Royal Magic (The Elves of Lessa, #2)

by K.M. Shea

When Yvrea is sad, she looks like a lost woodland creature that needs to be rescued. Gwendafyn looks more like a broken yet beautiful myth of yore…and I can’t believe I just used the word yore in my own mind. I’m spending too much time with elves.

“Calnoric, as a language, seems to be in a perpetual hurry,” Gwendafyn grumbled

“Daughter-in-law!” King Petyrr boomed, making Gwendafyn jump in Benjimir’s arms. (Daughter-in-law was a Calnoric word Gwendafyn had learned relatively quickly due to King Petyrr’s propensity to repeat it multiple times during each conversation.)

“Well!” Tari said brightly. “At least we aren’t dealing with smart bandits!”

And that is how tradition crumbles: one morning, over breakfast.

“Your mother is a bad word in Calnoric that I have no translation for in Elvish.”

Grumbling under her breath, she pushed the bedcovers off and threw on a robe. He might be an idiot, but he’s my idiot.

“I imagined a lot of things about marriage. My wife swiping my swords was not one of them.”