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  Royal Magic

  The Elves of Lessa: Book 2

  K. M. Shea

  ROYAL MAGIC

  Copyright © 2018 by K. M. Shea

  Cover design by Myrrhlynn

  Cover art by Nibelart

  Edited by Jeri Larsen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any number whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historic events is entirely coincidental.

  www.kmshea.com

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. A Princess and a Prince…

  2. An Alternative Route

  3. An Unlikely Proposal

  4. Engaged

  5. The Benefits of Marriage

  6. The Joy of Freedom

  7. Companionship

  8. Unexpected Changes

  9. An Unwanted Return

  10. The Fight Ring

  11. Unexpected Affection

  12. The Bandit Raid

  13. Unleashed

  14. Protected

  15. Prized

  16. Plan of Attack

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Other books by K. M. Shea

  About the Author

  1

  A Princess and a Prince…

  Jubilee, the city of a thousand trees, was the crown jewel of Lessa. As the elf capital, it was much admired by mankind. Many stories filled with great longing were often told of it…and Gwendafyn was dying to leave it.

  “This afternoon you must inspect goods in the market and attend a lecture on grain production in the southern fields. After that you shall hold tea time with six elven daughters of nobility, then listen to a musical performance of Anguished Ripples—a musical rendition of the day the last High Elf boat sailed from the harbors of Lessa, leaving us Lesser Elves to a grim fate.” Aunt Lorius pinched her papers together, making the corners match up perfectly.

  “It sounds like I am in for an exciting and uplifting day!” Gwendafyn declared with a playful grin. She glanced around the quiet throne room, an expanse of marble and spun glass. Neither Aunt Lorius nor any of the elf attendants gathered around her smiled.

  Gwendafyn’s grin faded. “That was supposed to be a joke,” she muttered.

  The nearest attendant put on a pained smile that more closely resembled a grimace.

  “A proper performance of Anguished Ripples is nothing to laugh over,” Lorius said gravely. “I do hope you aren’t planning to share any of your little jokes at the tea and performance.”

  Gwendafyn leaned so she rested her elbow on the armrest of her straight-backed, unpadded, wooden chair. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Even if I did, it’s not like anyone else would understand them.

  “I am glad to hear so. As the second daughter of Our King Celrin and as a princess of your people, you must be aware of your role and the part you play.” Aunt Lorius gazed pointedly at Gwendafyn’s elbow and relaxed posture.

  Though the admonishment was unspoken, Gwendafyn straightened up and made her expression serene. “I was told at breakfast that a dispatch rider has arrived from Haven. Have my parents or Yvrea sent word of their departure for Jubilee? The time has almost come for their visit.” …which they have put off for six consecutive months.

  “There was indeed a communication from Our King Celrin. He sends his regrets, for he and your mother and sister must remain in Haven for at least the next month. The Evening Star Tarinthali Ringali is with child. All of Haven is beside itself with joy at this delightful news.” Lorius’ serene smile softened with the news of the upcoming baby.

  “How lovely,” Gwendafyn said, even though the news pained her heart. “I will have to think of an appropriate gift to send Tari and Arion.”

  Although she was happy for the Evening Star who had famously married her human bond partner, the delay in her family’s visit made tears sting her eyes. Here’s to another mirthless month.

  The already infrequent visits from Gwendafyn’s father, mother, and sister had slowed over the last three years, becoming downright rarities. Granted, the reason behind the change was the discovery that Tarinthali Ringali and Arion Herycian—after being bound in the magical ceremony of Nodusigm—could speak to each other despite the complex language barrier between the Lesser Elves and the humans of Calnor. That an elf maiden and Calnor Captain could communicate was nothing short of a miracle, and when it became known that Tari could speak Calnoric, the floodgates of communication between Lessa and Calnor were opened. At such a golden time of discovery and communication, King Celrin and even Crown Princess Yvrea couldn’t be spared from Haven, the beautiful city that straddled Calnor and Lessa.

  Gwendafyn knew this, yet every delay and canceled visit was a dagger to her heart. She missed her family. Her father actually laughed at some of her jokes, and her mother and sister always had fantastic tales of Calnor to share. (Not to mention that with King Celrin and Crown Princess Yvrea present, all royal duties would shift to them. Which meant Gwendafyn would not be trapped indoors for hours listening to a poetic retelling of The White Hart’s Dance and forcing herself to smile at the inane chatter.)

  But even if things plod on here in Jubilee, there is change. Tari, Arion, and their child represent that. Gwendafyn laughed a little as she shifted in her chair. “I will have to find a small practice sword for the baby when it is old enough to handle such a thing. Perhaps I should begin to search now so I can commission a piece if there are none to be found in our vaults.”

  “You are leaping before you look, My Princess Gwendafyn,” Lorius said. “Such a thing will only be needed if the child is male, and it will be years before he could use it.”

  Gwendafyn gave her aunt a roguish smile. “I doubt the gender will matter. Surely a child of a soldier and an Evening Star will be a warrior as well!”

  Lorius shook her head. “You forget any child of Lady Tarinthali and Sir Arion will live under two sets of tradition. Though Lesser Elves allow females to join the ranks of Evening Star, the humans of Calnor do not allow females in their military. Moreover, as the child will only be half elf, I doubt he or she will have enough magic to warrant being trained as an Evening Star.”

  Evening Stars were the elite troops—the only troops really—of the Lesser Elves. Bound by an oath not to harm any human of Calnor, most of them lived in port cities and spent their time watching the seas for the return of the war-mongering High Elves who had sailed off centuries ago.

  Since Tari was an Evening Star and had been permanently relocated to Haven, there was a steady trickle of Evening Stars who visited Haven. Not that Gwendafyn was at all jealous. Tari deserved the company of her comrades. It’s just that Evening Stars so rarely visit Jubilee as it is land-locked, and Evening Stars are far freer than everyone else in this stone-set city…

  “Tradition will prevail,” Aunt Lorius predicted. “I expect Lady Tari and Sir Arion’s child will step into the same role as they have and will serve as a key communicator between the countries—particularly given that he or she will likely be the only half-elf-half-human in history.”

  “Really?” Gwendafyn cocked her head. “With all this new co-mingling from Arion and Tari’s efforts, I would think there would be more elf-human pairings.”

  “You underestimate the power of custom, My Princess,” Lorius said serenely.

  Gwendafyn frowned as she tapped her fingers on the armrests of her chair.

  “I do hope you mean to ease your exuberance and meet with the port master of Gloria in a proper, c
ontrolled state?” Lorius asked as she stared at Gwendafyn’s fidgeting fingers.

  “Yes, of course.” Gwendafyn forced herself to still her body and smoothed her expression—though it felt like she was being smothered alive with the change.

  “Good. I shall fetch him, then, and your duties as regent will begin for the day.” Lorius curtsied with the fluid grace of water. She smiled fondly at Gwendafyn, then glided away, nodding courteously at the attendants who opened the door for her.

  Gwendafyn steepled her fingers together and set them in her lap to keep from moving. Steady, she thought to herself. If I can keep it together, Aunt Lorius might retire early, and I’ll be able to sneak in some sword practice. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulder, and when the door opened again to admit the harbor master, she slightly raised her chin.

  “Greetings to you, My Princess Gwendafyn. May light shine upon you and yours,” he said.

  Gwendafyn gave him an appropriate “royal” smile—the barest quirking of her lips. “Greetings to you as well, harbor master. May you find favor with the wind and seas.”

  Gwendafyn swung her sword through the air with a fanciful flourish. She twirled, raising her weapon in the block patterns she had painstakingly memorized when she got to see the Calnor Honor Guards perform at Tari and Arion’s wedding over two years ago.

  Her sword—of High Elf forge—seemed to glow in the flickering torchlight as Gwendafyn swiveled and stabbed her blade forward.

  Lacking any kind of training, Gwendafyn’s clandestine sword practices were little more than her twirling her sword around like an enthusiastic child, but she reveled in the release. The twisting lunges and the weight of the sword in her hands grounded Gwendafyn and gave her the release she needed after a day of small smiles and slow movements.

  Sweat dotted Gwendafyn’s brow as she performed a front flip. She staggered when she landed—unlike the smooth and efficient movements of the Evening Star she had copied the move from. But for the first time all day, her heart was at ease.

  Gwendafyn sprinted to the edge of the empty feasting hall she had chosen for her practice. It was only used for festivals, and as the next celebration wasn’t due for two weeks, there was little reason for anyone to visit it at any hour, much less during the midnight watch as it was now.

  She had to be careful to hide her practice, for though it wasn’t illegal to carry a sword, as Aunt Lorius would say, “It just wasn’t done.” Even most Evening Stars did not carry a weapon—besides the rare exception like the master Evening Star Seer Ringali. The few elves who were trained in weapons were all absconded to Haven where they usually served as guards for the elven-run Rosewood Park and served the elven royalty who mattered. (Not that there was a need for guards in Lessa. As the royal regent, Gwendafyn had only presided over two instances of justice that involved fighting. One was a rare case involving a renegade elf attacking Lady Tari, and the other was little more than a fist fight between two young elven men who had quarreled over a woman.)

  Though Gwendafyn’s attendants might endure her sarcastic humor, she had no doubt they would faint if they knew she kept a sword in her private quarters, much less that she practiced with it.

  Grinning recklessly, she tucked her sword against her side and performed a one-handed cartwheel that had taken her a week of bruises to master when she was a child.

  Her heart pounded with glee, and even her blood seemed to sing as she sprang out of the cartwheel and swung into a series of lunges, moving so fast her sword was a blur. She finished the line of exercises by flinging her sword into the air, rolling to the side, and then catching it at the hilt, still crouched on the ground.

  She laughed a little as she exhaled, then froze when she heard a door creak. Gwendafyn sprang from her crouch and moved to sprint to the ornate over-robe she had worn to the hall to cover her plain linen practice pants and shirt, but the damage was already done.

  Aunt Lorius stood in the doorway, her eyes crinkled with disappointment. “Oh Gwendafyn…I thought you were doing better.”

  Gwendafyn swallowed, her spit almost metallic tasting as she shifted on her feet. “I’m not bothering anyone.”

  Lorius stepped farther into the hall and sighed wearily. “Perhaps not, but you cannot do this. Lesser elves do not use swords—in particular, the royal family does not. We are a people of peace!”

  Gwendafyn stared at the ground, but her aunt placed her gentle hands under Gwendafyn’s chin and forced her to meet her gaze.

  “You must stop this folly. It has gone on long enough. You must tame your wild ways and accept your role as the royal regent and representative in Jubilee,” Lorius said, her brow wrinkling with concern.

  Gwendafyn’s fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword, and the feeling of peace seeped from her body only to be replaced with the heavy sensation of defeat. “What if I can’t?” she whispered.

  “You must,” Aunt Lorius said firmly. “You rule in Jubilee in place of your father—and one day your sister—as long as they are in Haven. You represent elvish law and rule, and you bring dishonor upon your father’s image and your sister’s image with…this.” She motioned to Gwendafyn and shook her head at the sword.

  “So?” Gwendafyn jerked her chin out of her aunt’s hands. Fueled by the slow burn of frustration that had long ago settled in her, she tossed her head. “If they are so upset with my conduct, then my father or sister can return and take their proper place as the ruler of elves!”

  “They cannot. Haven and our relationship with Calnor must take priority now,” Lorius said. “In the past, when your father and I were young, it is true he spent much less time in Haven, but with our improved communication, it is necessary that he spend the majority of his time there. I expect Our Crown Princess Yvrea will spend the majority of her rule there, as well.”

  Gwendafyn’s body spasmed at the thought. No. I can’t take a lifetime of this.

  “Though I am certain it pains them to be away from Jubilee, they are monarchs. They must do what is best for the country,” Lorius continued as she elegantly folded her hands in front of her. “As the second child of Our King Celrin, you must do the same, Gwendafyn.”

  “But I do,” Gwendafyn said. “I reside over festivals, listen to the people, and make most of the decisions in my father’s place.”

  “Perhaps, but you are too much,” Lorius said.

  Gwendafyn’s heart squeezed in her chest. “What?”

  “Your jokes are inappropriate; you laugh at too great of a volume; you spurn tradition with your childish fascination with weapons; you are quick where you should be still—you are simply too much! You are a raging waterfall where a quiet river is far more appropriate.”

  Her aunt’s observation was a slug to the gut. I’m too much? But that’s me—my being! How can she reject me and label me as if I were defective? “I am glad to serve my country, and I am honored to be the substitute for my sister,” Gwendafyn said, her voice shaking, “but what does it matter that I practice with a sword at night or that I laugh loudly?”

  “It is not what a proper ruler does,” Lorius said gravely.

  “Fine, then you rule!” Gwendafyn said hotly.

  “That cannot be,” Lorius said, utterly unflappable. “It is tradition that the sibling of the current ruler serves as regent only until the monarch’s second eldest child is ready. I have trained you to replace me, Gwendafyn, just as you will take Our Crown Princess Yvrea’s second-eldest under your wing when the time comes. As you and Yvrea are my brother’s only children, there is no one else who can take your place.”

  Gwendafyn clenched her teeth until it hurt. She had heard that particular platitude more times than she could count. If she loved her family any less, she would have resented both her father and her sister for thrusting her into this role that she never wanted. She shook her head as though she could reject the inescapable truth: she would be locked in this suffocating, lonely life in Jubilee for decades before any children Yvrea had would be old enough t
o rule. Yvrea isn’t even married yet! How can I keep this up for so long?

  “You will end this childishness tonight, Gwendafyn,” Lorius said in a voice that was quiet but as unbendable as a sword blade.

  Gwendafyn jerked her gaze to her aunt. “What?”

  Her aunt shook her head. “No more of this nonsense. You will not touch a sword again.”

  “No.” The word was out of her mouth before she could even think it, but she didn’t regret it. “I’m not giving up my sword.”

  “It’s inappropriate,” Lorius said. “The royal family is not to handle weapons.”

  “I don’t care!” Gwendafyn stamped her foot like a wild horse. “Practicing with my sword is the only thing keeping me sane. Without this release—!” Simultaneously enraged and hurt, Gwendafyn shook her head and walked in a tight circle.

  “Despite what you think, you will not shrivel up and die without this brutish performance,” Lorius said dryly.

  “You don’t understand.” Gwendafyn gripped the hilt of her sword so tightly the metal bit into her hand. “It’s the only way I can let go.”

  “Lesser Elves do not ‘let go,’” Lorius said firmly. “Such a thing is a trait of our bloodthirsty cousins, the High Elves. And you do not have the excuse of the strength and power they possessed.” Aunt Lorius sighed deeply, as if Gwendafyn had hurt her. “This is my fault. I let you run like a hoyden too long. No, Gwendafyn, you must cease this at once. You might think it is painful, but I suspect when you release the sword you will learn that the world is a much quieter, simpler place than you thought, and you will find a tranquility in your place.”