Royal Magic (The Elves of Lessa, #2)

by K.M. Shea

Tarinthali blushed pink and bashfully leaned into Arion, who curled his arm around her shoulders. Together, they were the very picture of domestic bliss. How sickening.

“I feel sorry for Benjimir,” Tari said. Gwendafyn nearly gaped at the Evening Star. “Sorry? After everything he has done to you and Sir Arion?” Tari shrugged with her whole body. “He was the first one who dared to dream of something beyond tradition—even before Arion and me. Though his actions were dishonorable, I can’t help but have some sympathy for him. He reached out and failed.” Tari stared down at her hands. “It’s more than most are willing to do these days.”

“I don’t want another sword; I want my swords,” Gwendafyn said. King Celrin studied her. “Do they individually matter that much to you?” “Yes! I’ve spent hours practicing with them, and it took me three miracles and a unicorn to even get them. They’re my friends,” Gwendafyn said.

“Are you certain you would rather not marry Arvel? He is your bond mate, is gentle, much more kind, and has a better personality.” Benjimir rolled his eyes and replied in Calnoric. “His Highness Prince Benjimir reminded King Petyrr that he is present,” Rollo said.

Between the two of us, we are about as cuddly as porcupines.

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

Benjimir swiveled his gaze to his mother, who admired a bed of flowers with the ease of one who doesn’t care about anything but themselves.

How did she end up with King Petyrr?!?!?!

While it is quite fun to have a wife who is wholly aware of social maneuverings and is willing to let me use her to get out of whatever gathering I wish, the best unexpected side effect of marrying Gwendafyn is that no one can disprove my ridiculous stories for they cannot ask her themselves.

“Precious!” Benjimir declared. “I see.” Gwendafyn, having lost track of the conversation, paused. “Wait. What’s precious?” “You are. To me,” he said.

“For the love of Lady Tari’s favorite lemon bars,” Grygg grumbled. “What part of ‘fight dirty’ isn’t translating correctly?”

“I have no desire to be pulled into the disagreements of a marriage that is not my own,” Seer Ringali said boredly.

Before the Colonel could turn his horse around, a man jumped from an overhanging branch. He carried a spear and yelled as he plummeted directly over Benjimir. Benjimir nudged his horse so it sidestepped, and the bandit missed him entirely and hit the ground with a painful-sounding thud. Wizard Edvin squinted and exchanged a concerned look with Gwendafyn as he adjusted his grip on his staff. “Well!” Tari said brightly. “At least we aren’t dealing with smart bandits!”

Gwendafyn cleared her throat and attempted to say, in Calnoric, “I have the best and brightest teachers.” Benjimir raised his eyebrows. “Not bad—did the trio of daftness teach you that?” “Thad, Wilford, and Grygg? Yes.”

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.”

“Nonsense,” Benjimir snorted. “There is nothing inherently bad in having power. The bigger question is how one uses that power.”

“You are a princess of Lessa and Calnor,” Benjimir said. “You could lie back and relax for the rest of your life, but you are relentless. You take lessons in Calnoric so you may speak to your new people. You include Claire when frankly she is beneath your notice. You mindfully use a human seamstress. In short, you use the power and respect you have been given for an honorable goal. If you had the same power as the High Elves, I know you would wield it with passion and integrity.”

As Benjimir led Gwendafyn through the streets, he gazed at her, taking in her beauty as she smiled and chattered. When he could see the sparkle of excitement in her eyes, he knew he was a goner. Somehow…somewhere…she became the most important thing in the world to me. And I’m not certain how I feel about that.

He might be an idiot, but he’s my idiot.

“I have no idea what you said, Evening Star,” King Petyrr growled as he also appeared. “But I agree with your tone.”

The memory of Benjimir’s true smile, his laugh, his insistence on getting her a new practice uniform, his sarcasm—it overwhelmed Gwendafyn. She couldn’t lose him. An elf loved forever. Benjimir had her heart now, whether he wanted it or not, and she’d do whatever was necessary to see him through this. The Evening Stars cannot help; they have their vows. Lesser Elves cannot help; they barely know how to fight. But I can.

“Quiet—the rescued doesn’t get to vote on or criticize the method in which they are rescued,” Gwendafyn complained.

Gwendafyn seriously studied him for a moment. He didn’t meet her gaze; his eyes were too busy scanning her. Though his hair was a little mussed, and he had a smudge of dirt on his cheekbone, he looked entirely unruffled by his kidnapping, and his handsome features were strong with focus. “I should break your nose,” she said reflectively.

It’s much more work to keep smiling for so long than I had assumed. My whole face hurts. How does Yvrea do it?

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.

“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!”

Tari and Arion would be recorded in the history books as the force that changed the destiny of Lessa and Calnor. But Gwendafyn’s legacy would be passed on in its people.

“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.”

She decisively crossed her room, going to the hallway entrance her handmaidens used. She swung it open and yelped when she found Benjimir standing outside. He stared at her, looking decidedly unimpressed. “You can face a hoard of bandits with a pet mage in their pocket, but when I say I love you, you run? Bad form, Fyn.”

“If I suddenly turned nice and pleasant, you would have thought I was out to kill someone. As I’m not interested in loving you silently, the only option was to tell you.”

“I love you because you are ‘more,’ Fyn. Not despite it.”

“This does mean that I no longer will get a door slammed in my face whenever I say I love you, correct?” Benjimir asked. Gwendafyn laughed. “Yes. For certain,”

“Finished with your daily beat-up-the-Honor-Guards session?” Benjimir asked.

“And he’s supposed to keep me out of trouble?” Gwendafyn asked. “Not at all,” Benjimir smirked. “He’s just supposed to inform me whenever you get into it.”