The Rat Prince by Bridget Hodder

Author:Bridget Hodder
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780374302146
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

PRINCE CHAR

We risked everything, my companions and I, in our headlong flight to save Rose. Rather than returning by our safe rat-routes through sewers, pipes, and walls, we ran through the streets, out in the open, keeping watch in case the Lancastyr coach passed us on the way back home.

My gallant band had been promised a dangerous action, and so it turned out to be. Need I remind you that most humans are hostile toward rats?

We evoked shrill screams and hasty flight from some, brutal attacks from others. Yet here was a chance for heroism, and my people rose to the occasion. An innkeeper almost crushed Corncob with a heavy keg. Truffle was able to save him with a clever rush-and-feint maneuver that drew the innkeeper’s notice away and allowed Corncob to escape.

After several more close shaves, we arrived unharmed at Lancastyr Manor. In the orange-and-purple glow of the sunset, we saw no carriage awaiting at the front of the grand house. My heart felt as though it might split asunder. We were too late. Somehow, we had missed them.

Nevertheless, I swerved and headed for the stables, hoping that perhaps the ladies had tarried in their preparations and the coach had not yet been sent for. If it were still there, we might prevent them from leaving somehow. I had a wild notion of commanding my followers to spook the horses by leaping up and swinging from their tails. It might even have worked.

In the event, we never had a chance to attempt it.

When we rounded the curve of the drive, we were greeted most unexpectedly by the sight of Lady Rose standing on the neat white gravel. She was not wearing the gold gown the mice had tailored for her; instead, she was arrayed in a luminous greeny-blue creation apparently woven from moonbeams and clouds. It hugged her tiny waist and shifted around her long limbs, the way spray floats across a waterfall. At the same time, the dress gave off a cool, clear scent. Her hair was spangled with diamonds of blinding brilliance. And my gift of the magnificent deep green emeralds blazed around her arched neck.

But all this finery was outshone by the light of her face.

I could not tear my gaze from her.

Then an unnatural female voice captured my attention. “Now, Rose de Lancastyr, you need a coach to take you to the ball, do you not?”

I turned my head to look. The timbre of the voice was a child’s, but it had come from an uncanny woman who gave off a pulsing blue light.

As I watched, this creature rolled a large green melon along the drive. (Not a pumpkin, mind you. It was a melon.) Then she pointed at it and uttered some words I could not understand.

In eerie silence, the melon puffed and swirled. It changed in color and sprouted wheels. Before I could register what was taking place, the thing had become an enormous coach, golden and ornate. At my side as always, Swiss gave a shout of disbelief.

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