Royal Magic

by K. M. Shea

  The Honor Guard bowed. “You honor me, Your Highness,” he shouted.

  Gwendafyn retrieved her wooden sword and wiped sweat off her forehead. Yes, I should stop now. I think I’ve reached my limit. Her hands shook a little—likely from both the effort she had just expelled and from the endless adrenaline.

  It took her a moment to find Thad, Wilford, and Grygg in the crowd. Wilford and Tari were jumping up and down like excited children; Thad was pumping his fists in the air, and Grygg was rubbing coins on his face with a blissful expression.

  She ambled towards them, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Seer Ringali.

  The Evening Star was smiling with smug satisfaction and was clapping very rapidly—which was about equal to Tari jumping up and down in terms of exuberance he was willing to show.

  Gwendafyn grinned shyly as she again started for them, but her smile dimmed briefly when she saw Benjimir and Yvrea standing next to him.

  Yvrea was gaping. Her eyes almost bulged from her head, and her mouth hung open in shock.

  Benjimir, however, wore a smirk that was almost as smug as Seer Ringali’s. When he met Gwendafyn’s gaze, he quirked an eyebrow and clapped for her, then leaned over and said something to Yvrea—his smirk softening to something else.

  Of course they would be together. Gwendafyn trotted over to her trio of trainers. At least one could never call him disloyal.

  “Well done, Fyn!” Wilford just barely stopped himself from clasping her shoulder. “That was brilliant!”

  “The money!” Grygg sighed happily as the cheers of the crowd finally subsided. “All the money!”

  “That was perfect,” Thad nodded enthusiastically. “You really nailed Tymm. It was so brutal and fantastic!” He held his hands clenched in delighted fists until he saw something past Tari and wilted. “Um, good afternoon, Your Highness. Crown Princess Yvrea.”

  The greeting made whispers ripple through the guards as they stared with wide eyes at their leader.

  Benjimir leaned against the wooden fence of the ring, though Gwendafyn didn’t miss Yvrea’s hand on his arm. “Thad, Wilford, and Grygg, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  The trio saluted smartly, though Gwendafyn could see their fear in the tense set of their shoulders.

  Benjimir nodded in acknowledgement. “You arranged this?” He gazed around the ring, his eyes passing over the stiff guards who awaited his words.

  Thad cleared his throat. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Benjimir thoughtfully nodded again. “How many matches has she had?”

  Gwendafyn rolled her eyes. “I’m right here, Benjimir. I can answer for myself.”

  Benjimir raised his brows and slightly shook his head at her.

  “Fourteen,” Grygg answered after checking his chart.

  “How many has she won?” Benjimir’s words were casual, but that intense light he sometimes showed when he was feeling crafty flashed in his eyes.

  “All of them,” Wilford said.

  Benjimir’s smirk returned, “Excellent.”

  “D-do you enjoy this, Little Fyn?” Yvrea bit her lip as she studied Gwendafyn.

  As Gwendafyn stood there—sweaty and dust-spattered—near Yvrea—beautiful and fresh—she had never before felt their differences so keenly. “Yes,” Gwendafyn said, the joy from her win draining from her. “I do.”

  Yvrea nodded once, then again as she set a smile back on her lips. “Very well, then well done! You were, uh, impressive.” Though she stammered a little, her smile was genuine—if not a little confused.

  She is so good. I don’t think anyone else besides her would be able to accept this so whole-heartedly. The tiny bit of envy she harbored over her sister twisted in guilt.

  “I am glad to hear patrol leaders Thad, Wilford, and Grygg have been able to teach you something, so they are not the only ones who profit from your relationship,” Benjimir said dryly as he stared at Grygg and his bag of coins.

  Grygg glanced from the collected money to Benjimir. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness—”

  Benjamir raised a hand. “If Gwendafyn does not object to your activities, neither will I,” Benjimir said carelessly.

  “Really?” Tari piped in, though she pulled back in shock. (She was not the only surprised one in the crowd—Wilford’s mouth was open wide enough to swallow a chicken leg—but she was the only one with enough station to question the prince.)

  Benjimir appeared rather princely as he stood up straight. “Of course,” he said. “Though I will not shelter you when Colonel Arion finds out.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness!” Thad folded over in a deep bow, one mirrored by the rest of the guards.

  Gwendafyn tried to brush dust off her clothes. He might not be mad, but he didn’t say he would refrain from telling Arion himself… She jumped in surprise when Benjimir reached over the fence and brushed a bit of dust off her cheek.

  His smirk was barely there—playing with the edges of his lips. “As long as you are happy, I don’t care what you do for your lessons. But perhaps you ought to be done for today?”

  “Why?” Tari asked over Yvrea’s shoulder. (When Yvrea realized she was present, she instantly went in for her customary hug.)

  Benjimir’s eyes flickered to Gwendafyn’s hands—which were still shaking. “No reason,” he murmured.

  Thankful she didn’t have to admit to her fatigue, Gwendafyn nodded. “Benjimir is right; I should be done for the day. I need to make myself presentable for tonight’s social events.”

  Benjimir nodded. “I will meet you back at our rooms?” His eyes were on Gwendafyn, but he offered his arm to Yvrea as she returned to his side.

  “Of course,” Gwendafyn had to practically pry her mouth open to speak the words.

  Benjimir bowed slightly as Yvrea waved. “Then I will take my leave,” he murmured before he and Yvrea turned to go.

  The guards saluted him as one, their posture tall and proud…until Benjimir left the crowd.

  Thad pushed his way to Gwendafyn. “What was that move you pulled at the end of this last fight?” he asked, his eyes curious.

  “It was, ahhh,” Gwendafyn glanced at Tari. “Could you explain? My Calnoric isn’t…”

  Tari nodded. “Of course. It was an Evening Star move—we try to weaponize our whole body with a variety of movements in addition to using magic-made weapons.”

  Thad wrinkled his forehead. “What? I thought Evening Stars were dancers?”

  Tari winked. “I can explain—and perhaps demonstrate—later if you like. What is more important at the moment is My Princess Gwendafyn! How did you do that?”

  “I’ve seen the move during performances,” Gwendafyn said.

  “And you learned from just seeing it?” Tari asked.

  “No.” Gwendafyn laughed. “I had to practice it for weeks. My side was a solid bruise from all the falls I took while trying to learn how to properly fling myself.” She glanced nervously at Seer Ringali. “I hope using it was not…offensive?”

  Seer Ringali hadn’t stopped his satisfied smirk. “Of course not!” he said. “You learned by watching. Personally, I am glad. Though you didn’t train with us Evening Stars, you have still benefited from some of our teachings. It’s quite appropriate.”

  “Oh?” Gwendafyn said, more than a little confused.

  “Indeed.”

  “As much as it saddens me, we should follow Prince Benjimir’s request and end our festivities,” Tari sighed as she caressed Sius’ head. The big cat purred and buried his face in her skirts.

  “First, three cheers for Princess Gwendafyn, our undefeated champion and the student—and now teacher—of the Honor Guard!” Grygg shouted.

  Gwendafyn laughed as the guards once again raised a cacophony of cheers.

  “Princess Gwendafyn!”

  “Princess Gwendafyn!”

  “Princess Gwendafyn!”

  This is enough, Gwendafyn thought as she couldn’t help the giggle that spilled out of her in her joy. This is
all I ever wanted. I’d be greedy to ask for more.

  11

  Unexpected Affection

  Benjimir briefly shielded his eyes from the sun as he strolled down the city street. Somewhere behind him, his father and Arvel laughed, and a translator chatted with King Celrin. A quick glance confirmed the locations of the two squads of Honor Guards who accompanied them. It took a moment longer to find Gwendafyn as she and Claire flitted from one shop to the next like intoxicated butterflies—leaving a winded Vincent in their trail.

  At the moment, the two princesses were chatting with a man who owned some sort of food stall just outside a saddlery. Vincent was peering longingly at the saddlery but stayed close to his wife.

  A moment passed, and Gwendafyn raced back to Benjimir’s side, her eyes bright as she held out a slice of apple slathered in what appeared to be a red candy coating. “You must try this,” she urged.

  I wonder if she would be upset if I call her Fyn…she seems to only allow those close to her to use it, but I’ve heard the Trio of Daftness call her it as well. Benjimir studied the proffered food. “I’ve had candied apples before, as a child,” he said.

  “And now you will eat one as an adult.” Gwendafyn smiled as she held out the treat.

  She’s not going to let this drop—like the other treats she’s foisted on me today, he thought, highly amused by Gwendafyn’s bright curiosity. “Fine, but I refuse to get my fingers sticky. You’ll have to feed it to me.”

  Benjimir grinned as he leaned closer to her, awaiting a blush or protest.

  “Then stop smirking and open your mouth,” Gwendafyn instructed, surprising him.

  He automatically opened his mouth, and Gwendafyn popped the apple slice in.

  The sticky, sweet texture of the candy was a perfect complement to the crisp and juicy apple. Though he would never admit it, the candied apple tasted as good as it had when he was a child.

  “Isn’t it delicious?” Gwendafyn asked as she licked off her fingers.

  “I guess,” Benjimir said.

  Gwendafyn laughed in her delight, her loud joyful one, paused guiltily as if she had done something she should not have, before she surveyed the street and laughed wildly again. “I’m off—I’ll be back when we find another good treat.”

  “Do you know what to do if you run out of money?” Benjimir asked.

  “Yes, ask King Petyrr for more,” Gwendafyn said.

  Benjimir tapped her on the tip of her nose. “Or you could ask your husband.”

  Gwendafyn grinned as she walked backwards for a few steps. “Why would I do that? My father-in-law will give me more than you would!”

  “Ingrate,” Benjimir called after her, but the elf princess merely laughed as she linked her arm with Claire’s and towed the younger girl after her, leaving Vincent to scramble behind them.

  Benjimir watched for a moment before once again surveying the streets.

  They were out in the early afternoon at a less-busy time—which was the only reason why he could keep an eye on Gwendafyn at all. But folk seemed to leave space around the royal party—likely a side effect of the guards.

  “This was a capital idea!” King Petyrr laughed so loudly a pony tied outside the blacksmith’s turned to peer at him. “We should do this more often.”

  Benjimir raised his eyebrows and glanced at his father. “Of course you would think it’s a good time. It was the idea of one of your beloved daughters-in-law.”

  The idea to explore the store district in Haven had been Gwendafyn’s. She spawned it after listening to Tari talk about the trips to the market she had taken with Arion. With the cunning of a fox, Gwendafyn had approached King Petyrr with the idea. And everyone knew that what King Petyrr’s precious elf daughter-in-law wanted, she got.

  Arvel laughed. “Still, it’s been fun. We haven’t done something like this since we were boys. We’re just missing Peregrine—though I suppose his absence can’t be helped as he is still performing ambassador duties among our neighboring countries.”

  “It would be better if you were married as well, Arvel.” King Benjimir peered at a chicken in a wooden cage. “To witness three of my sons and their lovely brides—that would be a real treat!”

  Arvel ran a hand through his reddish-blonde hair. “I don’t know. Whatever poor girl I marry will not be able to compare to Claire—your first daughter-in-law—and Gwendafyn—your elf daughter-in-law.”

  “She’s my elf daughter-in-law and the daughter of Celrin!” King Petyrr boomed as he slapped the elf king on the back.

  The easy-going elf king smiled down at King Petyrr as his translator worked. “I am glad you treasure Gwendafyn so.”

  “Of course!” King Petyrr replied via the translator. “Surely the heavens shone down upon us, that two of our children would fall in love. It’s a story for the ages!”

  Benjimir ignored the familiar recital—King Petyrr usually announced his thankfulness for his marriage to Gwendafyn at least once a week—and watched Gwendafyn.

  Her brow was wrinkled as she tried to talk to Claire—in Calnoric assumedly—before giving up and using hand gestures.

  Claire nodded and pointed to a store across the street.

  The two girls crossed safely—though behind them Vincent was nearly run down by a loose goat—and slipped into a store stocked with cloth and various fabrics.

  Benjimir scratched his chin as he watched. It’s strangely not difficult to reconcile the Gwendafyn in the ring with the one I see now. Yes, she can fight unlike other elves…but she’s always been sharper and more alert. She sees what others don’t, and she controls her strength and holds it back.

  “Pining for your wife?” Arvel grinned as he ambled along at Benjimir’s side.

  Benjimir glanced at his little brother. “Are you going to lecture me again about how I must treasure her?”

  “Nah.” Arvel hooked his thumbs on his belt. “I don’t think it’s necessary anymore. I can see you understand that she is different from other elves and why that would make her life before you uncomfortable.”

  Benjimir lazily ran a hand through his hair. “You overestimate your skills of observation, little brother.”

  Arvel rolled his eyes. “Hardly. I certainly didn’t miss the look you gave ‘dear Princess Lorius’ when she arrived.” Arvel snorted and waved to one of his favorite book merchants.

  “Perhaps…” Benjimir made a point of casually looking away. “You and Gwendafyn are close, as bond partners?” He asked seemingly off-handedly.

  Since the social when Arvel had cornered him to lecture him about “treasuring Gwendafyn,” the same night Gwendafyn had worn her first dress of human design, the thought of their Nodusigm binding had nagged at Benjimir. I was always consumed with Yvrea; I never really cared how close our siblings were. Gwendafyn wasn’t around as much as Yvrea, so I assumed they couldn’t have been as companionable as Yvrea and I, but…is Gwendafyn closer to Arvel than she is to me?

  The unwanted thought made his chest twist.

  Perhaps she only asked me to marry her rather than Arvel because she wanted to avoid the chance of becoming Queen of Calnor. It’s a distinct possibility—if she had married Arvel, I am certain Father would have announced him as his heir the day of their engagement, and she fled her old life because she wanted freedom.

  “Gwendafyn is easy to get along with,” Arvel said. “But we never shared a close bond—mostly due to how little we saw each other. But I know her well enough to know that she’s…unusual for an elf.”

  “She’s not ‘unusual,’” Benjimir growled. “She’s special.”

  Arvel scratched the back of his head and squinted at Benjimir. “Yes,” he agreed. “But she’s special in a way that sets her apart from her kinsmen. When I talked to you about it, I wanted to make sure you treasured those parts of her, not just her beauty and race.”

  “Of course he treasures those pieces of her,” King Celrin said in Elvish, making Benjimir and Arvel whirl around in surprise.


  King Celrin smiled at Benjimir as his translator moved to stand by Arvel. “If I did not think he would, I would not have let Benjimir marry my daughter, for she is dear to me.” Celrin swiveled his gaze to Arvel. “But I know Benjimir. He will not pull back from Gwendafyn’s brilliance. Even when others might.”

  “Celrin!” King Petyrr boomed before Benjimir or Arvel could respond. “Come see this shawl! I should like to get it for your lovely Queen Firea if you think it suits her.”

  King Celrin nodded to Benjimir and his brother before gliding off to join King Petyrr.

  Benjimir watched him go, feeling…conflicted.

  Apparently Gwendafyn and I were not as sly as we thought. We suspected Celrin knew we weren’t in love, but it seems he considered our relationship more than we did. It also seems he sees more than I assumed he would…

  Knowing Celrin would have stopped Gwendafyn from marrying him made Benjimir tense. But he didn’t—even back when I didn’t know how much I would cherish her, he saw his daughter and knew she would win me over. Benjimir watched the King of Calnor and the King of Lessa as they inspected the shawl.

  How much do they see? How much have I underestimated them?

  “Your Majesty!” A human courier trotted down the streets, pausing only long enough to bow to both kings. He went down on one knee and offered up a correspondence sealed with wax.

  King Petyrr’s normally cheerful face turned serious as he used a belt knife to slice through the wax. His serious expression shifted even darker, making his eyes stormy as he flattened his lips and read the missive.

  “Bad news?” Benjimir asked as he glanced back at the cloth store just in time to see Gwendafyn and Claire exit. They ran into a trio of young ladies—daughters of nobility judging by the quality of their dresses and the looks of disdain they gave Claire.

  “News of the bandits plaguing our western border,” King Petyrr grunted.

  “Have you uncovered any reason for the sudden unrest among them in that region?” King Celrin asked through his translator.