The Rat Prince by Bridget Hodder

looked old and drawn. His chin, veiled by a white wisp of beard, was sunken into the purple velvet of his royal robe, and while I watched, he took off his ermine-trimmed crown and set it upon his lap. I sniffed hard in his direction and caught a scent of inutterable weariness, with a strong note of despair. The same despair came through in his voice. “Lord Brimfield, Geoffrey must do this,” he said. “The fate of my kingdom depends on it. May heaven and the spirit of my dear departed wife, Monette, send us salvation tonight. May there be a decent, intelligent lady here whom my son will wed.”
    Lord Brimfield said, “The prince laughed at me this morning and told me he will marry only if we bring him the fairest woman ever born.”
    â€œThat is not the nobility of spirit with which my queen and I tried to raise our son,” the king said. “Yet if what he told you is indeed so, there is hope, Brimfield!”
    â€œI beg your pardon—what does Your Majesty mean?”
    â€œIf memory serves—if my old age is not playing tricks upon me,” King Tumtry wheezed, “we may very well bring Geoffrey what he requires. Did you send an invitation to Lancastyr Manor? Lord Lancastyr has a daughter…”
    â€œWe did, Your Majesty.” Lord Hamp inclined his head and fingered a jeweled orb that hung from his neck on a long gold chain. “As you commanded, we invited all Glassevale families with eligible daughters to this event. Even the Lancastyrs, though poor Lord Lancastyr has become weak in his mind and has married a woman of doubtful moral character.”
    â€œWhat a pity,” said Lord Brimfield, “to see the Lancastyr line, so important in the history of our great country and so loyal to the throne, deteriorate into madness and possibly even ruin.”
    I felt anger at this characterization of our special humans.
    The fact that it was true only made it worse.
    â€œBut, you fools,” thundered King Tumtry, “have you never seen the Lancastyr daughter?”
    You may be sure I was all attention at this juncture.
    Lord Hamp seemed taken aback. “Sire, she is a most ill-favored, frownsome wench. Not at all to the purpose. She has never been to the palace, of course, but her mother thrusts her forward at every social gathering to which she may gain entrance, so I have seen her quite recently—though Barnaby de Lancastyr does not accompany her. What is the name … Eulalia? Anastasia?”
    â€œEustacia,” supplied Lord Brimfield, with a faint sneer.
    â€œEustacia, Eustacia! Don’t you ‘Eustacia’ me like a couple of old roosting hens!” the king shouted. “That’s the stepdaughter, no doubt! I’m talking about the daughter of the late Lady Jane, the first wife of Lord Lancastyr—she who was Jane de Fribourg before marrying.”
    â€œOh, Lady Jane the Lovely! Of course,” Lord Hamp said.
    Then Lord Brimfield exclaimed, “What a lackwit I am! I have indeed heard of the Lancastyr girl. Her name is Rose, and since a special dispensation was granted to the Lancastyrs centuries ago to bestow a courtesy title to their heir, she is known as Lady Rose. She made her debut at fifteen and caused quite a stir, but no one has seen her since her father remarried.”
    There was silence for a moment. Then Lord Brimfield spoke again. “Now that I think upon it, I realize there was some talk about the girl’s nature being so delicate, she became disordered after the death of Lady Jane—which is why she no longer goes about in society.”
    â€œHa!” The king dismissed this idea with a curt sideways swipe of his hand. “What nonsense. It’s clear that Rose de Lancastyr has fallen under the thumb of a stepmother who is jealous of her. Lancastyr Manor is evidently not a happy home. Perhaps Lady Rose would be glad to escape it … and that is an ideal situation for our purposes,