The Rat Prince

  Char nimbly swerved, avoiding the blow. Then he paused and gave a pleased smile, as if surprised at his own maneuver. Of course he would be surprised. He had only had a human body for a matter of hours. Do not let yourself be distracted! Have a care!

  Geoffrey rushed at him again, and Char leapt atop the low platform that held the throne, still wearing the same expression of delight. Geoffrey said in an infuriated voice, “I will slice that smirk off your lips!”

  They were getting dangerously close to my stepsister and my father. “We must move them to safety,” I urged Swiss, nodding in their direction. We dashed over and drew Jessamyn and my father nearer to the second set of guards who stood behind the king’s seat. There, I took Jessamyn into my arms.

  “Oh dear one!” I cried.

  “Sister!” she murmured brokenly, burying her face in my bosom. “Where have you been? Take pity on my mother, Rose, though she’s been most wicked. Save her life!”

  “You and Prince Charming have already saved it, my darling.” I kissed her head.

  Geoffrey was still threatening Char, as they now circled each other. “I will cut your pretty face to ribbons, sir,” he said, with an ugly curl to his mouth.

  Char seemed hardly to notice. “Thank you for the compliment about my face. I can’t take any credit for it. By the way, I can see why you enjoy using your sword so much, Your Highness,” he said, cutting a careless Z shape into the air. “Really, most diverting—hey!”

  Geoffrey had taken a swipe at him, which he narrowly avoided by arching his back and jumping onto his toes.

  It was a move as graceful as any I had seen performed in a ballet. Good heavens, were Prince Geoffrey not in such deadly earnest, Char would have been a joy to watch.

  Swiss’s fascinated whisper met my ear: “Look at that. And to think I worried about him. I should have known better.”

  “Stop dancing about and fight!” Geoffrey taunted.

  Char laughed outright at this sally. “I thought you loved to dance. But if you insist…”

  Whip-whip-whip-whip-whip!

  He engaged the very tip of Geoffrey’s sword with his own, back and forth, so quickly that Geoffrey stumbled and almost fell.

  Char stood by politely and gave him time to recover. His fine black hair tumbled over his forehead, and he tossed it back. Yes, he was enjoying this, much in the manner of an athletic contest.

  “Kill him now and be done with it!” Swiss yelled, making me hop several inches in startlement and let go of Jessamyn.

  Char did not take his brilliant gaze from his opponent, though he, too, must have been startled to hear Swiss. “There is a brotherhood among royalty,” he declared. “Prince Geoffrey shall have his chance. Your Highness,” he called, “let us cease these hostilities. Grant Lady Wilhemina her life, and I will stand down. Lady Rose shall determine a proper punishment for her stepmother.”

  Geoffrey recovered and raised his weapon. “Nay. The stepmother will die because it pleases me, and so will you.” He leapt forward with a practiced, masterful thrust, which Char parried.

  “I will die someday, but not at your pleasure and not at your hands,” Char replied, flicking his sword swiftly at Geoffrey and neatly cutting the clasp from his velvet cape. The expression Geoffrey wore as his cape fell from his shoulders was a stupefied blank.

  The gathered onlookers gave an Oooh of admiration. I surveyed their faces. They didn’t seem frightened anymore; they were excited.

  Maddened by this evidence that his own noble peers were on Char’s side, not his, Geoffrey roared and came at my beloved again. Char held him off. To and fro, to and fro they went.

  “Lady Rose,” Swiss breathed, fear in his voice. “The time. Look at the time!” He pointed to a clock face embedded in the wooden paneling of the orchestra gallery.

  No. No!

  “My love!” I cried, agony in my voice that only Char and Swiss could understand. “It is one quarter to the hour of midnight!”

  Char’s face lost its insouciance. His black brows snapped together and the clean line of his jaw grew hard. The next move he took was swifter than we onlookers could track. One moment Geoffrey was thrusting at Char again with a flourish deft in its delivery; the next, Geoffrey’s sword went spinning off in the air to land with a clank and a sort of whistle as it slid across the marble floor.

  Geoffrey lay on his back before the king’s throne, and Char stood with one foot on his chest, the tip of his blade at Geoffrey’s throat.

  He would kill the vanquished Prince Geoffrey now, I had no doubt. The Rat Prince would save the kingdom of Angland in his own way. He had won the right to do so. I stood ready to cover Jessamyn’s face with my hands, to shield her from the sight.

  But Char’s dark gaze found mine and held.

  “Yield or die,” he said to Geoffrey.

  A deafening cheer rose from the crowd.

  PRINCE CHAR

  Geoffrey yielded.

  I stepped away from him and sheathed my sword.

  Finally, King Tumtry decided to intervene. He struggled to his feet. “Guards, take my son and bind his hands,” he commanded.

  Though his voice was not strong, it carried, and his subjects politely went wild as three strapping fellows overwhelmed the shouting Geoffrey and carried him off to stand beside Wilhemina. Not surprisingly, she shied away from him, but she wisely kept her mouth clamped shut.

  If the guards had been so well able to handle the belligerent prince this whole time, why had King Tumtry not given his order before? He could have saved me the trouble and his son the humiliation of being defeated at the point of my steel.

  Not that it had been much trouble. What an opportunity to flex this human physique to its fascinating, invigorating limits! I wouldn’t mind doing it again … but of course I never would.

  As Geoffrey began to hurl insults and accusations at his father, at me, and at everyone else in the vicinity, the king ordered, with sadness behind his stern tone, “Bind his mouth, too.”

  “Char!” Now Lady Rose, the delight of my eyes and the deepest wish of my soul, came running to me. I caught her in my arms, whirled her in the air—the final time I will have these arms with which to hold her—and at last, I covered her lips with mine.

  So. This was what a kiss really meant.

  Tumult arose in the ballroom. People were shouting our names—“Prince Charming! Rose de Lancastyr!”

  She responded to my kiss with enthusiasm, then pulled away to look into my eyes. “Char, my love. This cannot be the end. How can fate be so cruel as to give us only a handful of hours together?”

  “It was Ashiira who gave us those hours, and I would not trade them for the entire rest of my existence. How the goddess must love the house of Lancastyr, to bless both humans and rats with her magic. We’ve forged an understanding between our families that will last for another five hundred years.”

  I was trying hard to lift her spirits.

  She was having none of it. Nor was I, for that matter.

  But I had no room for regret. I was too busy reveling in her heady, clear scent. The sweetness of her spirit. The poetry of her face, her hair, the slope of her delicate shoulders, the flawless sweep of her neck, the tiny nip of her waist—I scanned her again and again, trying to burn upon my memory how Char the man felt about Rose the woman, before she was lost to me.

  Despair was in her next words. “How can I live without you?”

  I started to soothe her. “Cherished one, don’t forget Lancastyr Manor is my ancestral home. I shall always be there, as I was before, watching over you and caring for you…”

  No.

  I realized as I said it that I could no longer live as a rat in Lancastyr Manor and subject us both to the resulting daily agony of longing and hopelessness. I would have to leave my home and my princedom. When I disappeared, the rats of the Northern Rat Realm would hold a trial to find a new prince, and assuredly, this time Swiss would win. He would be a fine ruler. Meanwhile, I would find my path i
n another realm, perhaps even another city. Or take up residence in a stone wall in a pasture far, far away.

  “You will leave,” she said flatly, seeing the decision in my eyes. “No, Char … no. There must be something we can do!”

  Then Swiss was there, his familiar presence beckoning me back to what I once had been. “My prince,” he said, “ten minutes more!”

  “Go stand behind the throne, Swiss,” I told him. “When the moment comes you may slip quietly away. Find my mother and her ladies as well as Truffle and the mice who were turned into horses, and see them safely home. And please see to it that the mice who sewed my lady’s gown are rewarded for their part in tonight’s doings.”

  “Why are you giving me these orders?” he asked. “We will do it together when you come back with us at midnight!”

  I glanced at Rose. “I am not coming. I abdicate my throne, Swiss. Do your duty to the realm and rule until another prince is chosen, which will undoubtedly be you. That is my last command as your sovereign.”

  “What are you doing?” Swiss demanded. There was a quaver in his voice.

  “I believe you already know, don’t you, Swiss? You have been like a brother to me.”

  Swiss lay a hand on my shoulder. He was grimacing, in a losing battle to keep his human face a blank. “I do know. Goodbye, dear friend. And you need not stay away forever,” he said. “Surely someday the hurt will heal and you can come see me?”

  I didn’t trust myself to speak.

  Swiss said no more but squeezed my shoulder once before turning away and hastening to stand behind the throne as I bade him.

  Then King Tumtry raised his hands in the air. “My people,” he said. “Your attention, please.”

  The babble of the crowd died down.

  “As I believe most of you are well aware,” he continued, “my health is failing. Few days are left to me on this earth.”

  He waited for the ballgoers to settle down once more. I sympathized with him but was impatient, since my precious seconds as a human were racing by—seconds I would much rather have spent alone with Lady Rose. I contented myself instead with clinging to her hand and watching her expression as the king gave his speech.

  “My privy councillors and I have been much exercised in our minds as to who should inherit my throne when I am gone,” the king announced. “My son, Geoffrey, cannot rule, for he is not capable, as you have seen. My people, for this I apologize.”

  The guests murmured their understanding.

  “Tonight, you have met Prince Charming of the Northern Realm.” King Tumtry waved a hand at me.

  Huh? Why drag me into this?

  He went on. “A brilliant diplomat, a kind and wise ruler, a courageous champion of what is just and right. And a consummate swordsman!”

  I felt this characterization was a bit too generous. Hang on—was I feeling modesty?

  “He forgot to say handsome,” Rose said before kissing my cheek, and the humans, inexplicably, cheered. Her green eyes shone with tears. “I love you so.”

  “And I love you,” I breathed. “Forever. No matter which body it beats in, my heart shall always be yours.”

  Yet King Tumtry had not finished. “I have recently learned that in the Northern Realm where Prince Charming rules, the rulership is given not by birth, but by trial.” He gave me a meaningful look. Well, at least he’d been paying attention earlier. “Only the most intelligent, the bravest, and the most compassionate man or woman in the land may rise to the throne.”

  I wasn’t going to correct him in front of everyone, but compassion was not exactly one of the qualities rats look for in their potential prince or princess. A successful candidate for the rat throne must win all the fights and hand down the wisest judgments on legal disputes, and must also vanquish the others in a test of how much wine he or she can drink at one sitting and still keep a clear head. And then, there is the sausage-eating contest.

  King Tumtry went on, “As soon as my royal councillors and I heard this intriguing idea, we knew it was the answer to our prayers for securing the succession of Angland. Lord Hamp, Lord Brimfield, and I arranged a test of our own tonight to determine who would rule this land when I am gone. We asked Prince Charming to attempt to master a situation crucial to the kingdom.”

  Hmmm.

  “My loyal subjects, what you have just witnessed was the outcome of that test. Prince Charming prevailed with courage, wisdom, and calm. And he vanquished my son in a duel with great honor as well as skill, though Geoffrey’s prowess with a sword has never before been bested. Prince Charming, ruler of the Northern Realm and now the next king of Angland, come forward!”

  Me?

  The king bent a warm, hopeful gaze my way. “If you will agree, tonight I shall lay aside my burden of rulership, and I will crown you king here before my assembled nobles, so that all may witness our kingdom is safe in your valiant hands.”

  The ballroom exploded into deafening acclaim.

  “Huzzah, huzzah! Long live the future King Charming!”

  King Tumtry boomed out, “And from now on, the heir to the rulership shall always be required to pass a test devised by the royal councillors before ascending the throne!”

  I sent an incredulous glance toward Lord Hamp, then to Lord Brimfield, and finally to King Tumtry himself. There was confirmation in their grave smiles. I had not misheard.

  “Char?” Rose said in a tremulous voice. Then, stronger, louder, “Char!”

  I opened my mouth to speak—then it began.

  The chimes of the clock in the tower outside, reverberating through the walls of the palace.

  Striking twelve.

  Bong.

  I took both my lady’s hands. “Go to Jessamyn and your father,” I said. “Stand by them. I would not humiliate you when my transformation takes place. The people will mock you afterward for falling in love with a rat.”

  She held my hands tighter and straightened her spine. “I shall remain with you. The last sight you will see as a man is me, loving you. And I am proud to love the Rat Prince who won the throne of Angland as well as my heart.”

  She had the truest, bravest heart I’d ever known.

  “Lady Rose, my Cinderella,” I softly said, “if I had become a man forever, and this night were the beginning of many nights for the rest of our lives, would you have become my bride?”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation.

  Still the pitiless clock kept on striking.

  My love, my love, my Rose. I counted seven … eight … nine …

  CINDERELLA

  Seven … eight … nine …

  Every candle in the room went out at once. Before anyone could scream or run, a noise like a rushing waterfall cascaded over the ballroom. The air around us swirled with pale blue light. A crescendo of majestic, wild music blew past us, and suddenly …

  “Tumtry of the house of Wendyn, King of Angland, you have chosen well. You have saved your domain.”

  The words echoed from wall to wall before the blue light took shape and approximated the form of a woman over ten feet tall, her hair a floating blue flame, her robe flowing water. Ashiira! She hovered in front of King Tumtry, who tottered and collapsed back onto his silver throne. His advisers bravely stepped up, Lord Hamp clutching the king’s shoulder, the withered Lord Brimfield steadying himself against Lord Hamp.

  I looked at Char. My love was still a man! Hope warred with disbelief within my breast. A quick glance about showed me that Swiss, too, remained in human form.

  Had the clock struck twelve? I hadn’t heard it.

  Char put his arm around me and hugged me close. “Just see how Ashiira has put on an impressive form to frighten everyone,” he murmured. “The minx.”

  “Did you just call the Lancastyr goddess a minx?”

  He smiled. I noticed a dimple in one of his cheeks.

  Ashiira spoke. “Come stand before me, Geoffrey of the house of Wendyn, sometime Prince of Angland.” As she gave the summons, Geoffr
ey was propelled toward her. The bonds fell magically from his wrists and mouth before he came to a terrified stop.

  How amazing that he could stand upright in her presence! Whatever else he was, Geoffrey was not a coward. I quickly looked to his father. The pain I saw there was too great; I had to shift my gaze away.

  “Geoffrey, though your father believes you mad, it is not so. You have been given many chances to choose well, and you have chosen badly,” Ashiira said, still in that powerful echoing voice so unlike the dulcet trill she used at Lancastyr Manor. “Your life ought to be forfeit for the good of the realm. However, out of consideration for your royal parent, I will not carry out that sentence. Another choice lies before you. Spend your days doing good works to atone for the misdeeds you have committed and the noble deeds you have never done—or be punished as I see fit.”

  “I am prince of this land,” he shrieked, “whether my traitorous father acknowledges me or not. You cannot make and unmake a king, whoever you are!”

  Ashiira’s glowing lips formed a quarter-moon of a smile. “I am a divinity. I make and unmake kings.” She pointed a burning blue finger at the clock above the musician’s gallery. “I have taken us out of the normal passage of time to craft this moment from infinity. Now we shall return to the ebb and flow of your world, where the clock has tolled nine of the twelve strokes until midnight. Geoffrey de Wendyn, you have up to the last stroke to make your decision.”

  A shock rocked everyone slightly backward, as if the earth quaked. I saw it ripple through the gathering. Then in a panic, I heard the clock tower resume:

  Bong.

  Bong.

  “Goodbye, my love,” Char whispered. He dropped a kiss on my forehead. We clung to each other.

  Bong … twelve.

  Thousands of candles sprang back to life at once, and the room was flooded with light. Screams ripped the air. Shocked yells came from the crowd: “A rat! Did you see—he turned into a rat!”

  “Char!” I gasped.