The Rat Prince

by Bridget Hodder

  Joy—unutterable, unquenchable joy! For my love still stood within my embrace, whole and human, his eyes wide and bright, his slender frame vibrating with wonder.

  “Rose, my heart!” He hugged me tight, then spun me around and pointed at the floor several paces away. “Behold!”

  There, amid a heap of princely clothing, within a royal circlet of twisted gold, sat a golden-haired rat, hunched over, sniffing the air.

  Ashiira declared sonorously, “Justice has been done. Balance is restored. Under the guidance of a noble and loyal breed of local rats, the former prince shall learn once more how to be human.”

  Suddenly Swiss appeared, in his rat form again, nipping at Geoffrey’s new rat hindquarters and driving him toward the courtyard. I took this to mean that Swiss would be the one delivering Geoffrey’s humanity lessons. Before disappearing into the night, he stopped and saluted in our direction.

  Char and I waved back.

  Then our attention was pulled to Ashiira, who was far from finished. “Justice shall also be done upon you, Wilhemina Draper, enemy of the house of Lancastyr,” she proclaimed with flashing eyes to my stepmother, who’d been languishing in the grip of the palace guards.

  “Good heavens, Char!” I exclaimed. “I forgot about Wilhemina!”

  “So did I,” he said. “If you’d told me earlier today that I could actually drop the blasted woman from my thoughts, even for a minute, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

  “Would you have believed it if I told you King Tumtry would make you his heir?” I asked.

  “I still don’t believe that,” he replied.

  “Wilhemina Draper, you are a murderess,” Ashiira proclaimed. Flames leapt about her forbidding, glorious countenance. “You wedded Barnaby de Lancastyr under false pretenses. You are not, and have never been, a Lancastyr.”

  Wilhemina’s skin drained of color; her lips went gray.

  “Mercy, great goddess!” a little voice quavered. It belonged to Jessamyn. “Mercy upon my mother, I beg!”

  Oh, Jessamyn! My conscience smote me. Throughout this fearsome scene of judgment, the brave child had been alone, with only my father to lean upon.

  Char and I both hurried toward her. Then we saw that Sir Tompkin and Lord Bluehart had gotten there first. Sir Tompkin was holding her hand, and Lord Bluehart stood staunchly by my father.

  I thanked our dear friends as Char scooped Jessamyn up and held her, big as she was, upon his hip. Then he turned toward the goddess. “Ashiira,” he said. “This child is a courageous and kind soul, a true sister to Lady Rose. Her wishes should be considered.”

  The goddess inclined her head.

  “Rose,” Jessamyn whispered as I kissed her brow. “Your handsome prince came after all. Do you think he will help Mamma?”

  Sir Tompkin pulled out his big handkerchief.

  My heart ached for Jessamyn, who I could see did not fully understand the accusations against her mother. Someday when she was older and strong enough to bear the burden, she would learn the truth of how Wilhemina had ordered Cook to kill her father. But not now.

  “Goddess Ashiira,” I said. “You have rightly declared that justice must be done upon Wilhemina. On behalf of the Lancastyrs, I request that you allow me to mete out her sentence myself.”

  The flames around Ashiira faded away. She turned to us, seeming now more like the fairy creature from the stable yard at Lancastyr Manor than an awesome bringer of divine judgment. “So be it, Lady Rose. This woman’s life is in your hands.”

  It seemed everyone’s gaze now turned to me, except Wilhemina’s. Her eyes were squeezed shut; her bloodless lips moved restlessly, but no sound came out.

  I hesitated a moment. “If it please Your Majesty King Tumtry,” I said, “she will be confined in Castle Wendyn until we can arrange her transport to the Convent of the Order of the Silent Nuns. There, she will make up for her crimes by helping the poor, tilling the fields, weaving shrouds, and doing other good works, as Geoffrey might have done had he accepted the offer of the goddess. There is much more to be said for atonement than for punishment. And by the way, Wilhemina,” I said loudly and distinctly, “the Silent Nuns wear only hemp sandals and homespun brown robes.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Brown is not my color!” she shrieked.

  Without further ado, the king said to his guards, “Lock her up in the dungeons.”

  Wilhemina protested. “But the dungeons are filthy. And there are rats!”

  Char winked at me over the top of Jessamyn’s curls. I concluded that he would take it upon himself to make sure Wilhemina’s time in the dungeons with the rats would be most instructive, before she made it to the convent.

  Then he cuddled my stepsister as Wilhemina was marched away. “Do you see? You saved your mamma’s life, Jessamyn,” he soothed. “All will be well.”

  For the first time since my own mother’s death, I felt deep down inside that this was actually true.

  Now Ashiira called, “Lady Rose and Prince Charming, please come forward.”

  Char let Jessamyn slide down to stand on her own again, and Sir Tompkin took charge of her. Then we walked together toward Ashiira, who still hovered over King Tumtry and his councillors. The king seemed strained and limp, but his councillors wore eager expressions, as if they could hardly believe the good fortune of this unexpected resolution to their worries.

  Then the goddess looked kindly upon us.

  “Prince Charming, you must choose. Do you wish to become ruler of this kingdom, or remain prince of the Northern Realm, which you have led so well for so long?”

  His voice strong and sure, Char replied, “In my princedom there are good candidates and true for the throne. I have no qualms about relinquishing my duties.”

  She gave a gesture of understanding and approval, tracing a shimmering arc in the air with both hands and bringing them together again. “Then do you now accept the bounty and the charge of King Tumtry to become king of the Realm of the Angles, the Southern Hills, the Vales and Islands, and the Border Marches, as long as you shall yet live?”

  Char said, “If I may share the rulership with my love, Rose de Lancastyr, as my queen.”

  I felt a shock of pure bliss. Char would be my husband, and I his wife.

  “Are there any objections from King Tumtry or his people?” Ashiira asked.

  A roar of approval rose from the packed ballroom as King Tumtry declared, “I am gratified and honored to accept your condition, Prince Charming.”

  “Then let it be!” Ashiira said. “Lady Rose and Prince Charming, you have both fought strong forces arrayed against you, and you have proven yourselves the stronger by far. My next words will give you to each other in marriage, and give your family—the Lancastyrs—unto the land of Angland in perpetuity as its sacred sovereigns, as long as you are fit to rule and your heirs pass the tests of worthiness. Do you accept?”

  Char, irrepressible to the end, whispered to me, “Is this a trick question?”

  “We accept!” I hastily responded.

  King Tumtry beckoned Lord Brimfield to him. With utmost dignity, Lord Brimfield came up behind the king and lifted the big golden crown from his head. The jewels in it sparkled Lancastyr blue in the light Ashiira cast as he held it high. I marveled at this, for the stones had been red before, the color of the house of Wendyn.

  “Kneel, both of you,” Lord Brimfield said in a deep and carrying tone. “And be granted the crown of the kingdom.”

  Ashiira halted him a moment, and called Lord Hamp forward. “A crown is required also for the queen,” she said. From a shower of light, a beautiful sapphire circlet glimmered into being before the astonished councillor. He reached up to pluck it from the air somewhat gingerly, as if afraid it might burn him.

  Then together, Char and I each dropped down on one knee, and with ancient and sacred words, Lord Hamp and Lord Brimfield bestowed the throne of Angland upon us. I felt the weight of the crown settle gently upon my head.

  Lord Hamp sa
id, in throbbing tones, “Arise, King Charming and Queen Rose.”

  I felt Char’s hand clasp mine.

  The people—my people, and Char’s—cheered again.

  KING CHARMING

  You would think my treasured queen and I had been vouchsafed everything we could ever have dreamed of. But there was something else.

  “Great goddess,” I said to Ashiira, “my thanks to you shall be undying. Yet I have one more boon to ask.”

  Kindness streamed from her face in a faint halo. “Dear King Charming, I know what you would ask of me, yet I must not give it.”

  She moved toward my newly wedded wife, and as she did so, she transformed completely from the imposing figure of divinity she had assumed for the coronation back to the laughing goddess I had first seen at Lancastyr Manor. “Queen Rose, the affliction of your father, Lord Lancastyr, is not a spell or a curse, but a malady of old age, a natural process with which it would be wrong for me to tamper. And it will worsen as the years pass. However, I can grant you the assurance that in the recesses of his mind lies his spirit—a spirit that will always love you.”

  I swallowed hard on the lump in my throat.

  “Thank you, Ashiira,” Rose said. I could tell it was the only thing she could manage to say without losing her composure.

  Being human, it seemed, could sometimes mean feeling sorrow in the midst of ecstasy. I had much to learn in the years ahead, and my love would help me do it.

  “There is one more gift I can give,” Ashiira said. “King Charming and Queen Rose, you need not take up your responsibilities without a loving bulwark against your cares. For behold Lady Apricot and her attendants, whom I have brought from afar to live in the castle with you. They will share your joys and tribulations in the years to come.”

  My heart leapt. I caught sight of a tall, dignified female figure with an elegant sweep of pure white hair and a silver gown, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere but was making stately progress across the ballroom, flanked by two women of grace and gravity.

  “Rose!” I cried. “Come meet my mother!”

  I ran forward and embraced Lady Apricot, then held her at arm’s length, surveying the pleasing aspect of her human shape. There was no reservation or doubt in my mother’s expression; it was close to rapture. She did the human thing, kissing me on both cheeks as if she had done so many times before. Her scent was the sweet mother-scent I had always known, tinged with comforting apricot.

  A king does not shed tears in public. I stepped back.

  “You chose this path?” I demanded of her. “You wish to remain here with me, er, as you are? And Lady Lambchop and Lady Pudding, too?”

  “We chose this fate together.” She gave a regal dip of her head. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “And just as your Cinderella named you Charming instead of Char, I’m afraid you must call my handmaidens Lady Lila and Lady Petra from now on. The goddess said the Anglanders wouldn’t understand otherwise.”

  I could not get over it. She was as sleek a human as she had been a rat. And she had given up everything she’d ever known to take on this new adventure with me.

  “Did you think I would pass up the experience of someday holding my grandbabies?” she said, smiling. “Besides, my son, these humans turned out to be much, much smarter than I thought they were. They know how to appreciate quality when they see it. My son, king of Angland! Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  First, I presented her to my queen. They were rather formal together, though I could tell Rose was thrilled at this new development. They have a long, long time to get to know each other, I thought.

  I then brought my mother forward and introduced her to our new family and friends, including Tumtry (who was quite taken with her, so much so that he seemed to perk up amazingly) and his proud, smiling ministers. I watched as Lady Apricot promised little Jessamyn a lapdog and plenty of bread and honey—and the same for her sister, Eustacia (when we could manage to find her). This pleased Jessamyn beyond reckoning.

  And then the moment came when my mother met Rose’s father. She put a hand to his bewildered face.

  “See here, Barnaby de Lancastyr,” she said in the bracing tone she had used with me when I was younger, “you have allowed everything to get into a most shocking state. I shall fix it, and help take care of you. Stay by my side.”

  “Very well, Apricot,” Rose’s father said. “I am already at your side. It is most comfortable here.”

  With this, Rose gave a cry of joy and flung her arms about my mother. Lady Apricot patted her head and made cooing noises.

  Our happiness was now complete, and Ashiira clearly knew it.

  In her own whimsical fashion, the goddess did not make a great spectacle of leaving us. In one moment the whole assembly was basking in each other’s goodwill, as the awed spectators commenced to talk among themselves of the many omens and wonders they had just seen; and in the next, a tingling melody danced through the air. Ashiira’s form had dissolved into a radiant whirlpool of gossamer light. It whirled round and round, growing smaller and brighter, approaching my queen, who faced it without a flinch.

  I could tell Rose heard something in the shimmering wind that no one else could. There was a listening look on her face as she brought up her right hand to touch the glimmering sparks.

  The music trickled to a stop. The azure light winked out.

  And upon the third finger of my love’s outstretched hand glowed a ring of rose gold, topped with a sapphire signet.

  Epilogue

  It is now many years later. The kingdom of Angland is prosperous and at peace. But our story is not over, though my dear queen and I are almost finished telling it.

  I warned you from the very beginning: the Cinderella tale everyone seems to have heard is incorrect in almost every particular. Yet perhaps, after learning the truth in these pages, you can understand why she and I have been content to keep it that way until now.

  Some of you, my dear readers, are our very own children and grandchildren. You—our beloved descendants—should be aware that your heritage is as strong and noble as it is unusual. If it is your fate to someday pass the test and rule Angland, be sure to bring to the throne not only human qualities, but rat ones as well.

  Govern with heart—and know when to use your teeth.

  Now the moment has come for me to admit that the highly popular version of Cinderella’s tale did at least get one thing exactly right: how the story ended.

  Oh.

  My queen says she wishes to write the ending herself, so I shall hand over the quill to her, one last time:

  — Happily Ever After —

  Acknowledgments

  *The lovely Mae Genovese.

  *Sloane Matthews, for her sage advice.

  *Insightful, generous Maria Bluni, whose faith never wavered.

  *My talented, caring author sisters of the WNP.

  *Eric Myers and Margaret Ferguson—extraordinary professionals, extraordinary people.

  *My wonderful former colleagues and students at the Marblehead Public Schools.

  *Friends and family who have helped along the way. Their names are written across my heart.

  *Frances Hodgson Burnett, for the inspirational character Melchisedec in A Little Princess.

  About the Author

  Bridget Hodder was previously an archeologist and currently works to help families who struggle with autism. The Rat Prince is her debut novel. She lives with her family in New England. You can sign up for email updates here.

  Thank you for buying this

  Farrar, Straus and Giroux ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

/>   Dedication

  Prologue

  Prince Char

  Cinderella

  Prince Char

  Cinderella

  Prince Char

  Cinderella

  Prince Char

  Cinderella

  Prince Char

  Cinderella

  Prince Char

  Cinderella

  Prince Char

  Cinderella

  Prince Char

  Cinderella

  Prince Char

  Cinderella

  Prince Char

  Cinderella

  King Charming

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers

  175 Fifth Avenue, New York 10010

  Text copyright © 2016 by Bridget Hodder

  All rights reserved

  First hardcover edition, 2016

  eBook edition, August 2016

  mackids.com

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Hodder, Bridget.

  The rat prince / Bridget Hodder. — First edition.

  pages cm

  Summary: A new take on the Cinderella story, told from her point of view as well as that of a royal rat turned coachman.

  ISBN 978-0-374-30213-9 (hardback) — ISBN 978-0-374-30214-6 (e-book)

  [1. Fairy tales. 2. Rats—Fiction. 3. Princes—Fiction. 4. Stepfamilies—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ8.H64Rat 2016

  [Fic]—dc23

  2015015073

  Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

  eISBN 9780374302146