The Princess and the Bear
Mette Ivie Harrison
For Barry, Mensch
Contents
Prologue
The Tale of the Cat That Became a Man
Chapter One
The Hound
Chapter Two
The Bear
Chapter Three
The Hound
Chapter Four
The Bear
Chapter Five
The Hound
Chapter Six
The Bear
Chapter Seven
The Hound
Chapter Eight
The Bear
Chapter Nine
The Hound
Chapter Ten
The Bear
Chapter Eleven
The Hound
Chapter Twelve
The Bear
Chapter Thirteen
The Hound
Chapter Fourteen
The Bear
Chapter Fifteen
The Hound
Chapter Sixteen
The Bear
Chapter Seventeen
Chala
Chapter Eighteen
Richon
Chapter Nineteen
Chala
Chapter Twenty
Richon
Chapter Twenty-One
Chala
Chapter Twenty-Two
Richon
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chala
Chapter Twenty-Four
Richon
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chala
Chapter Twenty-Six
Richon
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chala
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Richon
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chala
Chapter Thirty
Richon
Chapter Thirty-One
Chala
Chapter Thirty-Two
Richon
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Hound
Chapter Thirty-Four
Richon
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Hound
Chapter Thirty-Six
Richon
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Hound
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Richon
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Hound
Chapter Forty
Richon
Chapter Forty-One
Chala
Chapter Forty-Two
Richon
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Mette Ivie Harrison
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
The Tale of the Cat That Became a Man
LONG AGO, THERE lived a wild cat that was the sleekest, fastest, and bravest of its kind. It had been triumphant in battles against the most fearsome beasts of the forest: bear and elk and charging moose. But it was said to have an uncanny intelligence and a look to the eyes that was almost human. Those who had seen it claimed that the wild cat would even leap straight through a bonfire or dive into a river’s raging water to get at its prey.
Legends grew up around the wild cat, which was known by the striping around its nose, and humans sought to prove their prowess against it. But no matter how often it was hunted, the wild cat was never caught. Arrows were not fast enough and swords slid past it. Those who rode against it did not return—or returned very different men from when they had gone out.
One day, a young student of magic decided to go into the forest to see if even half of the stories he had heard about the wild cat were true. He found its trail and followed it. Then, with his own eyes, he saw the wild cat kill two deer in one leaping attack and defend itself against a pack of hounds that came against it in an attempt to take its prey. Two of the hounds were dead in the few moments it took for the rest of them to decide to retreat, and many more were injured in the battle.
The young man watched the cat carry off the carcasses, one after the other, to its lair. And then, late that evening, he heard a soft, warbling sound coming from the place where the wild cat had gone.
The student followed the sound until he had reached a small cave hidden behind a waterfall. He climbed to the entrance, then poked his head inside to see the wild cat playing a flute made out of bone. The bone had been hollowed out and the young man of magic could see strewn on the floor of the cave other similar flutes, perhaps of different tones, and even one lyre.
The student could hardly believe his eyes. A cat that could play an instrument stolen from a human was one thing. But a cat that could make the instrument? That was extraordinary indeed!
Now the student spread forth his hands and let the heat of his magic flow out. The wild cat made one strangled yelp before the magic overcame it, and then it began to change.
Slowly—one paw at a time, then a nose and an ear and a haunch—the wild cat was transformed into a tall, graceful man with tawny hair and faintly striped skin around the nose.
The young man of magic expected the new cat man to be pleased. He offered his own jacket and a few coins to help the cat man on his way.
“There is a town some miles south, past the edge of the forest,” the young man of magic explained in the language of the wild cats. “I am sure you will find all you need for comfort there.”
He nodded to the cat man and told himself that soon the wild cat would learn to speak as humans did. Then the student went on his way, proud of his success with such great and powerful magic.
But the cat man was not happy. He could not remain in the forest, for a man’s hands were too soft for the kill and a man’s teeth could not tear and rend flesh. He could not speak the language of the wild cats, for he no longer had the right shape to his tongue, teeth, and mouth. He tried to make the same sounds, but they came out tuneless and wrong.
He had no choice but to do as the student had bid him and leave the forest where he had felt himself the most magnificent of all animals. The journey through the forest was painful and slow, for the student had left him no boots, and his tender man’s feet were badly blistered in a few hours’ time. His uncovered legs stung from too much sun and scrapes from the tree branches that seemed to grab at him.
At last the cat man arrived at an inn in the nearest town. Here, once he showed his coins, he was cared for, despite his lack of speech. He was given clothing and as much food and drink as he wished. Also a warm bed, soft blankets, and music far more beautiful than he had ever produced himself.
For a time he stopped longing for the forest and the life that had been his. He simply enjoyed each moment, for that is the way that a cat is, and every animal. Men might think of the future or the past, but for animals there is only this moment, and then the next one.
But it was not long before the few coins that the student of magic had given the cat man were gone. Evicted from the inn, he was thrown into the streets of the town and began to live as a beggar and a thief. He attacked passersby without compunction, combining a man’s clever hands with a cat’s vicious speed, and soon he was proud of having killed as many in the town as in the forest.
So it was that the student, returning to the town with his masters in his carriage, showed the proof of his talents, but not in the way he had expected.
The cat man leaped at the carriage with all aboard, growling and clawing and gnashing his teeth. The young man trembled, realizing he had transformed the wild cat into a man without respect for what he had been or understanding of what he would become.
He tried to pretend that he knew nothing of the creature, but the
tawny hair and striped face gave the cat man’s identity away. The masters were horrified at what the student had done and told him they would not teach him another day.
Angry, the young man turned on the fleeing cat man and caught his legs with magic. They changed back into their animal form, though he left the rest of the cat man as he was.
“What has become of you? How can you have done this with the great gift that I offered you?” he complained.
The cat man spat and bit and scratched, but could not answer in any language.
The student stared at the cat man and saw in him the cause of his failure.
He lifted his hands and gathered his power, intending to reverse his magic. But the student had another idea for revenge. He used his magic to make the cat man look wholely human once more. Then he bound the cat man with ropes and took him home to be his servant. For many years they lived together, until, one day, the man was found dead in his own chambers.
The ropes he had used to keep his servant tethered to him had been broken, and of the servant himself there was no sign. But the man had been old, and there was no reason to suspect that there was anything to fear in the poor servant.
If some saw the strange servant roaming the forests and beyond, they said nothing of it. Nor did they connect the change in the forest itself, or in the other animals that lived within it, to the servant who had once been a cat man.
CHAPTER ONE
The Hound
THE SMELL OF the forest hit her first. Pine and moss and sweat-touched fur.
It was right again.
And so was she.
Her paws were on the ground. She could stretch her back and scratch herself as needed and she had a tail again to keep her balance.
She felt how strong and wide her jaw was now, and she tested her teeth by chomping at a branch of the tree at her side. It snapped instantly, cleanly, just as prey would when she was ready to chase it.
She could hear the distant call of a bird and the splash of a fish in the water not far away.
She tried out her strong legs and discovered she could run as fast as ever, leap over fallen trees, then turn around in a flick of movement and be racing back the same way again.
That was when she nearly careened into the bear.
And remembered why he was here.
The bear who had been a man, whose story she had heard when she was a princess.
The bear Prince George had brought her to, the one who had challenged her, then watched her change from woman to hound.
Where was Prince George? And the princess?
The hound had not seen them leave. She had been too busy rediscovering herself.
Now the bear sniffed in her direction.
She sniffed back and approached him slowly, head down, to show that she would not attack. Her lips twitched and she caught a snarl in her throat. The bear made a wordless sound like a groan, then gestured with one large paw toward the rocky part of the forest.
He took a step in that direction, then stopped. Waiting, but without threat.
She thought briefly of the year she had spent as human, when she had never been allowed to choose anything for herself. The boots she had had to wear, pinching her feet, the gowns that were “suitable,” the words she was expected to say, the curtsying and smiling.
But that was gone.
She was a hound again. And the bear was an animal, as she was.
She lumbered cautiously alongside him as they crossed twice over a cold stream and approached a cave.
The bear entered it.
She moved across the rocks and peered inside.
The bear settled at one end of the cave and stretched out on the floor near the back with his side to the rock wall. She could smell water in the air. It was dripping on the bear, but he did not complain.
She moved forward, then tucked herself in close to him, letting her legs curl up underneath her. She could feel the brush of his fur against hers.
She shivered, then moved closer to the bear, until she could feel the hurried breathing of his chest against her.
Gradually it slowed. And she slept.
The next morning, as the two drank by the stream, a herd of rabbits crossed their path.
The hound held back, allowing the bear the first kill. But his attack was so loud and wide that by the time he had the first rabbit in his mouth, all the others had scattered.
The hound spent long minutes chasing them, but they were gone, and so was any other hope of game that morning. The woods were silent, the animals warned by the great noise of the bear and the lingering scent of death.
Angry, she returned to the stream, expecting the bear to have eaten his kill.
Yet the bear held out the rabbit, freshly cleaned in the stream and an hour dead.
She took half of the rabbit meat, and left the other half for him. He must have been offering half as recompense for ruining her chance to get her own.
But the bear would not eat his half of the rabbit. He pushed it toward her.
She pushed it back to him and whined.
He turned away from it.
She growled at him. How could he be so stubborn? She knew he must be as hungry as she.
But he would not take it.
So she turned her back on the meat.
They went back to the cave, her stomach only half full and his entirely empty.
What was wrong?
She could speak the language of the hounds, but he could not. His mouth could only produce the language of the bears, which neither understood.
CHAPTER TWO
The Bear
THE HOUND’S PRESENCE bothered the bear in small, petty ways, though he knew it should not. She slept noisily, and sometimes her legs moved in the night as if she were running. She ate constantly and moved so quickly that it made his head ache.
He wished that she would simply sit beside him at the stream. Or nuzzle next to him in the cave at night until they both fell asleep together.
He had not thought it possible to feel even lonelier than he had before Prince George had worked his magic to make the hound a hound again, and the princess a woman. But he did.
It was worse still when he and the hound were called for the wedding a few weeks later, and they saw the joy in the eyes of Princess Marit and Prince George. The way that each seemed to see only the other, the whispers they shared with each other, the gentle laughter and instinctively coordinated steps.
Why could the bear not have the love that the prince had?
He had never been one to settle for second best. Over the last two hundred years, more than one she-bear had signaled with a rooting call and a turn of her flank that she had need of a mate and he would be a fine choice.
Had he been tempted? Perhaps a little. Having a warm body next to his, if nothing else, would have kept the cold of the winter nights away. Still, he had known it would have been a second best for both of them. A she-bear would be disappointed that he could not even speak as a bear and he wanted more than a warm body.
But the hound was not just a warm body. She was life and exuberance, freedom and grace. She was as fine a companion as he could have imagined having in the forest.
And yet…he could not say he loved her. There was something missing between them, something that George and Marit had. Something that the bear had never known but had always longed for.
One night, as the hound slept and he could see the spill of moonlight against her black form, the bear thought of the women whom he had believed he loved, when he was a king, and a man, and very young.
Lady Finick.
She had had the most beautiful blond hair. Her mouth had been wide and very red, and when she was not smiling, she was laughing. And touching him. Leaning over him with her ample breasts, letting him smell the flowers in her hair, letting him feel her body against his.
Lady Trinner. She had been so petite that on first sight she had seemed a child. Then he had seen her bright eyes and the teasing flou
nce of her long black hair and gowns designed to make her tiny waist seem tinier still. She had been easy to dance with. One could hardly make a mistake as her partner.
Richon had been unable to choose between them. And why should he? He was king, was he not? Compromises and sacrifices were for others to make, not for him.
Then, one day, the royal steward had come to him with letters to prove Lady Finick was in a conspiracy with another man to steal from the royal treasury. When he confronted her, she did not try to deny it. She told him it was his own fault, for not marrying her soon enough, for not giving her access to the treasury himself.
Did she expect him to apologize for that? To offer to marry her then?
He listened to her screech at him, felt her spittle land on his cheeks, and told himself that he still had Lady Trinner.
But by then Lady Trinner had engaged herself to a duke from another kingdom, a man she had never met.
Fine, let her go, he thought. He did not care. He would find another, better, brighter, prettier than she.
He said good-bye to Lady Trinner with cold formality, the lord chamberlain and royal steward at his side, looking on with approval at his restraint.
Hours later, he had given up his pride and leaped onto his fastest horse to chase after her. He caught her at the border of his country and begged her to stay with him.
She had looked him in the eyes and said, “But I could never love you. You are too shallow and selfish. You are a boy still, and I will not marry a boy.”
Then she had climbed back into her carriage and gone on her way.
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