Puss in Boots (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 6) (14 page)

“Wait one moment, my lady,” the blacksmith boomed. “We have not had a chance to thank you and Master Puss.”

“It was our pleasure,” Gabrielle said. Puss nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps,” Gretel’s mother said. “But we must thank you for your service.”

“Here, here!” the bakers shouted over the giggles of their children.

“What can we give you?” another villager asked.

“I don’t want anything,” Gabrielle said. “
We
don’t want anything,” she hastily added when the villagers swiveled to look at Puss.

“Although we require nothing for the recovery of your children and the defeat of the wretched hag that has terrorized Kinzig, wouldn’t it be appropriate to celebrate the return of your beloved offspring?” Puss asked.

The village was silent as those present worked through Puss’s suggestion before the adults and children erupted into cheers.

“A celebration!”

“A festival!”

“Someone tell Okan to start cooking.”

“I must finish grazing the sheep, but tonight we will dance!”

“Is Winifred here? Someone should tell her to tune her fiddle.”

“NO candy, please!”

“Oh, but would someone make some fresh spaetzle?”

“You aren’t angry?” Puss asked as the pair watched the villagers puff with excitement.

“At least they aren’t trying to give us money or valuables. Besides, you’re right. The children returning home is something to celebrate,” Gabrielle said.

“I’m glad to hear you agree. Now, about that bath.”

Gabrielle combed through the crowd until she spied Steffen standing with his father and some of his guards. Steffen gestured towards the woods and spoke with a serious face to his father and the guard commander. She was a little disappointed to end their conversation, but it was just as well. She would rather not face him while smelling of fox.

“I’ll bathe you. Let’s return to the Galloping Gelding so I can help Okan draw enough water.”

“I will require lavender-scented bathwater.”

“You can require all you like, but you’ll only be getting plain water…unless you can magic it in there yourself,” Gabrielle said, briskly making for the inn with Puss trailing behind her.

“We shall see.”

Chapter 8

Festivities

The afternoon proceeded well. Prince Steffen and Gabrielle returned—with Moritz—to the witch’s home to confirm the property had been burnt to a crisp. Not a splinter remained of the terrible stable and candy cottage. The only hint that the buildings existed was the lingering scent of burnt sugar.

As soon as possible, the villagers set aside their work, exchanging the tools of their trade for instruments and flowers. Okan—the quiet innkeeper of the Galloping Gelding—cooked up a storm with assistance from the bakers. The air was filled with music, laughter, and smiles.

At the start of the celebration, Gabrielle was never alone for more than a moment. Too many children and villagers wished to thank her, speak to her, and dance with her. It wasn’t until the sun set and a massive bonfire was lit that she was able to shrink back to the shadows with Puss—who smelled heavenly thanks to his lavender-scented bath.

She was watching the dancers and petting her cat when Steffen joined her.

“You look content,” he said, offering her a wooden bowl of ripe strawberries.

“I am,” Gabrielle said, selecting one.

“Why shouldn’t she be? She saved a number of children
and
the crown prince today,” Puss said.

A wry tilt slanted Steffen’s lips, but he said nothing in retaliation. “You have to admire them,” he said.

“Who?” Gabrielle asked, pulling her attention away from a stray, pumpkin-colored cat that lurked nearby.

Steffen sat down next to her. “The villagers.”

“Why would we admire them? They’re pleasant, kind people, but I do not think that is all that unusual,” Gabrielle said, furrowing her brow.

“Perhaps, but they have the fortitude and the courage to stay in danger,” Steffen said.

Gabrielle consumed her strawberry. “What do you mean?”

“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.”