Heartless

“Good morning, Eanrin,” said the Prince.

“Good morning, my lord,” said the cat and, after putting up his nose to gauge the height, hopped up onto the bench. “Pray continue,” he said to Oeric and Rogan, and they returned to their sparring. Sir Oeric’s sword was wooden, but the smaller knight used a real blade. Even when he made a hit, there was no chance of its piercing Oeric’s rock-like hide.

Monster groomed a paw some moments while the Prince continued to watch his knights. Then the cat said, “My Prince?”

“Yes, Eanrin?”

“If you don’t mind my saying so . . .”

Aethelbald waited, then gently prodded, “Go on.”

“What you lack – and I mean this in the most respectful sense, you understand.”

“I’m listening,” said the Prince of Farthestshore.

“What you lack,” said the cat, “is confidence. For while you rule the vast stretches of the Far World and master the Wood Between with a powerful hand, from the boundaries of the Netherhills to the stretches of the Final Water and beyond, you simply don’t have the first idea when it comes to women.”

Sir Imoo, intent on his knife, snorted but turned it into a cough.

Prince Aethelbald said, “And what would you suggest?”

“I may be but a humble house pet,” said the cat, “but if there is one thing in which I hold complete confidence, it is the conviction of my own desirability.”

“Spoken like a true cat.”

“No matter how antagonistic the object of my current affections may be, a well-timed purr, a sweet trill, an expertly hunted and scarcely nibbled gift will work magic every time! Consider, my Prince.”

Aethelbald raised an eyebrow. “You suggest I take up mousing?”

“Shrews work well too. I leave toads for Prince Felix. On his pillow.”

“And we all know how great is his affection for you,” muttered Sir Imoo.

Monster acknowledged him with a sniff. “Exactly! And if all else fails, my Prince, you can sing. Every princess loves a chap who will serenade her from the garden on a moonlit night. I do it myself every full moon, filling the night air with the dulcet sounds of my voice!”

“Until the housekeeper throws cold dishwater at you,” said Sir Imoo.

The cat flattened his ears. “That old hag is tone-deaf.”

The prince met Imoo’s gaze over the blind cat’s ears, shaking his head slightly. Then he said to the cat, “Eanrin, much though I appreciate your concern – ”

“I live only to serve, my Prince.”

“ – I think you must let me make my suit in my own way.”

“By circumnavigating the girl at every turn? Mrreeeowl! Is that the spirit that won the undying devotion of Gleamdren the Fair, Queen Bebo’s golden-eyed cousin?”

“And when did you actually win Lady Gleamdren’s devotion? Last I’d heard she was not speaking to you.”

“A minor setback.”

“For the last thousand-odd years.”

“But I sensed a distinct softening in her demeanor when I visited Rudiobus last century. She looked at me once.”

Aethelbald smiled. “She would have found it difficult to throw her shoe at your head without looking at you, Eanrin.”

“Ah yes. You heard about that, eh? The true sign of thawing heart, I tell you! The more antagonistic they seem, the more certain you can be that they are struggling in the deepest throes of turbulent emotion! Believe me, my Prince, I know about these things. Am I not the most celebrated romantic lyricist of all the ages? You can be certain your ladylove is secretly pining away for you, and her sharp tongue and icy face are mere masks to disguise the depths of her feelings! It is your task – nay, your duty – to take every opportunity to remind her of your ardent love. Bring her flowers. Write her sonnets. I’ll write them for you if you wish, and you needn’t tell her. It’s sure to work. She’ll get so exhausted refusing you that she’s bound to give in eventually!”

Silence followed, broken only by a thunk of the wooden sword and Sir Rogan’s yelped, “Ow!”

Then Prince Aethelbald said, “Eanrin.”

“My Prince?”

“Why don’t you go chase a ball of yarn.”

–––––––

Then it was three weeks later, and summer arrived in a blaze of glory, full of sunshine and buttercups and balmy afternoons.

Una’s mood did not match.

One such afternoon, Una tossed aside her embroidery, grabbed her journal, and escaped outside, ignoring Nurse’s calls for her to mind the sun and not burn her nose and did she remember her hat?

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