The Rat Prince

by Bridget Hodder

  And my rat teeth.

  But mindful of my promise to Rose, and not wishing to face possibly awkward questions from Wilhemina, I hastened to put as much distance between myself and the loathsome woman as possible, with a few improvised twists and turns.

  “What are you doing?” the girl in my arms asked with scarce-concealed annoyance.

  “Too many things,” I replied.

  I searched once more for Rose and saw her still in Geoffrey’s arms, her eyes shifting nervously about as if looking for something. When our glances met over the heads of the dancers, she relaxed. Then her gaze moved to the girl I was with.

  Instantaneously, Rose seemed to give off sparks.

  It could not be jealousy I saw in her face, could it?

  I swung my pink-gowned partner about in an arc, which caused her to throw her head back and laugh; then I looked over at my lady again. There was no mistaking it: She was annoyed.

  She hadn’t said anything earlier in the coach when I’d told her I loved her, so I considered this an encouraging development.

  The music abruptly stopped. “Thank you. Er, goodbye,” I said to my dance partner. Ignoring her miffed expression, I tried to push my way through the crowd to reach Rose before the next set began. However, my steps were blocked by simpering young females, angling for my escort. I resisted the urge to drop to the floor on all fours and dart between their legs to reach my goal more quickly.

  Thus I had made it only as far as Swiss’s side before the orchestra struck up a lively tarantella, and Geoffrey led Rose away again.

  “No problems yet,” Swiss said as I drew close.

  But just when I felt a flash of relief, Geoffrey led Rose off the floor and outside the open archway to the lantern-hung courtyard, where there was more dancing.

  “Let’s go, Swiss.” I grabbed his arm, and we followed. Prince Geoffrey began looping Rose around a spurting fountain, at the center of which stood a ridiculous statue of Geoffrey himself, draped with a purple velvet cape.

  Oh. That statue. It was unsettling to see Geoffrey prancing about in its shadow, with no apparent memory of Quintilius Porter to impair his enjoyment.

  “Swiss,” I said, “I don’t feel comfortable letting Rose spend so much time in that man’s arms. But at least I have the king’s promise she won’t be pressured into marrying him when you and I turn back into rats again. Ah—what’s this?”

  It was a servant, bearing a large tray of delicacies. He dropped to one knee before me and offered it up. My stomach rumbled; becoming human was a hungry business.

  “Your Royal Highness, if it pleases you to partake?” the servant said.

  Oh, it pleased me well. For once in my life, a human was offering me food that wasn’t laced with a toxic substance. I lifted a piping-hot meat pasty with the intention of popping it into my mouth, then stopped short. What of Swiss? As my supposed underling, he would not be expected to eat these dainties, and therefore would go empty tonight. With a passing thought as well for my poor rat-warrior Truffle, forced to stay outside as a coachman, I handed the pasty to my royal councillor.

  “My personal guard tastes all my food before I consume it,” I explained to the shocked-looking servant. “Does your king not have a royal taster?”

  Swiss did his tasting job with efficient dispatch. First the pasty, then a trio of quail’s eggs coddled in rum, then a custard embellished with peaches and crème Chantilly went down the hatch. He and I would have eaten the entire plateful of nibbles, had I not recalled that this was not the human custom, and stopped myself in time.

  Swiss and I exchanged satisfied looks. Oh, we could definitely get used to this. Such a shame we only had a few hours left.

  Only a few more hours before becoming a rat again, nevermore to talk to Lady Rose de Lancastyr. Never to stroke her hair, or feel her hand in mine.

  “Your Highness?”

  I turned toward the voice. There before me stood a slight elderly gentleman in sober, dark clothing and a white wig. He made a very fancy bow when I acknowledged him.

  “I am Sir Tompkin Mayfield, Your Highness, friend of Lady Rose’s father, Barnaby de Lancastyr,” he said.

  I looked Sir Tompkin up and down. I recognized his merry countenance (though currently it was grave as a coffin) from his many visits to Lancastyr Manor in the old days. Disapproval washed over me. This man had not turned out to be much of a friend, had he?

  “Sir Tompkin,” I said as politely as I could. “Lady Rose wishes to meet with you.” I drew him away from the dancing, toward the lawn. Swiss came, too, though his eyes kept tracking my lady.

  Sir Tompkin said, “Wonderful, Your Highness, for I most devoutly wish to see Rose! And so does my companion Lord Bluehart, though I seem to have lost him. I excused myself for a moment, and when I came back I couldn’t find him in this crowd.”

  When I answered him, my manner was austere. “This eagerness to communicate seems quite a change for you and Lord Bluehart, for Lady Rose tells me you’ve not visited her or Lord Lancastyr even once since he married Lady Wilhemina.”

  To my dismay, Sir Tompkin became teary-eyed and drew a large handkerchief from his coat, then blew into it loudly. “Oh dear me, this is most unnerving. Most distressing! Bluehart and I have been quite exercised over it. We tried to visit, Your Highness, I assure you we did! There is apparently much amiss at Lancastyr Manor. If we’d known Barnaby had a relation in another land, we would have contacted you as soon as we believed something was wrong!”

  Perhaps he and Bluehart weren’t the dastards I’d considered them. “Tell me what you mean, Sir Tompkin.”

  “It’s so terrible,” he said. “When we saw our friend Barnaby here this evening, we were optimistic that we might finally speak with him. We approached him—and he did not even seem to recognize us! Then his harpy of a wife spurned our friendly advances and led him away.”

  He seemed about to say more, but we were interrupted by a yelp of surprise from Swiss. “Prince Char!”

  I leapt to Swiss’s side and gripped his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Is Lady Rose in danger?”

  “No, my prince.” He rolled his eyes in Sir Tompkin’s direction. “Begging your pardon, but may I speak to you in private, Your Highness?”

  “Sir Tompkin, will you excuse us for a moment?” Still with my hand clamped on Swiss’s shoulder, we moved away. “This had better be good.”

  “It’s not good—it’s bad. I just saw your mother.”

  “What? Lady Apricot, here?”

  “Back there, inside the ballroom. She’s hiding underneath the table where the punch bowl is. See—over in the corner. And she has her ladies with her.”

  Oh, good gravy. Just what I needed.

  I made a frustrated sound through clenched teeth. “I’ll be right back. Don’t let Sir Tompkin get away, and don’t let Geoffrey hurt Lady Rose, agreed?”

  He nodded.

  I made my excuses to a bewildered Sir Tompkin and headed toward the punch bowl, where a stiffly starched lackey handed me a full cup of punch.

  “Oops!” I deliberately let it drop to the floor.

  When I stooped to pick it up (in a most unprincely manner), I hissed into the tablecloth: “Mother, I know you’re under there! Meet me in the gardens right away, or I shall see to it you never eat another apricot in your life.”

  The ensuing sounds of botheration told me she would leave as I demanded.

  And not a moment too soon, for a host of servants had joined me on the floor, insisting I should not sully my royal hands; they would clean up the spill. So I left them to it.

  I returned to the courtyard to rejoin the others, and noticed Rose was looking rather seasick, still dancing with Prince Geoffrey. It was time to end this farce. I strode up to Geoffrey and tapped his shoulder. “May I cut in?”

  His glare was equal parts anger and surprise. I wondered if anyone had ever dared interrupt his pleasures in his entire life. Had I taken a misstep? Would Geoffrey lose his temper too early in the
evening, before I could channel it in the right direction?

  No. Rose averted the danger with a dazzling display of rat-like wiles. “Ah, my cousin Charming! Have you come to escort me to sit out the next set? I declare I am quite dizzy! The great honor done to me by Prince Geoffrey has overwhelmed my senses and I fear I might faint.”

  I thought she might be overdoing it just a little. However, the smugness dawning in Geoffrey’s smile meant he took such exaggeration as his due.

  “Yes, Cousin Rose.” I smiled, taking her hand. “Come, rest for a bit in the gardens with me. I hope you’ll pardon us, Your Highness?”

  Before Geoffrey could react, he was mobbed by a swarm of young lady predators. “Prince Geoffrey, I should love to have the next waltz!” I heard one say. Then came the cry: “Not her, Prince Geoffrey, choose me!”

  Rose and I took advantage of his momentary distraction to move across the courtyard and disappear into the flower garden beyond.

  “Thank you for the rescue,” she said as we left the noisy throng behind us. “I was on the brink of collapse. The prince heeded none of my gentle hints to sit out a dance! Do you know, Char, I begin to think there is something quite wrong with him.”

  How I wished Ashiira would allow me to comment!

  We passed through a vine-covered archway and came to a standstill in the middle of a circle of well-tended floral beds. The air was heavy with the perfume of roses, enveloping us in a sense of privacy and promise. Only the light of the moon and the gentle fairy glow of her dress illuminated the scene, as I looked down at her.

  “Char?” She moistened her lips and murmured, “I am glad to be here with you.”

  “Thank you, my dear Rose,” I said. “Your words give me hope.” Well, there was no hope for me, when it came to her. “I mean, happiness.”

  She drew nearer. Faint strains of music filtered across the garden from the castle. I longed to pull her into an embrace.

  Instead I took her hand and said, “I have good news. Your father’s friend, Sir Tompkin, approached me while you were dancing, and he wants to see you.”

  The mood was broken. “Sir Tompkin? He is here? This is marvelous! Surely Lord Bluehart is with him?” She stepped back and looked up at me.

  Then we were both startled by the loud sound of a stomach growling.

  It was hers. She clapped two delicate hands across her small midsection.

  We looked at each other; then we both began to laugh.

  “I’m sorry, Char,” she said. “As Pye would say, my stomach is sticking to my ribs. I must find some food soon.”

  Food. Find the Food! “Lady Rose, you would make an excellent rat.”

  “You, Prince Char, make an excellent human.” She wandered over to a rosebush and fingered a blossom. “Don’t you wish tonight would never end?”

  Of course I did. “Why?”

  “So you could stay human forever.”

  My heart stopped, then began beating again, much harder.

  Stay human. Yes. But how?

  “There is no chance of it, Rose. You heard what the goddess decreed: at midnight, I…” I could not say it.

  “It can’t be true!” She abandoned the blossoms and flung herself toward me. She grasped both of my hands and gave an impassioned cry: “Char, I did not answer you in the coach. But I will answer now: I love you, too.”

  I did then what I had wanted to do from the first. I closed the space between us and wrapped my arms about her tightly.

  Who knows what might have happened next, had I not heard Swiss’s human voice calling me: “Your Highness? Are you there? I have Sir Tompkin with me. He wishes to converse with you and my lady. Your Highness?”

  “Yoo-hoo!” It was Sir Tompkin. “Lady Rose?”

  Damnation. I had one night as a man with the creature I loved—one night only—which I was condemned to spend in the middle of a pack of humans with no concept of personal space. And Swiss had just become the worst of them all!

  Rose sprang away from me, then greeted her family friend as he emerged from behind a privet hedge. Much kissing of cheeks followed, many endearments and heartfelt protestations of continuing friendship.

  I watched until I heard a telltale chattering in the nearby hydrangea bushes. Sink me! There was no mistaking the dulcet tones of Lady Apricot. Had she and her ladies’ maids just been witnesses to my tender scene with Rose? But it was my fault—I had asked her to meet me in the gardens.

  “Drat,” I muttered. “Swiss, please bring Lady Rose food and drink. She is famished. Now I must be off, though I shall return soon.”

  I turned and found my way down a dark path, deeper into the gardens, where no one would notice the great Prince Charming of the Northern Realm carrying on a conversation with three large, glossy rats.

  CINDERELLA

  So many emotions, so little time to sort them out!

  Char left us without a backward glance, heading rather mysteriously down a side pathway. I wondered what could possibly take precedence over participating in this long-awaited conversation with Sir Tompkin. Then I recalled Char’s earlier mention of luring my stepmother into the gardens and disposing of her there.

  No, Char could not be on such a mission. How could I even begin to suspect it? He’d promised not to kill her, and I believed him. He was an honorable man … rat … both.

  “Come, Sir Tompkin,” I said in the brightest voice I could manage. “Here is a quiet seat where we will not be disturbed.” We settled onto a bench under the spilling white blooms of a clematis vine.

  “Dear, dear little Rose,” he said, as if these were still my childhood days when he and Lord Bluehart used to come smoke horrible cigars with my father long into the night, arguing court politics and laughing uproariously until my mother broke it up. His compassionate gray eyes were so familiar, so soothing.

  “Sir Tompkin, how I’ve missed you! Where is Bluey?” I looked over his shoulder in perplexity, as I had never seen one of them without the other.

  He made an uncertain gesture. “Heaven knows. I’ve been seeking him for a good half hour. But not to worry; he will find us soon, and how ecstatic he will be to see you once more!”

  I could not hold back my sad question any longer. “Dear sir, why did you and Lord Bluehart not answer any of my letters?”

  “Bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “So you tried to contact us, did you? I am sorry, Rose, but we never received a single line from you. The treacherous Wilhemina must have had a hand in that.”

  Though this only confirmed my suspicions, I felt a flare of fury. While I struggled to control it, Sir Tompkin said, “Now tell me, young lady, what in the name of Saint Sophy’s Seat has been going on at Lancastyr Manor since your father remarried?”

  This question would have taken many hours to answer properly. So I confined myself to summing up the past year of suffering in only a few sentences. As I did so, I watched his pleasant face grow longer and longer. He was so overset, I finished the story without revealing my worst suspicions about my stepmother being a murderess. That much, too, was merely hearsay.

  While I hesitated, Sir Tompkin plunged into shocked speech. “A terrible tale, by Gad! My poor child, what you have been through!” He drew out a monogrammed handkerchief and mopped tears from his face. “Now see here, Rose,” he said. “Lord Bluehart and I tried again and again to visit Lancastyr Manor—always bringing my little dog, Dandle, with us, for you know how much your father always loved to play with him—but we were turned away each time like pestering peddlers!”

  “Oh no! I assure you, it was not my father nor I who turned you away.”

  “Of course not. We knew who must be responsible, yet we could not fathom what to do. Your stepmother even sent word through the servants that you, child, were still too wrapped up in grief over your mother to see anyone or go anywhere.” He frowned. “I realize now that Bluey and I ought to have shown up at your home with outriders and carried you off by main force a long time ago. Saved you from that harridan. I�
��m so ashamed we did not!”

  “Sir Tompkin, even if you had tried to rescue me, I could never have left my father. Nor can I still,” I said.

  He tucked away his handkerchief and patted my arm. “You are loyal and brave. And in spite of Wilhemina’s worst efforts, we are together again at long last.” Then he seemed to take a truly good look at me and broke into a joyful smile. “And how grown-up and beautiful you’ve become! Why, Prince Geoffrey seemed quite head over heels for you. Perhaps you’ll be the next queen of Angland!”

  “I’m afraid not,” I said wryly. “I have no desire to be queen.”

  He looked somewhat taken aback, then said, “Indeed. Entirely up to you, of course, entirely, er … Now, what was I saying? Oh yes. It appears plain that your noble father Barnaby is most unwell. He will require nursing and excellent physicians. Lord Bluehart and I will see to it.”

  I had not felt such happiness in a very long time. “Oh, yes! It’s just what I’ve been hoping for!”

  “And it shall come to pass! But first we must concentrate upon dealing with your stepmother. We cannot obtain help for Barnaby if she blocks our efforts. As his legal wife, she has the right to deny him treatment. So let us see what we can do to invalidate their marriage. Clearly, he was not in possession of his mental faculties when she rushed him to the altar.”

  “I cannot agree more.” I clasped my hands to my breast. “Have you spoken with the Lord Chief Justice? He is the only one who could render their marriage invalid.”

  “Yes. Months ago, we entreated him to investigate and intervene on behalf of Lord Lancastyr. But that moldering misanthrope told us, ‘The man is free to trade his old friends for new ones and marry beneath him if he wishes. The law does not permit us to intervene.’”

  At this point, Swiss returned from the ballroom with a dish of dainties and a goblet of wine. He enthusiastically dumped the plate on my lap, and I grabbed the goblet just in time to prevent it from spilling.

  “Your dinner as requested,” he said in a friendly voice.

  Sir Tompkin gave him a reproving look, but Swiss obviously paid no attention as he took up a protective position to one side of us.