The Rat Prince by Bridget Hodder Page B

explained, had I had the power of human speech. I would have taken her to our storerooms and treasure troves to reveal that over the centuries, we rats had secretly saved a magnificent garment from the wardrobe of each Lady Lancastyr whose elegance we had particularly admired.
    But I could communicate none of this to her. And it was more important that she read the entire book her ancestor wrote, so I slapped it with one paw.
    â€œYes, you gave me a magnificent present. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!” she gushed, not understanding. “I will read it when I have time, after the ball. And I cannot ever properly express my gratitude to you for the gown!”
    Realizing I had done everything I could to draw her attention to the book, I looked over at Swiss and sighed. Then I stood up tall and swept Lady Rose a low, courtly bow. As I placed a paw upon my chest and brought my whiskers toward the floor, I hoped it would convey what I wished I could say aloud: The dress is my royal gift to you, Lady Rose.
    â€œOh, God save!” she cried. I could tell my action was so unexpected to her as to be frightening.
    However, she calmed herself in an instant. Then her green eyes held mine as she favored me with the magnificent curtsy she’d given her stepmother the day before. This time, the move was as solemn as it was graceful.
    â€œThank you, Blackie,” she murmured while she sank to the ground amid waves of golden skirts. “You and your people, and the mice, honor me greatly. I am proud to wear the gift of the rats, protectors of my family.”
    My mother and Swiss, who’d remained at the margins of these events, now came forward to stand next to me.
    â€œShe may be human,” Lady Apricot said, breathing in the girl’s scent curiously. “But there is something about her. She has the air of a queen, indeed. I now see why the humans have always thought her beautiful.”
    â€œMy apologies, but I don’t think I will ever find her beautiful,” said Swiss. “She does smell extremely toothsome, though. Like sugarplums. She’s lucky we’re civilized enough not to bite her cheeks as she sleeps.”
    â€œIf she were a rat, she would be called Lady Sugarplum,” I declared.
    Lady Apricot gave a most unladylike “Humpf!”
    *   *   *
    The day of the ball dawned fair and clear.
    I awoke that morning with fierce exhilaration burning in my breast. My bid to put Lady Rose at the side of the next king would be a gamble with little risk to us rats and an enormous payoff if we succeeded. Indeed, in light of the latest developments, luck seemed to be on our side. The mice had worked long into the night to put the final touches on Rose’s impressive garment, fashioned to thwart Wilhemina’s mean-spirited plan. They had discarded the outmoded ruff and large farthingale and changed the shape of the billowing skirts and narrow bodice. The rat-candidate for queen would attend the party and be in line for the human throne before the evening was out.
    Oh, the bliss and confidence of ignorance.
    â€œMother,” I said over the remnants of our breakfast—fresh eggs stolen from the henhouse, shreds of venison, and day-old bread scattered across a single gold plate on the floor of my chamber—“did you match Lady Rose’s garments with adornments from our treasure boxes?”
    â€œIndeed I did.”
    â€œThank you. When you deliver them, don’t wake her up if she’s still asleep. She needs her rest.”
    â€œAs you wish, Your Highness,” she replied in a resentful tone, but with a regal inclination of her head. Then she added, “When you reach Castle Wendyn, thieve something pretty for me.”
    â€œMy lady,” I admonished, “great deeds are afoot. This is not about you and your jewel box.”
    â€œI know very well who this is about,” she said, and turned her back.
    My, but she seems