Puss without Boots: A Puss in Boots Retelling (Fairy Tale Kingdoms Book 1)

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Not in the way I’ve come to love Beau.

  “Sabine and I have announced our engagement,” Kerrick blurts out suddenly.

  I blink, startled more by the delivery than the announcement itself. “Well…congratulations.”

  “You left me so abruptly,” he says quickly—as if he must explain. “And you seemed so certain that we weren’t—”

  Setting my hand on his arm, I cut him off. Hoping the sincerity of my words shines through, I say, “Sabine will be a lovely queen.”

  He runs a hand through his thick, blond hair. “But now you’re here, and I…”

  I shake my head, silencing him. “You made the right decision.”

  Looking torn, he lets his hand fall to his side. “Did I, Etta?”

  “You did.”

  “I’m not sure I love her.” The prince walks toward a window, one that’s open to the day and letting in lots of muted winter sunlight, and stares out at his white kingdom. “Not like I thought, once, that I was in love with you.”

  I join him at the window. “What we had was beautiful, bright…fleeting. But it wasn’t a forever sort of love.”

  Kerrick looks over, confirming that his heart is in the same place. “No matter, I’m glad you’re back, Etta. Tell me how you’ve been.”

  We find a soft, out of the way nook, and I tell him of Beau and the ogre. I even tell him Puss’s part in the whole thing. He looks astounded, doubtful, but he doesn’t question me.

  “We will send men,” Kerrick promises as soon as I’m finished, “at exactly the second week of spring.”

  “Thank you, Kerrick. You truly are a good friend.” When he looks as if he’s doubting himself again, I say, “Now tell me of Sabine’s plans for your wedding.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  An angry hiss echoes in my small, dark cell, and I jerk awake. A torch was left burning outside the bars, but it must have gone out sometime in the night. Only a dim glow comes from above the stairway just outside the cell. Half asleep, I scan the room.

  “Puss?” I whisper when I see a small, furry creature passing between the bars.

  “Well, this is a fine mess,” his familiar voice says as he pauses in front of me. “We’ll have to wait until he releases you.”

  “Releases me?” I half croak, half laugh. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  A small overturned crate sits forgotten in the corner. The cat shoves it over to me with his head, and I stumble onto it, eager to take the weight off my arms. My shoulders are stiff and numb. Agonizing pain shoots through them when I move, and I groan out loud. I’ve only been here since this afternoon, but it’s been far too long in my opinion.

  When Etta didn’t come to dinner last night, I stayed silent. The ogre assumed she was feeling ill and left me be. But by this afternoon, when his eyes and ears in the castle reported no one had seen her, he flew into a rage.

  “He will release you,” the cat says, his voice full of certainty. “He keeps you for entertainment, as someone to constantly needle. Throwing you in here brought him temporary joy, but now he has no one to torment. I give it two days, tops.”

  I growl at the thought of hanging here for two more days. Surely my arms will fall off. “I hope you’re right, cat.”

  “Yes, well. I may have overheard him speaking of it as well. I’ll be back tomorrow if you’re still here,” Puss promises.

  “Wait,” I say, but he’s already slipped through the bars, and his shadowy form disappears up the stairs.

  Somehow I make it through the rest of the night. Sleep comes in blissful intervals, bringing with it sweet relief from the all-consuming ache in my arms, but I’m never unconscious long. When I do drift, my dreams are a chaotic jumble of memories and harsh colors.

  When the sun finally rises high enough for the light to come from the windows above the stairs, I’m more exhausted than I was to begin with. My mouth is dry, and my throat is sore. Somehow I doze again. This time, I’m woken by the ogre’s harsh voice coming from the top of the stairs. I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the pain I’m about to self-inflict, and kick the crate away.

  If the ogre were to see the wooden box, he’d not only question how it got here, but punish me further for its very existence.

  The crate shifts, and I fall abruptly. The weight of my body jerks against my restrained wrists. Metal cuffs dig into my skin, and the combination of raw pain plus the lack of food makes my stomach heave.

  “Have a pleasant evening?” the ogre asks when he comes into view. Apparently, I look as close to death as I feel because a wide, satisfied smile spreads across his face, showing off his tusk-like teeth. “I think he’s had enough for now. Let him down.”

  A dour-looking human guard rushes forward, fumbling with his keys, and releases me. Showing the barest amount of kindness, he grasps me under my arm before he releases the first cuff, which keeps me from falling farther and potentially dislocating my other shoulder.

  Still, an agonized cry slips past my lips as my arm is released. The expected relief is more like a hot-burning fire, all consuming. My stomach rolls again, but since it’s thankfully empty, I don’t further humiliate myself in front of the beast.

  When the last cuff is opened, I fall to the ground in a heap. My eyes sting; my hands are numb and useless.

  “Bring him along,” the ogre says, already turning up the stairs. The guard drags me to an awkward standing position, and I stumble after them. The two twist and turn through the halls, and, eventually, I find myself in front of the room that had been given to me when we first arrived.

  The ogre shoves me inside. “A maid will bring up a bath. I expect you at breakfast.”

  The door slams behind me, and I’m left exhausted, sore, and more than a little bewildered.

  The first day of spring is heralded in by a snowstorm. A blizzard did, indeed, hit Rynvale the night I arrived in the palace, and another followed on its heels. As the new season approached, the snow became heavier, wetter, and the storms more violent.

  Every night at dinner His Majesty insisted I stay a little longer. With nowhere to go, I was only too happy to agree.

  Now, as I pace my beautiful, light blue room, I grow eager to leave. I had expected Puss back by now. Surely if his grand plan had gone as expected, the ogre should be vanquished.

  But there is no sign of Beau or my cat.

  Several more days pass, and finally, on the fifth day of spring, the sun shines. By the ninth day, the snow begins to melt, and by the thirteenth day, dirty bits of trampled ice cling to the shadows only. The roads leading from Rynvale are mud. The days are still cold enough that a cloak is needed to venture outside, and only the hardiest of the spring flora has begun to grow.

  Tonight, I shall speak with the king about the ogre. Kerrick no longer seems nervous the king will fly into a rage and lock me in the stocks. Apparently, because I’m no longer a contender for Kerrick’s hand, my lineage means little.

  I adjust my gown, this one commissioned for me by the king when he noticed I only had the one I arrived in, and make my way to the king’s dining hall. I know my way around the palace now, know the shortcuts through the servant’s quarters and the seldom-used halls.

  To my great surprise, when I pass through the doors, I find Sabine sitting on Kerrick’s right, smiling as she feeds her tiny, white puff of a dog bits of roasted goose.

  The princess looks up when I step into the room. She stands so abruptly; the little dog almost falls from her lap. At the last possible moment, she snatches the tiny creature and clutches it to her chest. A gossamer vision in white, Sabine sweeps from the table and pulls me into an embrace.

  Between us, her little dog squirms, desperate for air.

  “Hello, Sabine,” I manage to say with my mouth pressed against her hair.

  She pulls back and studies me. “It’s so good to see you, Suzette!”

  “Congratulations on your upcoming wedding.”

  Sabine positively beams and loo
ps my arm through hers, dragging me to the empty seat at her side. Once there, she finally lowers her dog to the ground and the poor thing cowers at her feet, glad to be free but unsure what to do with himself now that he is.

  “It will be a June wedding,” Sabine begins, “because that is when the roses are the most fragrant…”

  She continues on, and I smile and nod, so bemused with her exuberance that I almost forget my purpose for this evening. Kerrick listens to Sabine, an indulgent half-smile playing on his lips, and he gives opinions only when he’s asked. The princess beams at him, touching him often, and I am content their marriage will be a happy one.

  Kerrick catches my eye, and I smile. Thoughtful, he nods, almost reading my mind.

  Eventually, now that we’ve discussed flowers, silks, composers, and orchestras, there is a lull in the conversation.

  I clear my throat, nervous this will go badly. It’s a small gathering, only King Deloge, Kerrick, Sabine, and the princess’s matron aunt who traveled with her, but it’s still terrifying. Kerrick, realizing my purpose while dabbing his mouth with his napkin, lowers the linen to his lap, looking grim.

  “Suzette,” he says, “I think it would be best if I were to explain.”

  Gulping, somewhat relieved, I nod. Kerrick begins to explain the events of last spring, omitting the romantic bits for Sabine’s benefit. The king’s expression becomes incredulous as his son goes on, and I can’t imagine what he would do if anyone had known how my cat was involved.

  “So Beau, the true Marquis of Carabas, is being held hostage in his own estate, a prisoner of an ogre who has cast a spell on not only him, but our people as well,” Kerrick finishes.

  His Majesty takes several moments, nodding to himself, and then meets my eyes. “You lied to me, Suzette.”

  Blinking quickly, there is nothing I can do but admit that I did.

  He crosses his arms and leans back against his chair. “But you were, in fact, the one who sent me the gifts?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I say, lowering my eyes.

  “Kerrick, why don’t you show Lady Julia and Sabine the paintings your mother did?”

  The prince rises, looking reluctant to leave. Before Sabine steps from her chair, she squeezes my hand. The pair goes, taking Sabine’s wide-eyed aunt with them. I’m sure she hadn’t expected this kind of excitement.

  Once they are gone, and the doors have shut behind them, the king turns back to me. I feel tiny, insignificant, and I await my punishment, hoping with all my heart he will take pity on Beau and send him aid.

  “I already knew,” the king says finally.

  It’s the last thing I expect him to say, and I gape at him.

  “Well, not everything.” He smiles, his expression kind, apparently finding amusement in the fact that he has taken me off guard. “But I remembered you from the first day you brought the rabbits, and then I overheard you and Kerrick speaking in the garden the day after we found you like a mermaid in the creek. I knew you were not of the Carabas family, for since the moment you first arrived, I’ve had a nagging suspicion that their name was one I should remember.”

  “Your Majesty?”

  He continues, “I looked them up in the book of records, found that they are the family who resides just on the other side of my border to the south. And then it all came back to me, though what their fate was, I couldn’t say. Since they reside outside my kingdom, I wasn’t aware of their affairs.” He grimaces. “An ogre? Nasty business.”

  I study my hands in my lap, unsure what to say.

  “I’ll inform my captain of the guard, and we will be off in the morning. You’ll have to come with us, of course. I have no idea how to get there.”

  Startled, I jerk my head up and find him in good humor. “You’ll help?”

  The king leans forward. “Of course I will.”

  Blinking, I look down again. “I’m sorry. So truly sorry…” I bite my lip to hold back humiliated tears.

  “I know you are. And you are forgiven.” He pushes away from the table, comes to me, offering me his hand, and smiles benevolently. “For you see, I am so very fond of wild game, and you, dear girl, have brought me only the best.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Do you remember what you have to do?” Puss asks for the what seems like the hundredth time. He’s sitting atop my doublet, getting cat hair all over the velvet brocade.

  Not that I care about the clothing, but I don’t care for the fur in my food, which is where it always seems to end up.

  I shoo him off my bed. “Yes, yes.”

  Disgruntled, Puss jumps down. Before he slips out the door, he looks back over his shoulder. “This is our one chance. Do not botch it up.”

  The faith he has in me is humbling.

  After the cat is gone, I pull on the doublet. Tonight’s the night. If all goes as planned, we will be free of the ogre, and I will be master of this estate.

  And tomorrow I will find Etta and ask her to marry me. I’ll live here, give up the sea if I have to. Whatever she wants, I will do.

  But first, the ogre.

  The weeks since my imprisonment have been trying. The creature has been in a foul mood, irritable over the fact that his men have not tracked Etta down yet. I, personally, don’t think they’re trying very hard. I know I wouldn’t, if I were them.

  Before I leave the room, I tuck a palm-sized paper package on my nightstand table along with a note to my friend in the kitchens. In all this time, I’ve still never seen her. Since she’s a brownie, I likely never will.

  After my night hanging on the dungeon wall, she secreted muscle-relieving salves and pain-reducing herbs into my room. In fact, every evening I find something from her when I return from dinner—extra pastries, sweet rolls, and other things of that sort.

  Hopefully she’ll find the narcotic before the meal is over—hopefully she’s more loyal to me than the ogre.

  I don’t look for Puss when I stride into the dining hall, don’t risk giving his location away. He’s to hide in the shadows of a potted plant in the corner, where he’ll hopefully remain unnoticed throughout the meal.

  As soon as I walk through the doors, I sense the ogre is in a particularly vile mood this evening. His dwarves and guards seem wary, and the mood is tense.

  He turns his eyes on me as I take my seat. “Tonight you will tell me how the human girl escaped.”

  Every night he asks me this question, relieving my worry, letting me know he’s yet to find Etta and question her himself. But something instinctual warns me that I must be careful how I allow it to play out tonight.

  “You know your magic better than anyone else,” I say just the same as always, not bothering to meet his eyes as I pull a roll from the platter in front of me. “How do you think she escaped?”

  The ogre growls and stabs a dagger into the table next to his plate. The extreme outburst startles me, and I almost drop the roll.

  The ogre doesn’t bother with his human form any longer. He never plays at pleasantries now that Etta isn’t here to impress, but now he’s especially hostile.

  “Bring in the brownie,” the ogre snarls to one of the dwarves.

  The short, stout man blinks at his master in surprise. “Do you mean the kitchen brownie?”

  The ogre narrows his eyes. “I wasn’t aware we had more than one.”

  Swallowing, unsettled, the dwarf hurries away.

  I go cold, pausing with my butter knife poised over my roll. Seeing my reaction, the ogre smiles for the first time this evening.

  “Now that I have your attention,” he says, folding his hands together on the table in an uncanny human-like gesture. “Tell me how the girl escaped.”

  Around me, the guards are very still. They seem to be holding their breaths, wondering how I will answer.

  I’d like to know as well.

  I choose to ignore the question as if he hadn’t asked it. I bite into the bread, purposely avoiding his gaze, but I’ve noticed something very impo
rtant.

  He’s not eating.

  How is the narcotic powder Puss gave me to pass to the kitchen brownie supposed to work if the ogre hasn’t touched his food? And has she even had a chance to find it? I was hoping she’d slip it into his pie, maybe sprinkle it into his dessert wine.

  The thoughts are forgotten when the dwarf comes in, pulling with him a woman smaller than he is, hidden under a simple brown cloak. She whimpers, terrified of being seen by this many eyes. The ogre, showing no pity on her, drags her hood down.

  She cringes, trying to hide her pale face with her hands, but it’s to no avail because we’ve all seen her now.

  The brownie resembles a dwarf, but softer, with more rounded features. Her cheeks are rosy and slightly wrinkled, and her eyes are bright, bright blue. I have no idea what age she may be as brownies can live for hundreds of years.

  It’s possible she haunted the kitchens while my father was but a boy.

  The ogre yanks the dagger from the table and holds it to her throat. “You know how the girl escaped. Tell me.”

  She makes a soft noise, an obvious refusal, and the ogre pushes the blade closer. A small trickle of dark red blood trails down her neck, and anger builds in my core.

  “Tell me!” he yells, making her tremble anew.

  “Etta carried the cat,” I snarl. “His immunity to your magic passed to her, and she stepped right through your ward.”

  For one moment, I think he may slit the poor creature’s throat even though I’ve told him, but he tosses her away. A dwarven server runs forward, clutching the brownie in her arms. Without asking for permission, she ushers the tiny, trembling woman out the side door.

  The ogre’s eyes flash, and he turns toward the guard at his left. “The cat lurks somewhere in the castle. I want it found and gutted. I’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow.” He turns his attention back to me. “And then you can have the fur made into a muff—a gift for Etta for when she returns.”