He leapt up and peered through the glass. His window looked out upon the kitchen gardens in the upper tier of Oriana’s grounds. The cat sat in a patch of moonlight, grooming its tail. The hat lay beside it.
“Iubdan’s beard!” Lionheart grabbed a pair of trousers, hauled them on with his nightshirt flapping down to his knees, and was out of the room in a moment. A few disoriented turns, and he managed to find his way out to the kitchen gardens. There the cat waited, still grooming its tail as though it hadn’t another concern in the world. But when Lionheart approached, it perked its ears at him, hissed, and grabbed the hat. Lionheart darted forward but missed and landed hard on his knees, watching that plume of a tail dart off down the garden path. His hat jingled from the cat’s mouth.
“You monster!” Lionheart cursed the beast and gave chase. The cat stopped and waited until he had almost caught him before dashing on again. The creature was a devil with a fluffy tail.
“I will return for you.”
Lionheart pulled to a halt, his heart leaping to his throat. Someone else was in the gardens at this bizarre hour! Someone close. His hat momentarily forgotten, Lionheart sidestepped behind a shrub, taking shelter in its dark shadows. He peered through the branches and saw two figures farther down the way. The smaller one was a woman, but she stood with her back to him and he could not see her face. The other, he recognized in a moment: the Prince of Farthestshore.
The woman spoke, and her voice was harsh. “I . . . I don’t want you to return!”
Una! Lionheart’s fists clenched. She sounded distressed. Should he go to her? But one look at the Prince’s face, which the moonlight revealed, and Lionheart held his peace and remained where he stood.
“Nevertheless,” said the Prince, “I will come back for you.”
Hate him!
The Lady’s words hissed through his mind.
Hate him! Loathe him!
Lionheart had never before heard that icy voice so full of venom and fire. In that moment, it was almost indistinguishable from the Dragon’s. He shivered and sweated where he stood.
“Please, Una,” said the Prince of Farthestshore, “let me tend your hurts before I go. . . .”
Then Una was backing away from him up the path. Lionheart heard her voice, angry and fast, and he only just restrained himself from leaping out to her defense, though from what he would defend her he could not say.
Hate him, whispered the Lady.
“Go already, if you’re going to!” Princess Una cried. The dismay in her voice could have broken hearts. Lionheart longed to comfort her. “I wish you’d gone ages ago! I wish . . . I wish you’d never come!”
Then she rushed up the path at a furious pace, her bedgown clutched in both fists. But the Prince of Farthestshore kept pace beside her, and Lionheart heard him say clearly, “Una. I love you, Una. I will return to ask for your hand. In the meanwhile, please don’t give your heart away.”
Lionheart saw the expression on the princess’s face as she passed so close to him. He saw the tears, the sorrow, and even the pain. Then she was gone up the path, and the Prince of Farthestshore stood alone in the moonlight, only a few feet from where Lionheart hid.
Hate! breathed the Lady. Her voice was very small now, as though afraid to be overheard.
“Preeeowl?” said the cat. It sat at Lionheart’s feet and dropped the jester’s hat. Lionheart gasped, and the Prince of Farthestshore turned and looked directly at him, his gaze piercing the shadows.
“Prince Lionheart,” he said, “come out.”
Lionheart stepped forward, aiming a kick at the cat as he went, which the creature dodged with ease. It scampered forward and twined itself about the Prince of Farthestshore’s ankles, flicking its tail and purring smugly. The Prince gently pushed it away with one foot, though it came right back, still purring.
“Good . . . good evening, Your Highness,” Lionheart said with a deep bow. “Pardon this disturbance, but the cat stole my hat.” He reached out and picked it up, jangling it to emphasize the truth of his words. Why must he feel like a thief caught with his hand in the jewelry box? It wasn’t his fault the cat had made free with his belongings! It wasn’t his fault he’d overheard.
“Lionheart,” said the Prince of Farthestshore, “it is time for me to go.”
Lionheart blinked. “Um. Your Highness, my name is Leonard. I am not the person you seem to think I am.”
“One of mine is threatened,” said the Prince, never breaking Lionheart’s gaze. “She is one of yours as well. I must return to Southlands and liberate her when she calls.”
Lionheart licked his lips and took a step back, bowing again quickly. Return to Southlands! In that moment, how desperately he longed for his homeland.