“Time to eat the Duke?” roared Moatie in a voice that could be heard throughout the castle, the closer villages, and even the forest, a mile away. Everyone could understand the monster because once upon a time he too had been human. The details of his transformation were lost in the mists of time. Gotfried believed Moatie had done it to himself on purpose.
Moatie’s threat to eat Duke Rikard was one of the things that kept the sorcerer from behaving too badly towards the princesses, at least until such a time as his sorcery grew strong enough to deal with the creature. The moat monster was admittedly extremely ancient and slow-moving, but he was also about sixty feet long, armored from head to foot, resistant to magic, and could smash down any door in the castle and slither up or down any of the stairs.
“No, not yet,” bawled Anya as loudly as she could, in an attempt to overcome Moatie’s deafness. “It’s me, Princess Anya. Would you mind carrying me around the moat to look for a frog?”
She held up her dowsing rod close to his nearsighted eyes. The stick was twisting around, pointing at a clump of lilies about twenty yards to her right.
“Anya. I wasn’t sure if it was you or Morven. Climb on.”
“And me!” barked Ardent.
“And the dog, of course,” said Moatie. “Which one are you?”
“Ardent. Son of Jorum and Kithlin, daughter of Fango and Goldie, daughter of Smartnose, daughter of … well, lots more. All the way back to Tanitha.”
“Ah,” said Moatie. “Come on, then, both of you.”
He lowered his head and lifted up a ten-foot-long section of his neck, a broad expanse of scaly flesh. Anya climbed on carefully, balancing her bucket and butterfly net, with Ardent close behind. They found a nice flat area between some big bony plates and braced their feet.
“Over to your left,” called out Anya, carefully watching where her dowsing rod was pointing. “Slowly, please!”
The huge monster moved through the water so easily he hardly sent a ripple to the shore. The frogs on the pondweed island ahead watched him suspiciously, but did not jump off.
“Even slower,” Anya requested. “Stop!”
The dowsing rod was pointing directly at one particular rather-more-yellow-than-green frog who was sitting by itself, which was unusual, since the frogs generally clustered close together. Looking at it … him … Anya felt sure she could see a hint of Prince Denholm’s blond hair in the frog’s shiny skin.
Holding on to one of the monster’s bony plates, Anya leaned down with the butterfly net and deftly scooped up the frog, before quickly transferring it, still in the net, into the bucket.
“Back to shore, please, Moatie!” she ordered, quite satisfied with having found Prince Denholm so quickly. At the same time, she had to quell a nagging sense that it had been too easy.
What if the Duke stepped in to make sure Prince Denholm stayed a frog? Sooner or later, the uneasy truce between Rikard and the princesses would be broken.
Anya growled under her breath. Ardent growled too, and looked around for enemies to bite.
The monster moved swiftly to the shore, sending up a wave that swamped all the pondweed islands and sent dozens of frogs croaking and complaining into the moat.
Anya and Ardent disembarked by the hole in the garden wall. Anya patted Moatie near one huge nostril, being careful not to get too close in case he inhaled and sucked in her hand and arm. Cleaning moat-monster snot off yourself taught a young person caution, as Anya had learned when she was six. Ardent barked his thanks.
“Tell me when to eat the Duke!” roared Moatie. “Don’t forget!”
“I won’t,” promised Anya. “Thank you, Moatie.”
She hurried through the garden, carefully holding the bucket with the net-wrapped frog. It wouldn’t do if Denholm jumped out somewhere along the way. Ardent followed close at her heels, pausing only to sniff at an upside-down bug scrabbling about on the foot of the private stairs to Morven’s chambers.
Anya had expected Morven still to be at least sobbing on her lounge, if not caterwauling on the carpet, so she was surprised to see her sister sitting by the tall window, looking radiant and cheerful. The explanation for this could be found in the song coming through the window. Someone was singing outside, a truly transcendent male voice delivering the familiar tune of “Loved I Not a Shepherdess Who Proved to Be a Princess Hiding among the Sheep.”
Morven’s favorite song.
Anya’s eyes narrowed. Morven was not known for the steadfast nature of her relationships, but transferring her affections to a new prince this soon would be a record, even for her.
“Who’s that singing?” Anya asked casually.
“I know not.” Morven sighed, placing the back of her hand against her forehead and miming a bit of a swoon. “He is incognito, but by the purity of his voice and the two cloth-of-gold-garbed servants who are holding the music, he must be a prince.”
“Well, forget about the new prince for a moment,” said Anya sternly. She pulled the net out of the bucket and extracted the frog, holding it tightly in both hands. It croaked dismally and its back legs kicked in an effort to get away. “You’ve got to kiss Denholm!”
Morven made a gagging noise and looked away.
“I’m not kissing that!”
“Just shut your eyes and pretend to be kissing Denholm,” said Anya, holding the frog closer. It kicked even more strongly, as if it objected to being kissed as well.
“I’m not kissing a frog!” screamed Morven. She turned determinedly to the open window and waved her hand. The singing got louder and more extravagantly phrased, with a couple of fluid trills as the prince below showed off his marvelous voice.
“You are such a selfish beast,” said Anya, but she knew it was no use. Not for the first time, she wondered if perhaps it might be better to let Duke Rikard take over the kingdom after all. Morven would be such a terrible queen. But Rikard would be even worse, and he would never leave them both alive … or at least untransformed.
Morven ignored Anya, and continued smiling and waving.
“Now what do I do with you?” Anya asked the frog.
“Blee-blup,” replied the struggling frog, which wasn’t much help.