Royal Magic

by K. M. Shea

  It took all of Gwendafyn’s willpower to sit tall as her father—every inch the king—raked his purple-blue eyes over the breakfast table with power in his expression. “And if we choose not to change and leave behind some traditions, it will be a disservice to our people and a mark of our lack of personal strength.”

  Gwendafyn gaped at her father. She wanted to get up and fling her arms around him, then maybe insult Queen Luciee a few times with some of the Calnoric insults she’d heard Grygg utter. But she kept her seat and worked to restore her face to the same agreeable expression of tranquility Yvrea had.

  “So,” Arvel smiled blandly. “The Honor Guard is now open?”

  King Petyrr nodded slowly. “It is.”

  Everyone returned to their breakfast, including Benjimir.

  Gwendafyn scooted her breakfast bread around her plate a little and shook her head in wonder. And that is how tradition crumbles: one morning, over breakfast.

  9

  An Unwanted Return

  “When my mother announced that as the only other human-elf couple in existence we had to be among the first to visit Tarinthali, Arion, and their baby boy, I am certain she did not mean for us to drag Princess Claire along,” Benjimir murmured to Gwendafyn in Elvish.

  Gwendafyn briefly turned around to smile at Princess Claire, who almost skipped in place as she followed behind them, carrying a quilt.

  “I don’t care,” Gwendafyn said. “She is Arion’s little sister and our sister-in-law as well.”

  “You didn’t seem to care that much about her when we first got married,” Benjimir said as he slightly swung their intertwined hands.

  (With servants about and Claire in their wake, the gesture of affection was strictly necessary. Or so Gwendafyn told herself.)

  “Yes, that was before I comprehended how poorly your mother treats her. And you,” Gwendafyn said in a sing-song voice, though her purple eyes were sharp enough to cut rock.

  “Still holding a grudge against her for that breakfast when she doubted us? That was weeks ago.” Benjimir nodded to an Honor Guard who stood in the hallway and saluted them.

  “The length of time that has passed since it occurred doesn’t matter. And no, I’m not mad at her for correctly doubting us,” Gwendafyn said. “But I am forever set against her for not believing an elf could fall in love with you.”

  Benjimir shrugged. “She’s not wrong.”

  Gwendafyn opened her mouth to object, then snapped it shut. If I say something, it’s just going to make our relationship awkward. He still loves Yvrea.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Gwendafyn said finally. “Your mother is a bad word in Calnoric that I have no translation for in Elvish.”

  Benjimir laughed as they stopped outside the door to Tari and Arion’s quarters. “Come along, Claire,” he called in Calnoric over his shoulder.

  “Yes!” Claire bounded up to them. She smiled like an eager puppy and curtsied to Gwendafyn. “Thank you…allowing me…come with you!”

  Gwendafyn smiled in fondness—though she mentally crowed at the continued proof of her improved skills in Calnoric. “You’re welcome, sister-in-law.”

  Claire’s excited expression didn’t change, but she blinked—obviously unable to understand Gwendafyn’s words.

  Gwendafyn grimaced and made the hand sign for “welcome.”

  Benjimir knocked on the door and chuckled. “It’s because you try to make our ugly language sound pretty,” he said.

  “Hardly,” Gwendafyn said wryly. “It’s because no matter how my teachers drill me, I’m better at listening to and understanding Calnoric than I am at speaking it.”

  When Princess Claire looked at her with concern, Gwendafyn smiled reassuringly and looped her arm through the younger girl’s, making her smile again.

  Arion opened the door, bowing when he saw them. “Your Highness, Princess Gwendafyn, Sister,” he said.

  “Congratulations, Arion!” Claire squealed. She continued on but spoke too quickly and at too high a pitch for Gwendafyn to accurately understand, though she still picked out a few words.

  “Come.” Benjimir tugged Gwendafyn through the space in the doorway, as Arion stood aside, and into the sitting room.

  Tari sat on a settee with Sius curled around her. She held a bundle of blankets in her arms and smiled proudly when Benjimir and Gwendafyn approached. “My Princess, My Prince,” she said, making Gwendafyn blink at the use of the honorary elvish title on Benjimir. “Allow me to introduce you to our son, Braydynn.”

  She tugged the blankets down, revealing a chubby cheeked baby. Dark-colored hair—which was little more than fuzz—covered his head, but already Tari could see his slightly pointed ears, and his beautiful eyes that were the same shade as his mother’s.

  “He is precious,” Gwendafyn declared as she smiled down at the darling baby who represented so much besides his parents’ love.

  “Sure,” Benjimir said.

  “Would you like to hold him?” Tari asked.

  Gwendafyn hesitated.

  “You should,” Tari decided for her. She plopped the tightly wrapped baby into Gwendafyn’s arms, then stood and stretched. “Stars behold me—he is fatter than any elf baby I’ve held—though he’s growing faster, too.”

  Sius purred and nosed Tari’s hand until she scratched his head.

  Gwendafyn adjusted Braydynn in her arms so she had a secure grip on him. He gravely peered up at her, then yawned adorably. “You have recovered?” she asked, momentarily glancing at Tari.

  Tari nodded. “Enough. I’ve been assured I will have to slowly ease back into my Evening Star exercise routine, though.”

  “I imagine so.” Benjimir folded his arms across his chest and looked around the room as though he were hoping for a bandit to pop out to give him something to do.

  Evlawyn—Tari’s handmaiden—entered, bearing a tray of treats.

  Tari grinned mischievously as she glanced at her handmaiden. “You’ve still been going to your sword lessons, haven’t you, Fyn?”

  “I have,” Gwendafyn acknowledged. She peered down and winked at the stirring baby, eliciting a happy gurgle from him.

  “Tell me, how is Thad?” Tari asked with too much innocence.

  The tea tray clacked when Evlawyn set it down abruptly, her face blushing a fetching pink.

  Oh? Is that why Thad is the most interested in learning Elvish? Gwendafyn grinned. “He’s quite well, though he did mention he missed you and Evlawyn.”

  Evlawyn left the room in a rush, her blush turning into a deep red hue.

  Tari chuckled fondly, then glanced past Gwendafyn to smile at Arion and Claire—who were still speaking at the sitting room entrance. (Arion was admiring the quilt Claire had brought for Braydynn.) “It’s because of you two, you know.”

  Gwendafyn watched with interest as Braydynn closed his eyes and appeared to fall to sleep. “I’m afraid I don’t understand—what are you referring to?”

  “Because you two married, Thad and Evlawyn started exchanging shy glances,” Tari said. “I don’t think it had occurred to either of them that it was a possibility until your marriage was announced.”

  Gwendafyn blinked in surprise. “Truly?”

  Tari nodded. “I’ve seen it all over Haven. Elves and humans are taking a greater personal interest in each other these days. It doesn’t seem so taboo to laugh with one another when a Calnor Prince and Lessa Princess are happily wed.”

  “Why are you surprised?” Benjimir asked as he reluctantly drew closer to Gwendafyn and the baby. “You were the one who predicted as much when we were first engaged.”

  Gwendafyn laughed sheepishly. “Yes, though I might have been exaggerating for my own benefit. It’s one thing to claim such boasts; it’s another to see them.”

  Benjimir raised an eyebrow at her, then peered over her shoulder to look down at the sleeping Braydynn.

  “Claire,” Tari called in Calnoric as she crossed the sitting room to join her husband. “Thank you for c
oming!” She and the princess exchanged words at such a furious rate, Gwendafyn could not watch Braydynn and mentally keep up.

  “He’s quiet enough—perhaps he inherited his father’s temperament,” Benjimir murmured as he draped his arms around her hips.

  Gwendafyn laughed and adjusted her hands so she could gently touch Braydynn’s chubby cheek. “But he smiles in his sleep. Wouldn’t that be an indication of Tari’s sunny temperament?”

  Benjimir was silent, so Gwendafyn glanced at him. He was staring at the baby but then raised his gaze to her. There was something thoughtful in his eyes, an intensity she had not seen in them before.

  “Benjimir?” She asked.

  He smirked at her, then leaned close to breathe into her ear. “You know…we never did talk about heirs…”

  Gwendafyn snorted in amusement at the concept. As if we need to. For that to come up, he has to fall out of love with—

  “I’m sorry for coming so soon, but I couldn’t stay away any longer!” Yvrea gushed as Arion escorted her into the sitting room. She squealed and was so enthusiastic in her joy she clapped hands with Princess Claire—who obliged even though she couldn’t understand a word Yvrea said. “The first half-elf-half-human baby in centuries! I am so happy for both of you!”

  Annnd that is the end of that.

  Benjimir grinned at Yvrea. “Jealous, Yvrea?” he called out in Elvish.

  “Not at all.” Yvrea flashed her usual sunny smile at Benjimir and Gwendafyn. “I am just impatient to see my own half-elf-half-human nieces and nephews.”

  “You’ll be waiting for some time, then,” Gwendafyn said lightly, even though the words made it hard to swallow for a moment or two.

  Yvrea shook her head at her, then cooed when she set eyes on Braydynn. “May I hold him?”

  “Of course,” Gwendafyn stepped out of Benjimir’s grasp so she could pass Braydynn over, then paused and looked to Tari and Arion. “Unless…”

  Tari returned to her spot on the settee so she could scratch Sius’ belly. “Please, pass him around. I want him used to others so he does not shriek when Arion is off on patrols and I am at my practices.”

  Arion eyed his wife. “He is not a dog to train,” he said in slightly stilted Elvish.

  Yvrea giggled as she took Braydynn. Claire joined her and made a funny face at Braydynn when he briefly awoke, making him stare at her with his big eyes.

  After a moment, Claire stepped back and moved to stand with Gwendafyn. She hesitated, then fumblingly tried to hook her arms through Gwendafyn’s in elvish custom.

  Gwendafyn smiled at her and patted her hand, making the princess smile as brightly as Yvrea.

  “He is big,” Yvrea said as she struggled to adjust her hold on Braydynn. “I didn’t think he could be that heavy since Fyn was holding him with such ease, but that is not so.”

  “Here—you need to support his head.” Benjimir slid away from Gwendafyn and helped Yvrea settle the baby.

  Gwendafyn blinked at the loss.

  Enough, she scolded herself. I knew this was the way it is. I just didn’t expect to come to care for Benjimir as much as I have—even if he is still a sly dog. Besides, it’s not like I am a wilting flower… Thinking of the door to her magic, she had to stifle a shiver. This is enough. I should not expect more, even if I might want it. Previously all I wanted was friendship—I need to be satisfied with that.

  “So, Gwendafyn, tell me: did Thad really miss Evlawyn?” Tari asked with a mischievous grin before she translated her question into Calnoric for Claire and explained the situation.

  “He did,” Gwendafyn said. “Which is why I was going to ask if Evlawyn might be willing to serve Seer Ringali while he watches me practice…”

  They chattered away for several minutes—occasionally switching to Calnoric since Gwendafyn had a reasonable understanding—and eventually shifted to complaining about the complexity of the Calnor writing system.

  “I’m still terrible at it,” Tari grumbled in Calnoric. “And if I try to cheat and pull written words from Arion…come out in his handwriting, which…is terrible.”

  “It is,” Claire attested.

  Gwendafyn grimaced. “My teachers told me that until I can say words in a way that doesn’t make it sound like I’m singing, they won’t even think of teaching me the writing system.”

  “You aren’t missing out,” Tari assured her before translating for Claire.

  The younger princess opened her mouth to speak, but the sitting room door was abruptly thrown open.

  Seer Ringali glided in, his dark hair streaming behind him. “I must see my godchild,” he announced.

  Yvrea laughed. “Here he is!” She willingly passed over the baby into the Evening Star’s experienced hands.

  “So Arion successfully won the argument to make Seer Ringali the godparent?” Benjimir inquired as he drifted over to join Tari, Claire, and Gwendafyn.

  “Yes,” Tari wrinkled her nose. “My reasoning was this: if Seer Ringali is Braydynn’s godparent, that means he cannot also be the godparent of our next child, even if it happens to be a girl.”

  “You don’t want her learning to be an Evening Star?” Yvrea asked.

  “Not at all,” Tari said. “It is merely that I would like it to be possible for her to marry before she is sixty, if she so chooses!”

  Gwendafyn pulled back from the ring of well-wishers. She intended to stand by Arion—who had taken up a post just past Seer Ringali—and ask him what he thought of the Honor Guard accepting females, for between her broken Calnoric and his intermediate grasp of Elvish, they were reasonably able to speak together—but Seer Ringali stepped in her way.

  “A moment, Gwendafyn?” he asked as he rocked Braydynn in his arms.

  “Certainly, Seer Ringali.” Gwendafyn smiled.

  “I just came from meeting with your father,” Seer Ringali said. “Before I left, he received a communication from your aunt—my cousin.”

  “Aunt Lorius, yes,” Gwendafyn said.

  Seer Ringali smiled slightly at Braydynn, before he met Gwendafyn’s gaze and his forehead puckered. “She’s coming here.”

  Gwendafyn’s world froze. “I’m sorry, what?” she asked with numb lips.

  “She says it’s because she wishes to pay her respects to Tari and Arion, but given she was just here a few short months ago, I imagine there is more to it than that.” Seer Ringali nodded to Benjimir, who stood with Yvrea, Tari, and Claire. “You should warn your untamed beast. Though I imagine Celrin will notify both of you shortly.”

  A sick feeling settled in Gwendafyn’s stomach. “Thank you,” she said.

  Seer Ringali nodded, then returned his attention to Braydynn.

  Gwendafyn’s stomach churned as she forced herself to stand next to Arion.

  “Are you well?” the Honor Guard Colonel asked.

  Gwendafyn hesitated, then noticed Benjimir was watching her out of the corner of his eye. She gave him a shaky smile and forced herself to say, “Of course! Everything is fine.”

  Gwendafyn maneuvered herself so she was at the very back of the sitting room as she waited—with both the Lessa and Calnor Royal Families—to receive Lorius.

  “I still don’t understand why we have to do this,” Benjimir grumbled at her side.

  “Aunt Lorius is the acting regent for Lessa, now, since I relocated here,” Gwendafyn said carefully.

  “So? When you showed up without notice, we didn’t have a grand ceremony for you,” Benjimir scoffed.

  “Yes, well…I’m not sure what to say to that,” Gwendafyn said honestly. She glanced from Benjimir to Yvrea, who stood at the very front of the room. “Why are you standing back here?”

  “To show solidarity with you?” Benjimir snorted. “You are my wife.”

  Gwendafyn tilted her head in surprise at the rarely used title. “Yes…” she said slowly.

  “Also, if Father were to try and make me stand in front, I think I’d spit on your aunt,” he said with not an ounce of sham
e.

  Yes, he’s still the shrewd man I married—though in better humor than I ever assumed he could be. “Why would you do that?”

  “She kicked up a fuss at our wedding that you were leaving your duties behind, and here she is visiting Haven twice in roughly six months. That is hypocritical to a level I didn’t think elves were capable of,” Benjimir said.

  “She’s here to greet Braydynn,” Gwendafyn reminded him.

  “Bullocks,” Benjimir pronounced. “She sent word she was coming before he was even born.”

  Gwendafyn studied Benjimir’s profile as he haughtily frowned at their families. “Thank you,” she said on an impulse.

  “For what?”

  “For standing here with me,” she said.

  Benjimir shrugged. “I’d rather be standing with you halfway across the palace, but as I’m no longer the Crown Prince, I don’t have as much power to skip social events as I used to.”

  Gwendafyn shook her head. “Surely King Petyrr doesn’t care what events you attend and skip?”

  “He doesn’t. Mother does,” Benjimir said grimly.

  Gwendafyn narrowed her eyes and sought out the Calnor Queen.

  She stood at the front of the room—with a bored-looking King Petyrr who was carrying a beagle puppy. (Where did he get the puppy?)

  Queen Luciee had arranged her children so they were fanned out behind her, with Vincent and Claire taking up the rear. (She had tried to arrange for Gwendafyn to stand next to her, but Yvrea had innocently taken the spot and had not yet moved.)

  That woman. Gwendafyn thought ungraciously. How can she call herself a mother and play favorites with her children based solely on who has more political clout?

  “I’m glad we’re allies,” Gwendafyn said abruptly.

  Benjimir gave her a look. “I am yours to command, My Lady.”