Gwendafyn. But you have allowed yourself to become a wild young woman whose selfishness will only inflict harm.”

  Beneath the shield of her veil, Gwendafyn flinched. I didn’t ask to be this way! Why can’t she see that? Why can’t she leave me be if it bothers her so much? A mixture of rage and hurt flared in her chest, and for a moment her lower lip trembled.

  Lorius stormed on. “And to tie yourself to a dishonored prince? One who lost his title as the heir?”

  “So this is how you treat each other in Jubilee?”

  Gwendafyn whirled around, her chin automatically raising again when she saw Benjimir strolling towards them.

  Aunt Lorius pinched her lips together as the Calnor prince approached them.

  “I can’t say I’m at all sorry I have never been there. And after witnessing this, my love, I think it’s safe to say I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from going back there as well,” Benjimir said in slightly accented Elvish.

  The “my love” bit is overdoing it, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to see him before. Gwendafyn took a deep breath and reminded herself to be brave.

  He stopped when he reached her side and leaned close enough to her to briefly rest his head against hers. “You look beautiful,” he said in a deep, purring voice Gwendafyn had never before heard him use. “Who is the hag?”

  “My Aunt Lorius,” Gwendafyn murmured. “You met her last night.”

  “Hn?” Benjimir finally pulled away from her and studied Lorius as he might look at a bug. “Oh, yes. I remember now. It is amusing. I thought sanctimonious know-it-alls were a sort of person unique to humankind. I’m glad to see that is not so.”

  Gwendafyn covered her choked laughter with a cough.

  “It is no use pretending before me, Your Highness.” Aunt Lorius’ serene tone was as cold as ice. “Though everyone else might have fallen for your act of love, I know it is a falsehood. Despite her rare beauty, Gwendafyn is too wild and cunning for any man to accept.”

  “You know it’s a falsehood?” Benjimir politely inquired. “How perfect. Then allow me to be frank.” He took a step closer to Lorius, and his stiff smile dropped from his face. His eyes darkened, and it seemed as if the very air around him grew colder. “Yes, your darling niece is about to marry me against your domineering wishes, and there’s nothing you can do to stop her, so cease your verbal attack.” He smiled again, but it was more wolfish and hungry than pleasant. “And if I ever catch you dripping such poison in her ear again, you will come to regret it.”

  Lorius narrowed her eyes. “I am her elder!”

  “And I don’t care,” Benjimir said. “Do it again, and you’ll discover why I was dishonored and exiled. Here’s a preview for you: it’s because I don’t care about consequences, and I’ll do whatever I feel is necessary to accomplish my goal.”

  Benjimir straightened and held his hand out. It took a moment, but Gwendafyn realized what he intended and wordlessly slipped her palm against his.

  “Gwendafyn shortly will be my wife,” Benjimir continued. “No matter what emotions we have between us, I’ll be exiled for a decade before I let someone like you walk over her,” Benjimir snarled. He then pointedly pivoted, putting his back to Lorius. “I thought Yvrea was supposed to be out here with you?”

  “She already went in, sorry,” Gwendafyn said. She watched as, beyond Benjimir, Lorius narrowed her eyes and glided for the cathedral doors. Her vision wasn’t as clear as usual due to the small stiches of her gauzy veil, but as she shifted her attention back to Benjimir, for the first time since her arrival in Haven, she really looked at him.

  I never thought he would ever lift a hand to help me. I even thought he might join in the jeers, but he threatened Aunt Lorius even though I don’t mean anything to him…

  The doors creaked open and closed, and Lorius was gone.

  Benjimir shrugged and shifted his gaze from her face to the doors. “So that’s why you proposed to me, I take it?”

  Gwendafyn ran a hand over the soft train of her dress. “It is better to say we both have things we are avoiding.”

  Benjimir grunted. “Tell me if she goes after you again.”

  Bother tradition. Gwendafyn flipped up her veil so she could see him better. “Why?”

  Benjimir didn’t even glance at her unveiled face. “Because I was serious.”

  Gwendafyn unashamedly studied him. Perhaps I ought to come clean now—it’s not as if he’s going to end it when we stand just outside the cathedral. If he’s willing to protect me, I should be willing to trust him at least this much. “You are right. I am marrying you to flee from Aunt Lorius, tradition, and my old role as regent for Father and Yvrea. It was suffocating, and I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

  “Given that you had the intelligence to hatch this plan, and the way your aunt harps, I’m not at all surprised you would want to escape,” he said. His expression, thankfully, hadn’t changed with Gwendafyn’s confession, and he momentarily fussed over his collar. “I properly insulted, right?”

  Gwendafyn blinked. “Aunt Lorius?”

  “Yes. I thought hag was an insult, but I’ve never had much practice with sneering in Elvish. It seemed unlikely to ever happen.” He shrugged. “Though today has brought all sorts of surprises.”

  “You insulted her quite well,” Gwendafyn said, a smile playing on her lips.

  Benjimir nodded and finally looked at her. “Ready?”

  Gwendafyn let the stuffy veil fall back over her face again. “Yes.”

  Together they lined up at the doors and nearly opened them when Benjimir paused suddenly. “Wait, we almost forgot.” He offered out his arm.

  Gwendafyn placed her hand upon it. “Benjimir?” She wanted to cringe at the timidity in her voice.

  “Hm?”

  “Thank you.”

  He glanced at her, surprise echoing in his eyes. He then nodded, and his lips briefly twitched in the shape of a smile before he extended a leg and tapped on the door.

  Servants flung the doors open, revealing the packed cathedral.

  Gwendafyn and Benjimir had opted for an elegant but understated ceremony—mostly because neither of them cared.

  The side of each pew was covered in different kinds of flowers, and purple and blue roses were carefully wound ar
ound the banisters at the altar.

  It was beautiful, of course, even if it was oppressively hot from the sheer number of guests packed inside. Representatives from other countries were present, as were a number of Honor Guard officers, and even a smattering of Evening Stars from Lessa.

  By the time they reached the altar, the pain Lorius’ words had brought faded, and instead Gwendafyn wanted to chortle with glee.

  This is going to be an entirely new life—one of my making! She glanced at Benjimir, and her sunny smile faltered.

  The prince was staring at his feet, his eyes stormy.

  Though I imagine this day isn’t how he dreamed it would be. I’m not the right princess. Gwendafyn snuck a glance at her family, searching for her sister. Yvrea was there, her arm hooked through Tari’s. Her face practically glowed with excitement, and she used her free hand to blow a kiss to Gwendafyn.

  Gwendafyn smiled at her sibling, but for a moment her heart ached for Benjimir. As she hadn’t let go of his arm, she paused, then squeezed it.

  Benjimir snapped to attention and removed his arm from her grasp. “What is it?” He whispered as the bishop motioned for Benjimir to fold back her veil.

  Gwendafyn licked her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said as he lifted the veil over her head.

  She didn’t have to say anything more. Benjimir’s dark eyes lit with understanding. He studied her, then nodded slightly. “It’s like you said: we’re both running from things.” He offered her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, then turned his attention to the bishop.

  Gwendafyn slowly did the same, though she was having a hard time deciding what she was supposed to do with her hands. She had just concluded she ought to hold them clasped at waist height when Benjimir snatched up the hand closest to him.

  When she blinked at him, he looked away from the bishop long enough to raise his eyes to hers in his devil-may-care way, then once again faced forward.