The Rat Prince by Bridget Hodder Page B

head.
    *   *   *
    For an instant, the world seemed suspended. I could not think or even breathe.
    â€œYour Highness!” Swiss’s cry sounded like a gurgle.
    I did not reply. My attention was still riveted upon the disembodied head of Quintilius Porter, as were the gazes of all the humans in the ballroom below. The people stood frozen.
    â€œPrince Geoffrey is evil—or mad!” Swiss cried, more coherently now, but quite unnecessarily.
    I glanced across the chandelier at him. When I looked at his twirling whiskers and swiftly rotating ears, all I could see instead was Rose’s kind, innocent face. Slowly, as if in the midst of a fever dream from which I could not awaken, I said: “What have I done? By the great Prince Feast, what have I done?”
    Everything made sense now. Why else would a handsome crown prince like Geoffrey require such unusual measures to obtain a bride? I had assumed the issue to be that Geoffrey was difficult to please. How wrong I’d been. Doubtless, good King Tumtry had not matched his son with a foreign princess or a highborn lady of his own kingdom because such a girl could not be expected to remain married to Geoffrey once she learned he was dangerous. No, the king needed a bride for his son who was attractive yet utterly powerless, without a strong family behind her to provide refuge and support. Someone who would stay with Geoffrey because she had nowhere else to go.
    Someone like Rose.
    This was the “purpose” of which the king and his councillors had spoken.
    What a lackwit I had been.
    Swiss’s hold on his perch looked unstable. “You were right, my prince! We have much to worry us in the human succession. If this vicious fellow inherits the throne, no one in Angland will be safe.”
    Least of all, the lady unlucky enough to become Geoffrey’s wife.
    â€œLady Rose!” I turned tail and jumped from tier to tier of the chandelier, uncaring that I might be seen, heedless of my own safety or that of Swiss. For our dear Rose would soon be leaving Lancastyr Manor to come meet Geoffrey.
    She must be stopped.
    â€œLook!” someone shouted below us. “The spirit of the dead man rises to the ceiling! The crystals of the chandelier shake!”
    This seemed to jerk the humans from their frozen positions, and pandemonium ensued.
    Lord Hamp’s bass voice sounded above the panic: “Bar the doors! No one departs this room until there is calm and silence! And word of this man’s death must go no further!”
    Swiss and I ran back to where my rat-warriors were standing guard with our guide. They had pulled off their jerked-meat collars and were sharing them around, chewing with a dull air.
    â€œMy warriors!” I yelled. “Make haste!”
    They blinked at me in astonishment and dropped the jerky. They had never seen me lose my composure thus, not even for an instant.
    Uncaring, I shouted even louder. “Return to Lancastyr Manor! Lady Rose’s life is in danger. Away, away!”
    Fur spiked, whiskers flattened, they slipped through the rafters as fast as poached eggs sliding across a polished counter.
    Our gray southern guide trickled off in the opposite direction, no doubt to spread the word that Geoffrey was not the only prince who had run mad.
    After we galloped for a few minutes, Swiss demanded between panting breaths, “But, Your Highness … is it not more important than ever … that Lady Rose marry the prince, to protect the kingdom from him? It is the very scenario you feared might come to pass—a bad king despoiling the land of the Food.”
    â€œWhen I made that suggestion, I was referring to a rat-enemy, not a lunatic,” I snarled at my friend. “This Geoffrey fellow would kill our Rose within the first month! She must not go to the ball tonight!”

 
    C INDERELLA
    The evening had come at last.
    Exhausted from my long list of chores, I had just