Her eyes, which are usually so bright, are dull from a restless night. She didn’t even bother to pull her hair up this morning, and now it cascades down her back in soft, unruly waves. I want to slide my hands in it, stroke her pale cheeks. Pull her close and—
I cross my arms to keep my hands where they belong.
Since she probably won’t tell me what’s wrong if I demand it first thing, I decide to be casual about it. Leaning a shoulder on the door frame, I raise an eyebrow in a way that usually makes her smile. “And what brings you by so early?”
Not quite meeting my eyes, Etta hikes a shoulder, listless. “I had a free morning.”
Etta never has a free morning. She’s too busy taking care of her brothers—all while they’re busy worrying about what to do with her.
I frown, lost in my own thoughts. Why hasn’t one of these Glenridge boys asked to court her? She’s old enough, especially here in this little village. It’s only a matter of time, of that I’m sure. It’s easy to imagine her here, playing wife to some poor farm boy.
The thought makes me uncomfortable, which is ridiculous as I barely know her.
I barely know her.
Turning so she won’t see me scowl, I walk to the kitchen. Mother calls this thing attempting to plague me ‘calf love;’ Father called it ‘infatuation.’ I’ve seen it before, in friends and cousins. Perfectly level-headed men—smart, logical members of nobility—claiming love at first sight one day only to be broken the next. It’s a disease of the heart that lasts but a season, and I’m almost certain it’s all Etta is suffering from right now. She doesn’t really love this man. From the conversations we’ve had, I don’t think she even knows him.
To busy myself, I mix milk with chocolate and set it to heat. As I work, I glance at Etta. She sits at the table, her odd tawny cat in her lap, and she stares at her hands. Her eyes glisten, and she blinks quickly as if chasing tears away.
My chest tightens in the most uncomfortable way, but I clench my jaw, choosing to ignore the sensation.
I set a cup of chocolate in front of her, and, in the most nonchalant, carefree way possible, I say, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t see what trapping a rabbit has to do with us moving up in the world,” I whisper to Puss as I wait for the fat hare to make his way to my bag.
Puss woke me this morning, explaining that today was the day we put his plan in motion. Then he led me here to trap rabbits.
Again.
“Stop talking,” the cat hisses.
I roll my eyes and wait, rope in hand. We’ve bagged three this morning already, but Puss has rejected them all. He’s waiting for the perfect one—this one, apparently—to succumb to our trap. He’s large for a reason. The rabbit is far more cautious than the others, and though he’s obviously tempted by the tender greens from my garden, he keeps pausing.
His nose works, and his eyes dart this way and that. I’m surprised he hasn’t fled already.
As I lie in the grass, hidden by several mounds of daisies, an itch tickles the skin at my hairline. I wrinkle my forehead, knowing I can’t move or I’ll scare the rabbit away.
And if I do that, Puss will be in a horrible temper. There’s nothing more trying than a miffed feline.
Just when I think I can bear it no longer, the rabbit hops into my bag. With a yank, I jump to my feet and pull the bag closed. Puss, as always, finishes the creature. I simply don’t have the stomach for it.
“There.” A satisfied glint lights the cat’s peridot-green eyes. “Now we go to the king.”
Glancing at the bag, I frown. “What would he want with a rabbit? Surely he dines on venison and quail every night.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Puss argues. He’s already sauntering toward the road that leads to Rynvale.
“What about the other three?” I ask.
Puss stops, and then, looking particularly put out, he changes direction and heads toward Glenridge. “Fine. We’ll take them to the butcher first.” He eyes me. “You need extra gold for a hat, anyway.”
“A hat?”
“Something to obscure your hair and eyes.”
Without further explanation, he trots toward the nearby village. I toss a hand up in the air, mildly exasperated, and follow him.
After the butcher pays me for the rabbits, I turn toward the tailor’s shop, hoping he may have a suitable hat.
With no one nearby, Puss says, “Not here.”
I want to ask him where he expects me to go if not the tailor’s, but I don’t dare while we’re here on the street where someone may see me. Instead, I follow him out of Glenridge.
In the quiet of the late morning, with the sun growing warm on my shoulders and the smell of late-season wildflowers in the air, my mind wanders to Kerrick. It’s not the first time today, not even close, but it’s the first time I haven’t had something to distract me.
Puss runs ahead, a cat on a mission, and I trail behind, not as eager to reach Rynvale.
“You’ll buy a cavalier hat,” the cat instructs when we near the large village.
With Puss’s instructions in my head, I browse the milliner’s shop. The cavalier hats are grander than I’m comfortable with. They have large brims with one side tilted high, and each boast a long plumed feather. Even the cheapest will strip me of most of my savings. I bite my lip, thinking.
The milliner comes forward, cheerful, and rests a hip against the display. “Are you sure you wouldn’t care for the women’s hats, mademoiselle?”
I glance at him, my lips pursed to the side in concentration. “No.”
He raises a questioning eyebrow, the hint of a good humor in his expression. “The last woman I sold one of these to was a notorious outlaw.”
“You say that like you don’t think I could possibly be one.”
The man shrugs, smiling.
“I’ll take this one,” I finally say, picking up the least expensive of my options.
“Let’s make sure it feels right, shall we?” The milliner carefully sets the hat on my head, and then he smiles. “It rather suits you.”
I feel ridiculous, but I keep the thought to myself and pay him.
When I leave the shop, Puss isn’t where I left him. I wait for several minutes and then curse under my breath when he fails to reappear. The rabbit won’t wait forever. It’s already a hot day. I suppose I’ll have to do this on my own.
The path to the castle is disconcertingly familiar. The last time we were here, I ran into Kerrick. I look for him as I walk, telling myself it’s only so I can slip away if I spot him.
Mostly I just want to catch a glimpse of him—which is so very pathetic.
Sighing, I stride through the crowded streets. With my pirate queen outfit complete, I must carry an air of importance because people part for me. Some gawk, and many men even raise appreciative eyebrows. Part of me flushes with pride. Another part doesn’t like to be so conspicuous.
I pass over the drawbridge without hesitation this time and present myself at the castle’s entry like I belong here. There is a line today, and I wait my turn.
“Suzette,” a voice hisses from the shadows near me. Surprised, I glance over and find Puss. Irritated, I leave my place and slip around the corner.
In the safety of the shadows I ask him, “Where did you disappear to?”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I shake the bag, looking at him as if he’s gone daft. “I’m giving the king the rabbit.”
“And who, pray tell, were you going to say it was from?”
Brushing a stray hair back under my hat, I shrug. “From myself, I suppose.”
He shakes his head, an almost human move, disgusted. “No, no.”
“Well, who do you want me to say it’s from, cat?” I demand.
Puss jumps on the shoulder-height garden wall next to me. “You will say it’s from the Marquise of Carabas.”
“And who is she?”
His tail twitches with imp
atience. “You, eventually.”
“You think the king will believe I’m a marquise?” I wave a hand over the clothes that make most people mistake me for a bandit or an adventuress.
Puss hisses, put out that I’m being so difficult. “You will go on her behalf. When I’m finished, he’ll never connect the two of you. Just keep your head down, your hair up, and your eyes shadowed.”
A headache blooms at the base of my neck, and I lean back to stare at the parapets. “I don’t care for this idea. If you’re so fond of it, why don’t you go?”
“Do you expect me to don your boots and hat as well?”
“Could you?” I give him a wry smile when he looks like he may take a swipe at me. Then, because his claws are too close to my face for comfort, I give in. “Fine. But if this plan of yours eventually lands me in the dungeons, I expect you to rescue me.”
The cat settles on the wall, making himself comfortable. “No reason to be dramatic, Suzette. Go.”
Again, I step into the light and wait my turn.
“Your business, mademoiselle?” A guard asks after his eyes rake over me.
Giving him a cool, indifferent smile, I say, “I have a gift for the king.”
The guards open the doors for me. “His Majesty has made himself available for audiences with his people this afternoon. You may continue straight down the hall.”
Pretending I’m far braver than I am, I stride into the cool entry. I hadn’t expected to see the king himself. I had thought I would hand the rabbit off to a distant and aloof steward—like the man who met me in the hall before.
This time, I find myself waiting in a line in the throne room, listening to peasant’s disputes. I try not to gawk at the finery, at the tapestries and the plush red runner. I keep my eyes trained on a small, floppy-eared dog who sits at the king’s feet. When it’s finally my turn, my heart races like a hummingbird’s, and I feel as if I’m going to be sick.
“State your business,” the king’s head steward says from His Majesty’s left-hand side.
I gulp and am careful to keep my face tilted down so my eyes are shadowed, as Puss instructed.
Pretend you’re someone else. Pretend you’re important.
“I have a brought a gift from my lady, the Marquise of Carabas,” I say. It startles me how clear and confident my voice is.
When I dare a glance at the king, the first thing I notice is what a kind face he has. He wears a pleasant smile, which is quite a feat after the number of peasants’ tiffs I listened to him sort through while I waited. That smile grows as he waves me forward. “I am not familiar with your lady. Where do you hail from?”
Where indeed?
“Far, Your Majesty.”
He’s opening his mouth, obviously wanting more of an answer, when a quiet murmur sounds from behind me. The king’s eyes move to the room’s entry, and, like a curious fool, I turn to follow them.
My knees go weak when I see Kerrick, and a shot of pain, sharp and hot, travels my veins. On his arm is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She’s blond and ethereal, soft like a dove and her skin almost as pale. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and she looks up at Kerrick with the most adoring look.
I swallow, wishing I hadn’t turned, wishing with all my being I’d stayed in Glenridge where I belong. As if I have no control over them, my eyes follow the pair as they make their way across the room and up the stairs until they’re standing next to the king. Like a perfect gentleman, Kerrick offers the girl a seat on the empty throne at the king’s side. Kerrick stands, his hand on the back of the throne and exchanges quiet, familiar greetings with the king.
My stomach knots and churns as my brain processes far too much information at once.
“My apologies, mademoiselle,” the king says, returning his attention to me. “You were saying the marquise sends a gift?”
As I knew they would, Kerrick’s eyes travel to mine. As soon as he sees me, he freezes, his shock mirroring my own.
CHAPTER TEN
Once I rip my eyes from Kerrick, I somehow blunder through the rest of my audience with the king.
“Tell the Marquise that I am very pleased with her gift. What a fine hare. How is it your lady has come to know I have a fondness for poached rabbit?” The king hands the animal to his steward, who leaps forward to take the gift.
I give him a shrug that I hope is femininely mysterious, but I’m sure looks closer to seasick.
The moment His Majesty nods his dismissal, I rush from the hall. My throat’s thick, and I’m too stunned to acknowledge the sting in my eyes.
I’m almost free of the castle when rushed footsteps sound from behind me. I glance about, almost frantic, wishing there were an audience so Kerrick would be forced to pretend indifference. Unfortunately, the hall is oddly empty.
“Suzette,” Kerrick hisses.
He catches my hand the moment I turn and pushes through an ornate door that leads to another hall, pulling me with him. Without a word of explanation, he tugs me through a maze of corridors that I’ll never find my way through should he suddenly abandon me.
Finally, when we’re in an area that looks conspicuously like the servant’s quarters, he stops.
“What was that about?” he demands.
His eyes are alight with confusion, and there’s the slightest bit of frustrated anger in his gaze. His eyes travel to my new hat—the ridiculous thing that was supposed to hide my face and keep my identity under wraps, and he gives it an incredulous look.
He’s too close, and I can’t think. I yank my hand out of his.
“Fifth son of a minor lord?” I ask instead of answering his question. My voice drips with disdain.
Kerrick purses his lips, and a guilty look flashes across his face before it’s replaced with irritation. “Your lady…the Marquise?”
I cross my arms. “It’s none of your business, Your Highness.”
He flinches at the title.
We stare at each other, at an impasse. I won’t tell him I’m here on a mission directed by my cat of all creatures, and he’s already lied to me.
He’s the prince.
The prince.
“I have to go.” I turn from Kerrick, wondering if the stairs to our left will lead me down to an exit.
“Suzette.”
With my back to him, I scrunch my nose and clench my eyes shut. It’s only because he’s so handsome, because he says my name with that soft catch at the end, that my pulse quickens. Any girl would find herself all aflutter. It’s not because I, specifically, am hopeless and weak.
I look at Kerrick over my shoulder, simultaneously deciding, and informing myself, that I’m immune to his charms. “What?”
A tiny smile tips his lips, and he raises his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. “I like your hat.”
Unbidden, my lips twitch. “I look like a bandit.”
His mouth twists to the side as he thinks about my answer. Slowly, with maddening purpose, he takes in my outfit, making me want to fidget under his gaze. “More like a pirate.”
At that, I hold out my hands, agreeing.
Then he frowns. “No that’s wrong. You look like one of my father’s guards…except far more lovely.”
I bite back a smile and turn toward the stairs.
“When will I see you again?” he asks before I can run away.
“I’m no one.” That crushing feeling of longing settles over me again. “And you’re everything.”
Kerrick shakes his head, wanting to argue with me but knowing that to protest my words would only be another lie.
“She adores you.” I nod toward the last door we came through.
“She doesn’t know me.”
I manage a smile. “Don’t concern yourself with that. She’ll like you even more once she does.”
He tilts his head, and soft frustration blends with amusement. “Suzette.”
“Enjoy the rabbit,” I say, ignoring him.
“What are you plotting?”
&nbs
p; “I’m not plotting anything.” Hopefully, he misses the emphasis I place at the beginning of my response. “And I really do have to go. Are you going to show me a way out, or are you going to force me to wander the castle until I stumble on an exit?”
Kerrick steps nearer, smiling in a maddening way. Neither of us moves closer, both knowing an invisible boundary has been drawn between us. Nothing is easy like it was in the meadow, where standing on my toes and kissing him would have been as natural as breathing.
“Are you going to marry her?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intend.
He lets out a long sigh and turns his head heavenward. “No. She’s only one in a long line of prospects.”
“Poor thing.” I scoff under my breath. “It must be difficult being you.”
“Sometimes.”
I step away first and nod Kerrick toward the stairs. Though reluctant, he leads me down and out of the castle through a garden door. We exchange awkward, hesitant goodbyes.
“He likes partridges better than rabbits,” he calls as I’m walking away.
Glancing back, I say, “Partridges?”
Kerrick crosses his arms. “They’re his favorite.”
Slowly, I nod. “Good to know.”
Puss knew. He knew who Kerrick was from the beginning. Yet he’s as unapologetic as ever.
Supper is unusually quiet. My mind is on Kerrick, on the fact that he not only lied to me but that there is truly no hope for a future with him now. If I’d known…well, he’s right. I would have never agreed to spend time with him.
And no matter how Puss cajoles me, I won’t go back. Whatever scheme he has in mind, it won’t involve Kerrick or his father. I’ll keep my distance. It’s the only thing I can do.
Thomas and Eugene are quiet as well. I assume Thomas’s mind is on his upcoming move, but I don’t know why Eugene broods. Finally, when I can’t bear to be in my own head any longer, I ask him.
My eldest brother frowns and pushes his plate away, even though there is still meat left. “The harvest won’t be enough.”
Thomas looks at me, as startled by the news as I am. The field has done so well.
Puss without Boots: A Puss in Boots Retelling (Fairy Tale Kingdoms Book 1) Page 7
