Puss in Boots (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 6)

by K. M. Shea

  “Take the witch, for example. I will be happy to put Kinzig behind me because of her, but they have the strength of character to live and be joyous in a place that nearly robbed them of their children. They are resilient, far more so than any noble, soldier, or royal,” Steffen said, crossing his legs at the ankle of his black boots and ignoring Puss’s mewl of laughter at his admission. “Don’t you agree?” he asked, extending the bowl of strawberries again.

  Gabrielle selected a berry but stroked Puss with her other hand. “I have never thought of it that way,” she said, her eyes stealing back to the stray cat as it moved a few feet closer. “I’ve never been able to understand how they can accept this—knowing nothing but their village and having their whole life plotted out for them from the moment they are born. I have always craved adventure. Their acceptance of drudgery always confused me,” she said, musing on her own family.

  “To live the life of a commoner is an adventure in itself,” Steffen said. “In stories they fade into the background and provide nothing but bodies for heroes to save, but in reality, I expect it would be terrifying to be at the mercy of a royal or a hero. They must trust that my brothers or my father will send troops, or that Rune will soon come through—or that a clever lady and her talking cat might ramble into town—to save them.”

  “Isn’t that almost…lazy of them?” Gabrielle asked, eating her strawberry as she watched the orange cat walk up to their bench.

  “You mistake trust for inaction, Mistress,” Puss yawned, his white teeth gleaming in the firelight. He narrowed his eyes at the oncoming cat as he said, “Think back on our adventures. Do you mean to tell me the villagers of Wied were ransacked because they were too lazy to fight back, or that the children of Kinzig were kidnapped because their parents did not care enough to free them?”

  “No,” Gabrielle said. “In Wied, the villagers didn’t have a choice. If they took the chance and fought back against the bandits, the fire would have run rampant through the city. And it took your magic to beat the witch. Without that and the fox essence, I couldn’t have freed the children either.”

  “Nor could you have saved Prince Steffen,” Puss was quick to point out. He hissed when the stray cat sat on the tips of Gabrielle’s boots.

  “No,” Steffen wryly said. “The country would fall apart without commoners. They are the ones who plant and harvest, who train to be masons, and pay their taxes—who make it possible to house and feed the army. They support the entire nation. They outnumber us, and yet they have the courage to face each day and its uncertainty with joy.”

  “It is not a bad thing that you love adventure, Gabrielle,” Puss said, crowding against her stomach when the orange cat stood on its hind legs and hooked its claws into the material of Gabrielle’s pants so it could get a proper look at him. “You fulfill a need. But not everyone can be an adventurer with a magic cat. Everyone has a role to play—from the king to the miller,” Puss said, glancing up at her.

  The stray cat meowed and issued a deep, throaty purr.

  “Based on its size, I believe this is a girl cat,” Steffen said.

  “Not a word, bumpkin-head,” Puss said.

  “What? You don’t fancy making new friends? She seems to be an admirer,” Steffen said.

  The stray cat hopped up onto the bench and inched closer to Puss.

  “I would say she might even be smitten with you,” Gabrielle said as Puss recoiled from the stray.

  “I have a sudden desire to sharpen my claws. Do nothing to embarrass me, Mistress.” Puss leaped from Gabrielle’s lap.

  “What’s wrong, Puss? I thought you would enjoy receiving the extra adoration,” Gabrielle said.

  “Silence, you impertinent girl,” Puss growled. When the stray cat moved to chase him, Puss ran at a most undignified pace, disappearing into the forest of feet and legs.

  Steffen relaxed further when the magic cat disappeared. “I am glad you have Puss, for he seems to be a useful traveling companion, but how you can stand his sass is incomprehensible to me.”

  Gabrielle laughed. “Truly? I find that entertaining.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure you want to know.”

  “Now I must know,” Steffen said, giving a bowing villager a perfect smile.

  “I feel that you and Puss are alike.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Steffen demanded.

  Gabrielle lifted her chin. “It’s true. You both are charming to the masses, but you utter pointed words to those you consider your friends.”

  “I do not consider your magic cat a friend.”

  “Oh? Whom else do you dare to tease? Your siblings, I imagine, your guards, and perhaps a select few others,” Gabrielle said.

  “And you,” Steffen said with a sly smile.

  “And me,” Gabrielle agreed. “Another point on which you and Puss agree.”

  Steffen scoffed. “He degrades you.”

  “He’s teasing me, and you know it. You have teased me over the same things.” Gabrielle brushed Puss hairs from her clothes.

  “He teases you for sneaking out of inns early in the morning to avoid me?” Steffen said.

  Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “I thought I had said it enough times, but I will say it again: I didn’t know you were a prince. Can you imagine how mortified I was?”

  “I wasn’t talking about Wied; I meant this morning.”

  “What about this morning?”

  “You and that danged cat of yours were up and crusading against witches without so much as a ‘good morning.’”

  “So? We certainly weren’t going to wait for you to rise. You may be a prince, Your Highness, but I do not run my life by your schedule,” Gabrielle said, a smile budding on her lips. It was fun to sit in the firelight, stuffed with food—content with having embarked on an adventure and having done a good deed—and to playfully argue with Steffen. She liked him quite a bit. She felt comfortable in his presence. He didn’t leer at her like the boys of Ilz, nor did he stare in awe and wonder at her as did many of the villagers she encountered.

  “You are secretly willful, aren’t you?” Steffen said.

  “I thought I was quite open about it,” Gabrielle said.

  “May the heavens preserve whatever man falls in love with you. He will have to be a saint.”

  “And you think the lady you fall in love with won’t need the patience of an angel?”

  “I don’t plan to love.” Steffen said. He had been grinning at Gabrielle, but with this proclamation he turned to gaze to the bonfire, his eyebrows furrowing a little.

  Gabrielle was silent for several moments as she tried to process his words. “What?” she finally said.

  “It’s unromantic, but it’s true. I intend to forgo falling in love.” Some of the mirth left Steffen’s voice, but his smile was still in place.

  “But you’re the crown prince. You have to marry and produce an heir,” Gabrielle said, swinging her shocked gaze to his face.

  “I said I don’t intend to fall in love; I never said I wasn’t going to marry,” Steffen said.

  “You would marry someone you don’t love?” Gabrielle asked—confused.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re the prince… You can have any bride you want.”

  “That’s true, in theory…” Steffen said, going silent.

  “What, does your father expect you to make a treaty with another country and marry a foreign princess?”

  “No.”

  “Is there a noble lady you must marry for political or financial reasons?”

  “No.”

  “Then why can’t you choose someone you love?”

  “Don’t misunderstand my words—I will care for my wife and perhaps share a sense of companionship with her, but not love. If I approach it with that perspective, I will be free to marry for the betterment of the country.”

  “I can accept that.” She paused, thoughtful, “but I don’t think that’s your motivation.”

  �
�Of course it is. I have an obligation to choose well—not to be ruled by emotion.”

  At this declaration, Gabrielle understood his cageyness. “Oh, I see. So that’s your reason.”

  Steffen leaned back, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “You have become enlightened to my inner mind, have you? Please, share.”

  “You aren’t looking for love because you don’t want that,” Gabrielle said, gesturing to Steffen’s father.

  King Henrik looked better than he had when Gabrielle first met him at the carriage, but he was still so tired, and sometimes—when he thought no one was watching—he looked like his heart was breaking.

  Steffen ran his hand across the surface of the rough bench. “Don’t want what?” All hints of amusement were gone.

  “You don’t want to experience that kind of pain.”

  Steffen looked at his father and was silent for a moment. “He loved her so much, he almost didn’t outlive her.”

  “And you don’t want that,” Gabrielle said.

  “It is beyond my understanding why anyone would. The idea that I would care that much for another person terrifies me. I said it before, but it bears repeating: If I love that deeply, what would it do to my judgment?”

  “And you have decided the possibility of that lapse in judgment means you should never love?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Precisely,” Steffen said.

  Gabrielle traced a finger over some of the fancy stitching of her jerkin and felt her heart twist in her chest. She knew why she felt personally attacked over his declaration. It was because she liked Steffen. She really liked him. Unchecked, she suspected her like would turn to something much deeper, and Steffen had just rejected any such feelings. But personal hurt aside, Gabrielle felt sorry for Steffen. She hadn’t wanted to marry anyone in Ilz because she was afraid of being wanted only for her beauty. But not wanting to fall in love had never occurred to her. The fact that Steffen was that afraid of the emotion was…sad.

  “Have I offended you?” Steffen asked.

  “No,” Gabrielle said, her mouth as dry as dust. “I was just wondering how many dozens of girls would be heartbroken to hear this conversation.”

  Steffen laughed. “I knew if anyone would agree with me, you would.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Gabrielle said.

  “What?” Steffen said, rocketing forward on the bench, almost tipping over the bowl of strawberries. Now it was his turn to gawk. “Why not?”

  “Because apparently I’m less cowardly than you,” Gabrielle said, retreating to dry humor in fear of revealing too much.

  “What do you mean?” Steffen asked, resting his forearms on his knees.

  “There are risks associated with loving another, but just as it takes commoners extraordinary courage to live their lives, it takes courage to love another person. I happen to be of the opinion that the risk is worth it,” Gabrielle said.

  “Why?” Steffen said, a bemused expression settling on his face.

  “Because I have hope that someday, someone will see value in me.”

  “Isn’t the love and adoration of the people you help enough? In almost all the northern villages of Arcainia, you are revered—as if you were a saint.”

  “Adoration is different from love. I want someone to see me for who I am—not for what I do or look like—and love me.”

  Steffen eyed Gabrielle. “Oh, I get it. You’ve been loved before because of the way you look. If it was that odious, why do you still want it?”

  “I was not loved. I was wanted—the way sweet or a toy is wanted by a selfish child.”

  “And you believe love is more than that?”

  “I’m going to refrain from hitting you for being such a dunce, Your Highness.”

  “Excuse me?” Steffen sputtered.

  “You have lived with the love of your parents, and you dare to ask if it’s more than mere wanting? Love is the most meaningful thing in our lives. When I die, it won’t matter how pretty I was or how many good deeds I did. I’m selfish—so I want everything. I want my tight companionship with Puss—where I know I can count on him to save me and keep me in my place. And although I have left my home, I hope my family misses me. And—laugh if you want—I also want a deep love, one that is so profound, words aren’t necessary. A love so cherished that I would rip apart the sky and fight the impossible if someone threatened to take him from me.”

  “But love often fails,” Steffen added. “Humans are imperfect, and life is harsh. Your lover will leave you earlier than expected, another victim of a young death. Or perhaps he will choose to leave you for someone new. I’ve seen it happen. It’s not so rampant in Arcainia, but I suspect the nobles of Loire have the loyalty of stray cats. You of all people should know this. You are exquisite.”

  “What of it? Puss chose me as his mistress because I am smart and adaptable,” Gabrielle snapped. “Be careful, Prince Steffen. If you imply I am liked only because of how I look, prince or not, I will slap you again.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Steffen said. “I know others value you for other things, but you said yourself you have encountered fools who prize you for your appearance. Many people are like that.”

  “And many people aren’t,” Gabrielle said, her voice defensive and her eyebrows lowered.

  “Fine, disregard that. I will use myself as an example instead. There is not a woman in this world who could manage to love me—me, not my title, throne, money, or looks—and understand the demands of my future and remain faithful. And if there were, I am certain an assassin would end her life early on,” Steffen declared.

  Gabrielle wanted to cry—for Steffen and for herself. It was sad that Steffen felt this so passionately, and it was heartbreaking because Gabrielle knew she had started to like him before learning of his title and wealth.

  “Your image of love is a very grand one, I will grant you, but it is still not worth the risk. Love makes a person weak. Besides, I do not think it is possible for people like us,” Steffen said, his voice passionate.

  “Don’t include me with you,” Gabrielle said.

  “What, you think you can find such an ideal lover—who loves you not because of your beauty but in spite of it—and survive if he betrays you, rejects you, or dies before you?”

  What could she say to that? “Yes,” Gabrielle said.

  “You are naïve,” Steffen said.

  “And you, bumpkin-head, are an idiot,” Puss said, his voice slicing through their conversation like a sharp blade. “Do not presume to judge my mistress and her image of love until you know what she has lived through.”

  “Puss, you gave your admirer the slip?” Gabrielle asked, her heart soaring at the sight of her companion as he jumped onto the bench, seating himself between Gabrielle and Steffen.

  “I did,” Puss said, his unblinking gaze fixed on Steffen. “I came to claim you on behalf of young Hansel, for he very much wishes to dance with you.”

  “I see. Shall we go?”

  “You run along. I will catch up,” Puss said, his eyes still on Steffen.

  Gabrielle hesitated.

  “Now, Gabi,” Puss said.

  “Enjoy the party, Steffen.”

  “Of course. I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” Steffen said, his seriousness and passion gone, and his public smile returned.

  Privately, Gabrielle hoped it would be a while until she saw the prince, but publically, she curtsied and strode off. She ducked behind the blacksmith where, hidden as she was, she could hear the cat and the prince.

  “Allow me to make something clear to you, Your Highness,” Puss said. “I am a magic cat, an entirely different species from you. Be that as it may, Gabrielle is a companion of my heart and my mistress. The very love that Gabrielle described, the kind of love that you scorned, is similar to the companionship-love I have for her. I will do everything I can to protect and support her, just as I trust in her to adventure with me. The moment I suspect you bring her more harm than entertainment, I will not
hesitate to retaliate.”

  “You speak strong words for such a little body, cat,” Steffen said, his voice forcefully light.

  “Indeed,” Puss said. “You would do well to learn from my example, lest you also lose a companion of your heart through your inaction.” He jumped from the bench and padded after Gabrielle.

  She scrambled to get ahead of him, but the cat caught up. “So you were listening in on our conversation—I commend your interest,” Puss said, hooking his claws into her pants so she would stop and pick him up.

  “Thank you, Puss,” Gabrielle said, a rush of warmth and love welling up from her heart.

  Puss huffed. “This is precisely why I did not wish for you to overhear us. Now you are going to be emotional.”

  Gabrielle laughed. “Not I,” she said. “Did Hansel really want to dance with me?”

  “He did. But as you search him out, I suggest you listen to my advice.”

  “And what is it?”

  “I think it would be best for us if we leave for the next village before dawn tomorrow.”

  “I’m not opposed to the idea,” Gabrielle said. It would be wise to put some distance between the prince and myself.

  “Good,” Puss said, nosing her cheek. “In that case, we should retire soon. Morning will come faster than you think.”

  “Very well, but first I want to dance with young Hansel.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Do you want to dance with your pretty admirer?”

  “No!”

  Gabrielle laughed and sought out the young boy she had saved.

  The following morning, Steffen glided down the stairs and entered the common room just as the sun peeked over the horizon. Pleased with the early hour, he glanced up the stairs to see if Gabrielle and Puss were coming down yet. He didn’t hear anyone stirring, so he sat on a bench in the empty taproom.

  “Good morning,” he said when Okan—as quiet as ever—bowed and shuffled off to the kitchen, returning with a food-laden plate and a mug of steaming tea.

  Steffen heartily dug in and had demolished his potato pancakes by the time King Henrik, Timo, Moritz, and Dominik fumbled downstairs. (Alwin followed behind them, awake, wearing a crisp uniform, and already sporting his helm.)