Puss in Boots (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 6)

by K. M. Shea

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. I have another, if you are ready.”

  “Of course. Will we set all the new doors by dusk?”

  “It will be close,” Hartwin admitted.

  “Then I will get to it.”

  “Do not overwork yourself, my lady. I have no wish to face down Lena should you return to the Green Ivy Inn in a less than perfect condition,” Hartwin said.

  “I’m fine. Go get me another door.”

  “As my lady commands!”

  Steffen was nursing a headache when the royal carriage rolled into Wied, carrying him and his quiet father. Steffen peered through the window, inspecting the village. The sun was gone—either it had already set or it was hiding behind the ominous storm clouds building to the west—but even without clear light, Steffen could see fire damage and newly replaced boards on several buildings, as well as new doors—bright and unused—hanging in ancient doorframes.

  “Something’s wrong,” Steffen said, straightening in his seat.

  “Timo didn’t signal anything,” King Henrik said, moving to look out the same window.

  The carriage glided to a stop, and Steffen placed a hand on the pommel of his sword. His father glanced at him and cracked the door open.

  Cat-like Moritz pulled the carriage door all the way open and bowed. “It is safe, Your Majesty, Kronprinz,” he said, his voice barely audible as he bowed.

  “What happened?” King Henrik asked, drawing his shoulders back as he surveyed the village.

  “Wied was ransacked last night,” Timo said, still mounted on his chestnut gelding. A tall but sweaty village boy stood next to him, clutching a handkerchief.

  “Report,” King Henrik barked, starch returning to his voice as he faced the potential catastrophe.

  Timo swung his horse to look to the youth, who bowed. “Bandits attacked Wied l-last night. They got away with some of our livestock, and most of our coin and precious belongings. We’ve got them back now, though, so we only have to deal with the damage from the fires they tried setting.” The youth motioned to a charred building behind him.

  “You got them back?” King Henrik asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the youth nodded. He opened his mouth to further explain when a faint rumble of thunder rolled through the village.

  King Henrik held a hand up to pause the boy and studied the sky. “It seems that the weather will not hold for us. Steffen, if you would seek out housing for us—Wied has an inn, hasn’t it?” the king asked, returning his attention to the youth.

  “The Green Ivy Inn, run by Lena and Jakob,” the youth said. “It’s got a sign draped with ivy.”

  “Find the Green Ivy Inn and secure rooms for us,” King Henrik said.

  “Father—” Steffen started.

  “I’ll explain it later, but for now we need to prepare in case these bandits decide to return. Can I count on you, son?” King Henrik asked, his voice quiet but intense.

  Steffen nodded, his headache driving into his forehead like an iron nail, before he started his search. Somewhere behind him, he heard a new voice address his father—a smooth, confident voice. “Good evening, Your Majesty. It seems the story of my mistress and the bandits has become convoluted. Perhaps I could enlighten you in this matter?”

  Steffen ignored the voice and kept walking. Dominik, Moritz, and Alwin fell in step behind him as villagers peered out of their houses and gawked at the royal carriage. A few of them dared to venture closer, and men and women whispered as Steffen strode past.

  A clutch of three teenage girls giggled when they caught sight of him. They struggled to smooth their skirts and smiled shyly when he glanced in their direction. In spite of his headache, Steffen gave them his portrait-perfect smile, eliciting louder giggles out of them. He almost slumped with relief when he spotted ivy curtaining a sign creaked as it swung—tossed in the air by fierce gusts of wind. The sign hung from a pleasant, two-story house. The awed whispers and delighted giggles kept the iron in Steffen’s spine, and he entered the establishment with a perfect but falsified smile.

  Inside, the inn was clean and tidy—but empty. A fire crackled, and the wooden tables and benches gleamed from polishing. A tall, lanky woman stood behind the bar, her head tilting with interest as she studied Steffen and his guards.

  “Good evening…Lena, is it?” Steffen asked, his lips beginning to ache from holding the smile.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the woman said, her eyes lingering on Steffen’s circlet—or as Nick called it, tiara—before she curtsied.

  “I am in need of all your available rooms for the evening. I am seeking to house my father—his majesty King Henrik—and as many of my men as possible,” Steffen said.

  “I have five rooms available at the moment, Your Highness. Only one is occupied.”

  “Just one?” Steffen thought, tilting his head. “Could we possibly reimburse your customer and ask someone else in the village to house him for the evening?” Arcainian royalty wasn’t like other royal families. Steffen wouldn’t blink twice if he had to share a room with his father. Since Elise had taken over the Treasury Department the previous summer, she had trimmed out most of the royal family’s luxuries and even had them on a budget for clothing and food expenses in an effort to save money and pay off the country’s debts. However, having one stranger in the heart of their party did not sit well with Steffen—especially so soon after a bandit attack.

  “Oh, no. I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but she is our special, honored guest. She will remain here at the Green Ivy,” the woman said. Although her voice was pleasant, based on its firmness, Steffen thought it would be easier to move a mountain than to get this woman to kick out her customer.

  Steffen popped his circlet off his skull—relieving some of his headache. He barely noticed when Alwin—still wearing his helm even though they were indoors—reached out to take the circlet from his lax grip. “Mistress Lena,” he said. “I do not begrudge you your customer. It is for safety purposes—”

  “You need not fear anything from her,” Lena said with a smile that mirrored her pleasant but unmovable voice. “In fact, should anything happen this eve, I feel you will be much better off for having her around.”

  “I understand, however—”

  “Have you or your men eaten?” the woman said, interrupting Steffen with the ease of a mother. “I’ll have the kitchen fire stoked and begin preparing a meal for you all. If you go get your belongings, my husband, Jakob, will have your rooms ready for you by the time you return.”

  “Mistress Lena—” Steffen tried again.

  “How many did you say travel in your party?”

  “I didn’t say, but we—”

  “No matter. I’m sure you are all starving. I won’t take long. If you are thirsty, ask Jakob for a drink when you return with your belongings,” the woman said. Steffen blinked, and she was gone, disappearing through the doorway that led to the kitchens.

  Steffen stared, still trying to process what had just happened.

  Alwin stood motionless and emotionless next to Steffen, reacting not at all to the scene that had just played out in front of him. Moritz had the grace to look down, but Dominik spoke, his voice hushed with awe. “Incredible,” he said.

  Steffen briefly scowled before he smoothed his face. He was the crown prince. It was his duty to be pleasant, charming, and in control. “We might as well do as she says.”

  “As you wish, Kronprinz,” Alwin said, his voice just as dispassionate as his face. He turned on his heels and retreated outside, Moritz and Dominik following him.

  Steffen moved to follow him, but he heard a door on the second floor open and close. His frustration mounting, Steffen paused with curiosity, waiting for a glimpse of the customer that the innkeeper so stubbornly refused to relocate.

  “Puss?” a pleasant, almost musical, feminine voice called out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told them about the boots. Lena said she would keep Annika away from you now, so
you can eat. Please come out now. Puss?”

  A young lady of about eighteen or nineteen glided down the stairs, her amber-brown eyes scanning the room.

  She was beautiful. Gerhart—Steffen’s youngest brother who was prone to dramatic fits—would probably call her artlessly and enchantingly beautiful, with her blonde hair, thick eyelashes, and perfect face. But Steffen only saw a slip of a girl who was disrupting his plans.

  A girl? The innkeeper refuses to relocate a girl for me, the eldest prince of Arcainia?

  The girl glanced at Steffen and shivered in distaste before she aimed to walk around him, ignoring him.

  The headache pounded behind Steffen’s eyes, and her expression of dislike rubbed him like sandpaper. “I beg your pardon, my lady,” Steffen said, his voice creased with sarcasm as the girl weaved around him. “Did you need something?”

  Chapter 5

  Bandits, Again

  The only person in the taproom was an astonishingly handsome blond, blue-eyed man, probably in his early twenties. Beauty—such a useless thing. He might be my male counterpart, Gabrielle thought, but he looks like a stallion who knows he’s first rate. She stepped around the handsome stranger. He was definitely not a villager, based on his clothes—a leather jerkin fitted over black trousers, brown boots, and a black cotton shirt. As handsome as he was, just looking at him made her want to roll her eyes.

  Puss was probably outside—complaining about Gabrielle to a poor villager. She needed to find him before he started telling people she was a duchess or something equally as stupid.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady,” the handsome stranger said. His voice was as smooth as water. “Did you need something?”

  “I beg your pardon. I wasn’t speaking to you,” Gabrielle said stiffly.

  The man’s smile tilted to one side—as if it wanted to turn it into a smirk. “You are staying here at the Green Ivy Inn?”

  “Yes,” Gabrielle said, leaning back.

  “Could I possibly tempt you with coin to sleep away from the Green Ivy Inn?”

  Gabrielle didn’t hesitate. She slapped the man across his face.

  “What was that for?” he asked, scrunching his eyes shut as he flexed his jaw. “You needn’t refuse in such a violent manner!”

  Gabrielle tapped her fingers on her side and studied the stranger. He wasn’t leering, nor did he seem…interested in her. Did he know what he was asking? “You need to think really hard about what you just said, and try to imagine what that might imply,” she said.

  “W-what?” Recognition dawned, and the man’s face turned the color of ash. “I beg your pardon!” he sputtered.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Gabrielle said before she went out the door and looked up and down the streets. The sun was gone, and the sky was black with rainclouds, but lit lanterns hung from poles stationed up and down the dusty road. They moved in the wind, illuminating her path. “Puss!” she called as a few raindrops spattered her face.

  “You are searching for…?” the rude stranger asked, joining her outside.

  “My traveling companion,” Gabrielle said, keeping her words short and terse.

  “What does he—or she—look like?”

  “Black and white.”

  “I see. You are traveling with a cow, I take it?”

  Is this what people think of me back in Ilz? No, I can’t be this bad. I don’t go searching for trouble, or Gregor or Rupert would have wrung my scrawny neck when I was a child. “I see now that you must be quite unintelligent. I apologize for my harsh treatment of you earlier. Obviously you are a simpleton.”

  “What?” the man said, his voice incredulous.

  I do hope he’s not a lord. But his clothes don’t look that expensive. Most likely he is a soldier. “I just called out for ‘Puss,’ sir. Add to the fact that he is black and white, and what can you assume about my traveling companion?”

  “That he has the patience of a saint for traveling with you?” the man asked, rubbing his cheek—which was still a little red from the slap Gabrielle had delivered.

  “That he is a cat. Now, if you will excuse me.” Gabrielle chose a direction and walked in it. “Puss! I’m sorry, I’ll give away the boots. Puss!” she called, wiping a raindrop off her face.

  “You accuse me of being a simpleton, and yet your traveling companion is a cat?” the young man asked as he trailed after Gabrielle.

  “Listen…”

  “Steffen,” the man supplied, his smile turning slick as thunder boomed.

  “Of course,” Gabrielle said, rolling her eyes. The name Steffen was terrifically popular. It was, after all, the crown prince’s name. “I don’t know why you’re following me, but there is no point to it. If you attempt to make another outrageous offer—”

  “You willfully misunderstood what I was trying to say,” Steffen interjected.

  “I will resort to more painful methods of venting my frustration. I have nothing more to say to you, and I assure you that you can have nothing of worth to say to me. Good evening,” Gabrielle said. She started walking, following the road to the outskirts of Wied. “Puss!”

  “You, my lady, have the temper of a snake,” Steffen said.

  Gabrielle peered up a narrow lane between two houses. “I do. I’m terrible company, so leave me be. Puss? Come on! I will not stand in the rain for your pride!”

  “Perhaps that is why your cat has run off,” Steffen said as the rain started to fall in a steady patter.

  “And if that is so, what does it say about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why, if even my cat wishes to abandon me, but you follow me like a newborn duckling, that must mean you are desperate for human interaction of any sort.” Gabrielle propped her hands on her hips when they reached the edge of the village. “Puss! I won’t let Lena give you anything to eat tonight if you don’t stop sulking.”

  Gabrielle glanced at her reluctant companion, surprised by his silence. He was staring out at the countryside, a look of concentration upon his face.

  “What is it?” Gabrielle asked, pushing her damp hair over her shoulder.

  “There,” Steffen said, pointing to a pinprick of light—a sputtering torch.

  Gabrielle squinted in the darkness, but the bouncing dot of light was far away. “The villagers already returned from the hideout. Who else could it be?” she wondered. She mulled it over in her mind for a moment before uttering a stream of curses.

  “My lady,” Steffen said, this time sounding more amused than outraged.

  Gabrielle winced when lightning flashed and a crack of thunder followed it. “It must be the rest of the bandits. Idiots! Why would they come back here—we have half of their company under lock and key.”

  “Perhaps that is why,” Steffen said, his perpetual smile turning grim. “You said some of the bandits were caught?”

  “Earlier this afternoon. Puss and I took them out and tied up nine of them, but it was the villagers who went back and retrieved them. It seemed that the other groups hadn’t returned. We figured when they couldn’t find any of their comrades, they would turn on their tails and flee.”

  “Ahh, so you were the means by which the villagers retrieved their possessions. How surprising.”

  “My already poor opinion of you continues to drop,” Gabrielle snarled. She looked back into the village and chewed the tips of her hair. “Puss!” she called, struggling to shout over the rain and thunder.

  “Lovely like dawn and mean enough to scald you. You gotta be ’er,” a deep, baritone voice chuckled. As if manipulated by strings, Gabrielle turned in the direction of the voice, gulping when a muscled man stepped out of the shadows. “I don’t see no cursed cat, but maybe Malte is cracked from that wallop on the head you gave ’im and mistook yer friend for a feline,” the man said.

  “Cursed?” Steffen asked in a low voice.

  “Puss is a magic cat,” Gabrielle said.

  “I see,” Steffen said in a voice that communicated h
e didn’t trust her words a bit as he pulled his sword from his scabbard. Gabrielle was relieved to see he held it as if it was a weapon he was comfortable with. Definitely a soldier.

  “Ah-ah,” Muscles said, brandishing a thick finger at them. “Don’t even think about fighting back,” he said. A flash of lightning lit up five other bandits who stepped forward to surround them in a circle.

  “I’ll make an opening. Follow me,” Gabrielle whispered as raindrops hit her face with enough force to sting.

  “What?” Steffen frowned. “Don’t, I can—”

  Gabrielle didn’t give him time to argue. Instead she lunged for the nearest bandit, kneeing him in the crotch. The bandit gasped and garbled like a rabid raccoon but fell to the ground. She darted past him before any of the bandits could move.

  Steffen lunged after her, holding his sword steady as they sprinted the perimeter of Wied.

  “After them!” the bandit leader bellowed.

  “Are you crazy?” Steffen’s shout was muffled by a boom of thunder.

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Gabrielle asked.

  “We have to get into the village—we’re sitting swans out here,” Steffen said, disgust crusting his voice as he moved to jump over a wooden fence that held goats.

  “No!” Gabrielle shouted, grabbing the soldier by his wrist and yanking him forward.

  “What is wrong with you?” Steffen demanded.

  “If we take the fight into the village, they’ll destroy it. They’ll burn it down, again,” Gabrielle said, looking over her shoulder. The outskirts of the village weren’t illuminated. She could see the bandits’ silhouettes drawing closer, could hear the steady thuds of their feet.

  “I have a squad of soldiers in the city. We’ll be fine,” Steffen grunted before he popped a dagger off his belt. He turned around and threw it, and one of the silhouettes dropped with a gurgle.

  “Tell that to the cooper. They burned down his store,” Gabrielle said, breathing in quick pants.

  Steffen cursed and dodged a weapon thrown at him.

  “We’re fighting blind,” Steffen said.

  “Don’t you have a whistle or something you can summon your men with?” Gabrielle asked.