by K. M. Shea
Gwendafyn shivered again. “No. Not now.”
Benjimir nodded. “Then shall I repeat the endless lecture Arion read his patrol leaders when he learned about their little tournament with you as their champion?”
Gwendafyn couldn’t make a sound, she was too overcome by emotion. She nodded.
“Very well.” Benjimir soothingly rubbed her back with one hand and played with a lock of her hair with the other. “I believe it started out with him calling your delightful trainers undisciplined disgraces who ought to have learned their lesson the first time…”
14
Protected
Gwendafyn laughed and waved to the little girl hanging out of a second-story window who dumped flower petals from a basket as she and Nox passed underneath.
Though Haven’s main streets were blocked—emptied for the Honor Guard’s returning procession back to the palace—the sides of the cobblestone road were packed with people.
“Bless the Princess Gwendafyn!” someone shouted.
“Welcome home!” yelled the tailor who had made the practice clothes Benjimir ordered for her.
Several loud whistles pierced the air, and the city thrummed with cheers and laughter.
Gwendafyn wasn’t exactly sure how everyone had learned of the bandits’ defeat—not to mention her part in it—but it was clear that they had.
Gwendafyn flicked a flower petal from Nox’s black mane and fondly looked to King Petyrr, who was leading the procession with a patrol leader, two scribes, and a messenger hurrying after him.
The King of Calnor waved and laughed with as much abandon as his subjects.
Benjimir, who rode directly next to her, surprised her by leaning out of the saddle to claim her hand. He smirked slightly as he tugged on it, riding so close to her their boots scraped together so he could kiss her hand—inciting more cheers from the citizens.
Ahhh yes, we are in the public eye and once again on display. He’s putting on a show for the occasion.
The thought hurt almost as badly as the healing laceration on her calf, but she smiled all the same and waved.
Still, she was both saddened and relieved when they rounded a bend in the street and the palace gates grew visible.
It’s much more work to keep smiling for so long than I had assumed. My whole face hurts. How does Yvrea do it? She waved to the last few citizens lined up just outside the gates, then relaxed when she passed through.
She yawned, stretching out her aching cheek muscles, and started to slump in the saddle until King Petyrr laughed.
“What ho! What do we have here?” he asked.
Gwendafyn pushed Nox to the edge of the path so she could peer around King Petyrr and his train.
Posing in the gardens and along the outdoor corridors of the palace were nobles.
Young ladies wearing silken dresses, lords dressed in their finest clothes, matriarchs (who brandished fans with nearly as much style as Seer Ringali) and more watched, clapping and smiling broadly as the procession passed by.
The wizards, enchanters, and the Translator’s Circle were present as well, cheering with abandon, and Gwendafyn even saw some elves laughing and waving, standing interspersed with humans.
Watching curiously, Gwendafyn had to nearly shout to Benjimir to be heard over the applause. “Why are they here?”
“We’ve routed the bandits,” Benjimir smirked. “Not to mention your daring rescue and awe-striking powers.”
“Is it really that big of a deal?” Gwendafyn asked.
Benjimir shrugged. “It would have become a big deal. And no one—except those who profit from it—wants to go to war.”
Gwendafyn nodded slowly, then placed another smile on her lips so she could wave to a group of young men who were watching Benjimir and Arion—who rode behind him—with awe.
I guess the bandits were more troubling to the people of Calnor than I understood.
The road split, and the Honor Guards took the path that led to their grounds, while Gwendafyn, Benjimir, King Petyrr, Arion, Tari, Seer Ringali, and Evlawyn took the path that led them straight to one of the palace entrances.
When they reached the entrance, Gwendafyn and the others dismounted, and servants came forward to take their mounts.
Gwendafyn fondly kissed Nox’s cheek, then stepped aside for Sius, who ambled towards the palace stairs as if he owned it.
“Sius,” Tari called. She sighed in exasperation when the cat plopped on the bottom step and made a show of cleaning a paw.
“I’m sorry you were not able to visit Herycian lands,” Gwendafyn said as she tried to slap wrinkles from her clothes.
Tari shrugged as she took Braydynn from her handmaiden. “It could not be avoided. Arion will have days of paperwork ahead of him, and it was for the best that we stayed so he was present when we dropped the bandits off in Quarri,” she said, naming the Calnor city where the majority of the bandits were being held.
“Will you be able to reschedule your trip?” Gwendafyn asked.
Tari nodded. “It is our hope that we will be able to leave in two weeks.” The butter-blonde-haired elf tapped her hand on her thigh as she studied Gwendafyn. “You will be all right?” she asked in a leading tone.
During the multi-day ride home, Gwendafyn had discussed the matter of her unleashed magic again and again with Seer Ringali and Tarinthali.
The mentor and protege pair assured Gwendafyn that while she broke tradition, she had not broken any sort of law, and there was nothing to fear.
Gwendafyn, knowing how deeply her family embraced tradition, was not quite as certain.
Even so, there was no use worrying Tari. So, she nodded and would have made a pleasant excuse, but Benjimir reclaimed her hand and tugged her towards the stairs. “I believe our families are waiting inside, and Father is hankering to see your father—and his other beloved daughter-in-law, I imagine. Are you coming?”
“Of course.” Gwendafyn waved farewell to Tari and followed Benjimir up the stairs—giving Sius a wide berth as the cat rolled onto its back.
“How is your wound?” Benjimir asked as they passed through the palace doors and fell in step behind King Petyrr—who indeed barreled ahead of them with purpose.
Gwendafyn found it a bit hard to concentrate as Benjimir slightly swung their interlinked hands. Still acting the part. “Not too bad—though I’m grateful we’ve arrived, and I’m done riding for a while. The saddle kept rubbing it through my boot.”
“Yes, we’ll have to get you another pair.” Benjimir calculatingly glanced down at her leg. “We can commission a sword for you, too, if you like. You’re welcome to the one you carry now, but I imagine any number of blacksmiths would be delighted to design something for you—their beloved princess and the hero of the year.”
Gwendafyn glanced down at Benjimir’s borrowed sword—which she had not given back and had instead acquired a scabbard for. “I’d like to keep this one, but I would never refuse another sword.”
Benjimir snorted. “I imagined a lot of things about marriage. My wife swiping my swords was not one of them.” He tugged on her hand to draw her closer, then kissed her temple.
Gwendafyn laughed, but her heart squeezed a little in her nervousness as the hallway opened up into the foyer.
Two intertwining staircases made of black stone led up to the second floor of the palace and served as the foyer backdrop. Ornate paintings the size of Gwendafyn’s bed hung on the walls—most of them were of royal families from the ancient past, but a few of them were landscapes. Multiple chandeliers hung from the impossibly high ceiling which was painted to resemble the sky, and a huge, white marble fireplace was built into the wall closest to them. Gathered in front of it were the Lessa and Calnor Royal Families.
King Petyrr was already positioned by Claire, patting her hand—though he did pause long enough to hug Vincent.
Arvel and Rollo watched with apparent amusement—Arvel holding a book in his hands—until they noticed Benjimir and Gwendafyn�
��s arrival.
“Well done, Sister-in-law!” Arvel set his book on an end table and strode across the room, a boyish smile on his face. “I read all about it in the reports Father sent home. You were brilliant.” He briefly swept Gwendafyn up in a hug and winked at her as he let go.
“Yes, she was wonderful,” Benjimir agreed as he slapped Arvel on the back with enough force to make his younger brother stagger.
“I hope you received a hero’s welcome?” Arvel asked. “For that is what you are!”
“Welcome home!” Claire practically squealed as she also scurried across the foyer and nearly rammed into Gwendafyn.
“Thank you,” Gwendafyn laughed as she gently embraced the younger girl. “I am quite relieved to be home.”
“Vincent said you saved Benjimir—both literally and figuratively,” Claire said, her eyes wide and innocent.
“Vincent has a mouth that is too big for his head,” Benjimir said as Gwendafyn stifled her desire to snort in laughter.
“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Vincent asked as he joined them, leaving King Petyrr to greet Queen Luciee. “She fished you out of a band of bandits when all the Honor Guards you took couldn’t do a thing, and it sounds like she might have scared them off for good!”
“That does not mean this so called ‘ally’ won’t try to retaliate using a different method,” Gwendafyn warned.
“Unlikely,” Arvel said. “Not since you stepped up.”
“Agreed,” Benjimir said. “You underestimate your power, Fyn.”
His use of her nickname made her heart warm, and Benjimir increased the warmth when he squeezed her hand. He released her only when Vincent wrapped him up in a bear hug. “Stop that,” he told his youngest brother.
“I’m just so happy!” Vincent laughed.
Benjimir eyed his brother, then once again returned his gaze to Gwendafyn. “You are a hero, you know.”
Gwendafyn smiled and could feel her cheeks heat in a blush. Anxious to get the attention off her, she swiveled to face her family, and her smile fell from her lips.
King Petyrr had moved on to giving Celrin a bear hug—drawing laughter from Firea and Yvrea—but Lorius stood in front of them, blocking them from Gwendafyn with her body and her barely restrained expression of anger.
“Gwendafyn,” she said in Elvish. “How could you?”
Gwendafyn slightly bowed her head. “Aunt Lorius,” she said. She took a few strides closer to her aunt before stopping. Each step felt like she was slogging through muck.
Lorius crossed the remaining distance, a sharp frown of judgement creasing her lips. “What have you done?” she asked.
“I did what was necessary. I wasn’t going to stand by and let Benjimir be hurt—or worse.” Her chin lifted proudly, even though she already felt tears sting the back of her throat. I don’t regret what I did. No matter how my family may scorn me.
“You broke tradition.”
“In a matter of life or death, yes.” Gwendafyn said. “I would like to believe that saving someone is more important than respecting unnecessary rules!”
“Our traditions were designed to protect us,” Lorius said. “You cannot recklessly abandon them at your whim.”
“Our friendship with Calnor is one of your much-lauded traditions,” Gwendafyn said around clenched teeth. “And yet you wish for me to toss that tradition aside?”
“You broke centuries of taboo and unleashed High Elf magic…for a boy!” Lorius said, her voice shaking with anger.
“Yes! And I’d do it again,” Gwendafyn snapped.
“You are proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Aunt Lorius shook her head. “You don’t see the danger you have placed us all in.”
“What danger is there in being myself?” Gwendafyn asked. “Not only did I save Benjimir, but I successfully warned off those who have been pestering Calnor because of us!”
“This has nothing to do with you as a person, Gwendafyn,” Lorius said sharply. “Before, you were an eyesore, but now you are a source of shame to every elf of Lessa!”
“Lorius,” Celrin called warningly—though he did not move from King Petyrr’s side.
“Because I saved someone?” Gwendafyn asked.
“Because having High Elf blood is not something to be proud of!” Lorius’ voice was stormy and filled with more anger than Gwendafyn had ever heard before. “You are not to be admired for your little show but held in dishonor! The High Elves were emotional, ruthless creatures who had entirely too much power—and you walk in their footsteps!”
Gwendafyn blinked and took a step back. She mashed her lips together to keep her lower lip from trembling and slightly shook her head. “Just because I can use High Elf magic does not make me like them.”
“It does; it means you have the same murderous capacity,” Lorius said, her eyes flinty and unforgiving.
“Lorius!” Celrin shouted. “Enough.”
Relentlessly, Lorius stormed on. “Your parents should have listened to me and stamped it out of you when you were small. The heavens and stars know I tried to help you, but it seems my compassion was misplaced. You are a lost cause as you willfully embrace this darkness—”
“It’s not darkness!” Gwendafyn shouted. “Being able to protect something, standing with our allies is not darkness. It’s sharing a burden—one we have forced upon them for far too long!”
“It is worse than darkness—it is vile and evil!” Lorius declared.
Gwendafyn stared at her aunt in shock, hurt beyond words. Her aunt has always been hard on her, but she never would have thought she harbored such hatred for her.
It was even worse to know that Lorius did not reject her because of her adventurous activities, but because she disliked the very core of who Gwendafyn was.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as her aunt continued to spit out her hatred.
“After this, you deserve to be locked up in Jubilee—and I will see to it that you are! Someone like you cannot be free to roam. You—”
Lorius’ voice was instantly muffled when Benjimir placed his hands over Gwendafyn’s ears. “Sorry, darling,” he murmured to her as he tugged her to his chest. “I should have done something sooner, but I assumed your father would have yanked your aunt’s leash back. Worry not; I’ll settle this.” He removed his hands from her ears and kissed her on the forehead.
Gwendafyn nearly sat in relief. Whether or not the physical affection was false, she knew: Benjimir would save her from this, a deep pain no one else seemed aware of.
Lorius had gone quiet and watched as he wiped the tears off Gwendafyn’s cheeks. She raised an eyebrow when he finally turned to face her. “You are going to defend her? You waste your breath. You do not understand elven law.”
Benjimir smiled, but it never reached his eyes—which were cold and frosty. “No, I’m not going to defend her,” he said. “She needs no defending. I’m just going to take care of you. Guards!” Though he called for them in Elvish, he gestured for them to draw close. “You, too, Rollo,” he said after a moment’s consideration.
The guards posted at the foyer entrance trotted up to Benjimir and saluted him. “Your Highness.”
Benjimir nodded to them but spoke to Rollo. “Please translate everything I tell these Honor Guards for Princess Lorius.”
Rollo nodded.
Satisfied, Benjimir turned towards the soldiers. “On my command, take Princess Lorius to her chambers. Call for reinforcements and for a handmaiden to help her pack. You are to see that she leaves Haven in an hour under escort, and she is never to return.”
Gwendafyn almost started crying again. Benjimir wasn’t just shielding her; he was fighting for her in a way no one else had.
“You cannot do such a thing!” Lorius laughed.
Benjimir’s smile didn’t change. “But you see, I can. There are a small number of elves who guard your precious Rosewood Park, but the Calnor Honor Guard is responsible for the palace and everything in it. As the leader of the Honor Guard, I can
tell them to do whatever I wish, and they will do it. It’s a pleasant side-effect of your asinine insistence on tradition—it means I can and will do with you as I please.”
“You overstep your boundaries!” Lorius snapped. “I am the sister to King Celrin!”
“And I am married to his daughter, who lives here and is much beloved by the people of Haven,” Benjimir said.
“You will lose your position for this mishandling of me,” Lorius said.
Benjimir laughed mirthlessly. “As if that would really scare me.” His insincere smile fell from his lips, and his usually hidden ruthlessness lined the set of his lips and made his expression frigid. “What I care about most in this life is Gwendafyn. You have just threatened her and insulted her. I don’t care if it costs me my title, my honor, or my life, I will erase your existence from Haven before you hurt her again…and maybe I will do so simply because you have hurt her already.”
Lorius took a step back as all the color drained from her face. She started to turn around, “Brother—”
“I support Prince Benjimir’s intension to have you removed from Haven,” Celrin said.
Gwendafyn nearly gaped in surprise as she looked at her father.
He did not frown, but there was something angry, and maybe a little savage, in his eyes. “You have gone too far, Lorius. You have made it plain that you are not the impartial, compassionate regent I thought you to be, but committed to your own agenda. I formally and officially strip you of your role as regent.”
Lorius gasped. “I have not done anything worth such punishment!”
“You have treated my daughter abominably and threatened her before me,” Celrin said, his eyes narrowed. “And I can only assume this has happened numerous times in the past when I have left her in your charge. The compassion I have as a ruler is all that keeps me from doing more.”
“But someone from our family must rule as regent! Yvrea cannot—she must remain here as the Crown Princess,” Lorius objected.
“We will do whatever is necessary,” Celrin said simply.
Yvrea’s smile was for once absent, and Gwendafyn could see a gleam of the same stately air of their father on her as she stared at Lorius as well. “Indeed. I will gladly break from tradition to achieve this change,” Yvrea said, “just as you have apparently broken my sister’s heart.”