The Rat Prince (14 page)

An image of Quintilius Porter's head, rolling on the floor, flashed into my mind.

“Let us humor my son tonight,” King Tumtry said with great weariness. “We'll allow him to think he can become engaged to Lady Rose. Then tomorrow, when your cousin is gone—perhaps even on her way to the Northern Realm with you, Prince Charming—I shall inform him I do not approve of the match.”

I considered this notion. It had the elegance of simplicity, and the advantage of not exposing Rose and the party guests to a potentially lethal temper tantrum from Prince Geoffrey. Though unfortunately, I had no far realm to which I could whisk Rose away. So it was more crucial than ever that we find her father's old friends tonight, if possible, so they could pick up where I would have to leave off.

“I agree,” I said. “In the meantime, my guard will protect Lady Rose.”

“Very well,” said the king. “And of course, if any trouble should emerge, my own guard is here to intervene.”

I bowed to King Tumtry. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Lord Brimfield said, with feeling, “Prince Charming, we owe you thanks for understanding our situation. It is most compassionate and humane of you.”

I wondered if he would be so full of admiration for my humanity (ha!) had he known what I was planning. I gave a glance to the clock on the musicians' gallery and noted with unease that it was almost the hour of nine. We had but three more hours to set everything right.

“You are indeed admirable, Prince Charming,” Lord Hamp added.

Before they could heap any more unearned compliments upon me, a girl I had never seen before interrupted us. I felt relief, until I realized what she was after.

“Beg pardon, Your Majesty, Your Highness, my lords.” This girl wore a ruffled candy floss–pink gown with a plunging neckline. She curtsied prettily (though nowhere near as well as Lady Rose could). “My friends and I were wondering if Prince Charming might wish to take the floor with any of us.”

I recoiled when I saw a group of giggling young ladies a few feet behind her. “Thank you, but I had really rather not.” I hoped my distaste wasn't obvious.

Lord Brimfield said in a low voice, “You will not wish to insult the local families, Your Highness. I advise you to go.”

“I regret,” I said in a last-ditch effort, “that I have never learned your local dances!”

“I shall be pleased to teach you,” said the pink-gowned creature.

“Go, Prince Charming,” King Tumtry said with a glint of a genuine smile. “You are young. Enjoy the ball.”

Oh, so be it.

I put one hand at the girl's waist and led her into the dance. Aha, it was easy! The only requirements were to move to the music and imitate what the other dancers were doing.
One, two, three … one, two, three …
Then I realized I could steer my partner in the direction of my beloved Rose. We wove in and out of the other couples as I kept her in sight. I noted that Swiss was lurking within a few paces of her at all times.

Then suddenly, there was the dreaded Wilhemina. She and her companions, all dripping with showy jewelry and with their hair piled high on their heads, were grouped around a dessert table, mouths moving rapidly. I guessed they were chewing up my love's reputation as fast as they were gobbling up sweets. I sorely missed my rat-hearing.

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.”