by K. M. Shea
“And that is obviously no longer a concern,” Yvrea said.
Gwendafyn slowly shook her head. “I agree with your observations whole-heartedly, but that display of ours is—and has been—the backbone of our government since the High Elves left. Can you really hope to change it?”
“Yes,” Yvrea said, “because of you and Tarinthali. Tari will light the way with her fluency in Calnoric. Her popularity as an Evening Star has already lured more elves to Haven in the past few years than ever before. But you, sister, will show everyone who comes that those of Calnor do not fear us, but that they will embrace us just as they have come to prize you.”
Gwendafyn finally cracked a smile. “Prize is a strong word.”
Yvrea shook her head. “It is not a strong enough word. Just look around you, sister. You haven’t been here for a year, and yet your fingerprints are everywhere.”
“Fashion and style, perhaps,” Gwendafyn agreed grudgingly. “And I hope Benjimir and I have encouraged familiarity between our people. But that hardly means they prize me.”
“Gwendafyn,” Yvrea said gently. “Do you really believe Benjimir would have proposed accepting female applicants for the Honor Guard, and that the people of Calnor would have so easily accepted it, if not for you?”
This, Gwendafyn had no answer for.
“Change is possible,” Yvrea continued. “But in order to achieve the revolution to our long-held traditions, I must return to Jubilee and become a queen our people trust, so when the day comes that I move our full government to Haven, they will follow.”
I can see how that would work. That sort of manipulation is something I would have come up with. But Benjimir…
“As a future monarch of Lessa, I can say that we have failed both our royal families and our people. By forcing younger children to act as regents—to take up a burden that should have never been theirs—we taught everyone that our friendship with Calnor is a task that falls upon the ruler instead of being a true relationship between two countries. I am sorry, Fyn. I fear by now, you have done more to rule than I have. When there was that disturbance years ago with Talon, I was so grateful that you would have to deal with it. I never realized it should have been my responsibility, not yours.”
Gwendafyn smiled sadly. “I was—and still am—happy to support you, Yvrea. It is impossible for you to do everything yourself.”
“I agree!” Yvrea’s eyes twinkled, and she tapped her nose. “That is why we asked you to be a representative!”
“That may be a problem, though,” Gwendafyn said. “It sounds as though you are playing a very long con.”
“A what?”
“Hmmm, you have a long-lasting goal, yes?” Gwendafyn paraphrased.
“Yes, indeed. Father isn’t certain we’ll be able to switch the seat of the government in his lifetime, but I’m hopeful.”
“How can I be accepted as a representative of elves for any significant length of time?” Gwendafyn asked. “I’m married to a human prince. By all rights, I am no longer of Lessa.”
Yvrea’s sunny smile swapped to a sharp frown faster than Gwendafyn thought possible. “You are of Lessa,” she said. “You are the first warrior elf in a long time. Everything about you marks you as an elf. Though we will share you with Calnor, you are still ours. That’s why I can return home. You make my presence rather redundant.”
Now it was Gwendafyn’s turn to frown. “In what way?”
“You are married to the eldest prince of Calnor, and it is very likely Arvel—your bond mate—will become king. You have closer ties to Calnor than even Father. Really, it’s you and Tari who serve as elvish representatives. Tari and Arion are permanent residents of Haven. At least with you present, they’ll be able to travel a little more and take some time for themselves,” Yvrea said.
It all makes sense…and it’s an impressive plan. I didn’t think Father would ever commit to such serious changes, but he and Yvrea have proven their wisdom. But Benjimir…how will he take her absence?
“I am astonished, Yvrea. Your plan—and Father’s—is a good one. I applaud your bravery and determination.”
Yvrea released a rare snort. “It’s hardly anything compared to facing bandits.”
“It’s an entirely different task,” Gwendafyn said. “One that requires different skills—and a different sort of bravery.”
She glanced at the dais where Benjimir still stood. He happened to look in her direction, and their eyes met.
Benjimir smirked at her and raised his eyebrows at her.
He doesn’t look upset. But how could he not be? Gwendafyn slightly tilted her head as she studied him, trying to get a better read on his mood.
His smirk turned into an actual smile—one that reached his eyes. He took a step towards the edge of the dais, but King Petyrr put a hand on his shoulder and reeled him back in.
I’m sure he’ll have an amusing tale to tell once this is all over, Gwendafyn coughed politely to cover her laugh when an elderly woman—one of the society matrons—actually fitted her hands around Benjimir’s bicep and marveled over his muscles. Loudly.
Yvrea sighed. “Ahhh, love.”
Gwendafyn eyed her sister. “Hmm?”
“It is a joy to see the two of you together,” Yvrea said. “To watch you laugh and smile together. It is so obvious you two are very much in love.”
Or we are astonishingly good actors, Gwendafyn thought, nearly missing her sister’s next line.
“I wish my beaus looked at me the way Benjimir looks at you,” the Yvrea finished.
Gwendafyn tensed in her ire. “Benjimir did look at you this way,” she angrily blurted out before she realized what she had said.
Oh. Oh, no. Benjimir is going to kill me.
She was frozen with horror at her own words when she realized Yvrea was shaking her head.
“No, he didn’t,” Yvrea said.
“He did,” Gwendafyn insisted. Despite her horror, it was too much to remain silent. How dare Yvrea question Benjimir when he so obviously loved her. How dare she question him when Gwendafyn was forced to watch the husband she had come to love still sigh over her! “I’ve seen it enough to be convinced—he did look at you like that.”
Yvrea set a gentle hand on Gwendafyn’s arm. “No,” she said. Though her voice was kind, it was firm and certain. “I am aware that for a time, Benji believed he had feelings for me.”
Gwendafyn gaped at her sister. He “had feelings” for her? The man lost his title over her!
“That is simplifying the matter quite drastically,” Gwendafyn muttered angrily.
Yvrea continued on, ignoring her grumblings. “But the truth of the matter is he never loved me. He never looked at me with his heart in his eyes as he does you. Nor did he ever smile and laugh freely, as he does with you.”
Shaking her head, Gwendafyn didn’t know where to look. “You knew? And you never tried to talk to him about it?”
“Because Benji really believed what he was feeling was love,” Yvrea said simply. “He didn’t know any better, and he would have insisted it was real and been even more hurt when I rejected him for it.”
“Perhaps his feelings started as a childhood attachment,” Gwendafyn paused, trying to organize her thoughts without open jealousy. “Even I saw as a child he was overly fond of you. But if you had talked to him, who is to say it wouldn’t have become real?”
“Because he never would have believed that I could love him for who he is.” Yvrea sighed and offered her a sad smile. “In my presence, he was nothing but courteous and polite. But I knew—just as I could see it in you—that there was more to him. A depth I could not fathom. I’m not certain I ever could have embraced it as you have, for I do not have your spirit or bravery. But Benji never gave me the chance.”
Gwendafyn could only gape at her sister’s surprisingly astute observation.
“A relationship built on such lies cannot prosper. I knew it. And when I saw him with you…” She paused. “He shields you
, and you fight for him. He doesn’t look at you the way one admires a pretty vase or a sculpture on a pedestal; he unhesitatingly reaches out for you without any fear of revealing who he is. Similarly, he has unflinchingly faced you down when most would see you as something larger than life. The two of you are what love is supposed to be.”
Gwendafyn mashed her lips together. She didn’t know what to say—what could she say? It’s true Benjimir and I have been honest with one another, but we have been that way from the beginning. And, yes, we support one another. But…
Though something about Yvrea’s words rang true, she was afraid to hope. What Yvrea saw as love might very possibly just be two manipulators combining forces. Gwendafyn and Benjimir had been able to pull off their falsified relationship because they were good at making people believe they were in love.
The chance that Yvrea was correct was a very small one.
Eventually, it could be hoped that Benjimir would pine less and less for Yvrea—especially as she was leaving Haven. But to say right now that he already loved Gwendafyn more than he had Yvrea?
Unlikely.
A million questions pressed in on Gwendafyn, but she doubted her sister would really be able to answer them, nor did she wish to reveal the exact foundation of her marriage. Or the current state of her heart. Besides, Benjimir was the only one who could say how he truly felt. And at the moment, Gwendafyn had no desire to ask him such a question.
“You have given me much to think about,” she finally said. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to pick up our conversation later. It seems a number of our people wish to speak to you.” She indicated to the cluster of elves who waited patiently at a distance to offer the royal sisters some privacy.
“Oh!” Yvrea lifted her hand to her mouth in her surprise. “I hadn’t noticed! Dear me, but are you quite certain we’ve talked enough?” She anxiously touched Gwendafyn’s right elbow.
“It’s fine,” Gwendafyn assured her. “Good luck.”
“Thank you. I’m afraid I shall need it.” Yvrea laughed—making the elves smile in reflex—and moved to join them.
Gwendafyn took a moment to push her wild thoughts from her mind. Once she was under control again, she put another smile on and aimed for Claire and her little circle of friends.
Yvrea made her question herself, but now was not the time to sit and stew. She was a princess, so she may as well make the best of it and also foster what changes she could.
“Claire—you look lovely tonight…”
16
Plan of Attack
The celebration lasted late into the night. In fact, the sky was starting to brighten by the time Gwendafyn and Benjimir made their way back to their quarters.
“I know I stated it publicly already, but congratulations on your new role as Commanding General.” Gwendafyn offered Benjimir a smile as she rubbed the back of her neck.
“Thank you, but Father means for it to be a long transition. I likely won’t be counted as the full Commanding General until a year or two from now.” Benjimir curled an arm around her hips and yawned. “Ugh. I didn’t know elves could celebrate for so long.”
Gwendafyn chuckled. “We have many festivals in which it is routine to stay up until one may toast the morning sun.”
Benjimir snorted. “I should have guessed.”
“This was more exhausting than one of our usual festivals or celebrations,” she added. “The night was full of political maneuverings, and there were hidden meanings behind everything. Our festivals and celebrations are exactly that: festivals and celebrations.”
“How quaint,” Benjimir said.
Gwendafyn fell silent—not so much out of fatigue but more out of uncertainty. She bit the inside of her cheek as she glanced up at Benjimir, trying to gauge his reaction.
She had assumed Yvrea’s departure would devastate him. Instead, he yawned again and seemed barely conscious that he tugged Gwendafyn closer than necessary to him.
When they reached their quarters, Benjimir opened the door to their sitting room and motioned for her to enter first before he followed after her, though he maintained his contact.
Gwendafyn waited for him to close the door before she dared to ask the question she had been burning to pose all night. “Are you going to be all right? About Yvrea’s departure, I mean.”
Benjimir tilted his head. “It’s fine,” he said.
Gwendafyn could hardly believe her ears. “Fine?”
He shrugged and removed his hand from her hip so he could start undoing the laces of his leather doublet. “I’m not bothered by it, if that is what you are asking.”
She stared at him as he slipped his doublet off over his head and tossed it onto an armchair. He must be in denial. But I don’t think trying to force him to speak of it tonight will help. I’ll have to reassess the situation in the morning.
Gwendafyn put a pacifying smile on her face. “I see. I am glad.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “I know when to quit—I’m going to bed. Try to get some sleep,” she advised before she aimed for her room, hoping to beat a hasty retreat.
“I can barely walk straight,” Benjimir said dryly. “It’s not going to be a problem.”
Gwendafyn started to pull the pins from her hair as she entered her room and set them on her dressing table. Instead of braiding her hair, she had gone for a Calnor fashion and had her ladies twist up pieces of her hair and secure them with pearl-topped pins. Sections of her hair fell loose as she continued to pull the hair pins out, until she only had two left that had been jabbed in together and were stuck.
Gwendafyn winced when the pins yanked on her scalp.
“Allow me,” Benjimir said, making Gwendafyn jump and twist midair so she could face him.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” Gwendafyn said, her hand over her heart.
“I was right behind you the whole time,” Benjimir said as he reached over her and worked the pins free from her hair.
Maybe he does want to talk about Yvrea tonight? Gwendafyn wondered. She took the pins when he offered them and carefully placed them on the table with the others.
When she turned back around, he was marching towards her bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Benjimir paused long enough to give her a flat look that clearly communicated he thought she was losing her mind in the early hours. “Going to bed.”
Gwendafyn strode across the bedroom—her bedroom—and joined him at her bedside. “This is not your bed. It’s mine.”
“I know,” Benjimir said. “But if I asked you to come to my bed you’d refuse. So, we’re compromising.”
Gwendafyn frowned as she tried to sort through everything he’d just said. “What?”
“You’re tired,” he said as he yanked his left boot off. “You should go to bed, too.”
“I don’t understand what this is,” Gwendafyn announced as she pointed from him to her bed—which he sat on as he yanked his right boot off.
“It’s the first step in my plan to seduce you,” he said, speaking the last two words in Calnoric.
“What does ‘seduce’ mean?” Gwendafyn carefully repeated the foreign word.
“I suspected you wouldn’t know—I couldn’t find an Elvish word that had a similar meaning in any books. Though I doubted I would anyway. It’s not a topic I imagine has frequently come up in the Translator’s Circle,” Benjimir grunted as he eased himself down on Gwendafyn’s bed.
“So what does it mean?” Gwendafyn asked.
“It means I intend to swindle you into falling in love with me. Hopefully through physical and emotional means,” Benjimir smirked.
It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they finally did, Gwendafyn was torn between wanting to laugh and cry. He doesn’t know I would find such a jest hurtful, she reminded herself. “Get up and go to bed, Benjimir,” she finally said. “Your own bed.”
“You are that set against the idea, are you?” Benjimir asked as he sat up.
“My plan to seduce you has nothing to do with Yvrea,” Benjimir said.
Gwendafyn rubbed her aching forehead. “Doesn’t it?” she asked.
“No.” Benjimir frowned. “And I’m rather concerned that you think it does.”
“Benjimir, we got married because you were so in love with my sister. Everything between us involves Yvrea,” Gwendafyn said tiredly.
Benjimir’s eyes glittered in the flickering candle light. “You really believe that.”
“Of course.”
“And you are also exhausted,” he added.
“Yes,” she admitted.
Benjimir finally got up off the bed. “All right.” He got closer to Gwendafyn than she would have liked given the circumstances and kissed her cheek. “I can wait until tomorrow—but first thing tomorrow. We aren’t going to back away from this.”
Gwendafyn nodded and watched him pick up his boots.
Benjimir passed through the door to their sitting room but paused on the other side. “First thing, you understand.”
“Yes,” Gwendafyn said. “Goodnight, Benjimir.” She firmly shut the door behind him, then rested her head against the wooden surface for a moment. “By tomorrow, he’ll be better in the head. He has to be.”
Gwendafyn stepped away and began to ready herself for bed, though she struggled to forget the glittering light of Benjimir’s eyes.
Unfortunately for Gwendafyn, sleep did not come easily. She spent the few remaining early morning hours twisting and turning in her bed, sleeping fitfully. She gave up entirely when a bird proceeded to sing loudly just outside her window.
Throwing on one of her new practice outfits—if she couldn’t sleep, she might as well do something that would feed her soul—Gwendafyn started braiding her hair as she strode for the door to the sitting room.
Pinching her braid tight with one hand, she opened the door and yelped when Benjimir—who had apparently spent the early morning hours sitting just outside the door—flopped into her room and hit the floor with a crack.