"How did you get in here?" Alvin demands, as if he's interrogating a spy and not a lost cat. I wonder if anyone's ever told him that he takes his job too seriously. The maids joke about it behind his back all the time, in the safety of the kitchens, but most wouldn't dare to say it to his face. "You aren't allowed in here. This is the King's private wing."

Oh no. I must have strayed too far. Of course, there's no way a real cat would know the rules about the King's private wing, but I'm still me. I at least should have stayed away from any place Alvin might find me. He despises cats as much as he despises the maids, which is probably as much as he despises babies and flowers, too. He's always scolding Dinah for feeding the strays, claiming she's the reason they crowd around the kitchen doors. I do suppose it must be confusing and bewildering for him to see them expressing affection to someone who's kind to them.

Alvin grabs me by the back of my neck, and I let out a yowl that sounds convincingly catlike, if I say so myself. "It's that cook," he seethes, marching back towards the kitchens. "I've told her time and again—"

As he mutters and raves about Dinah, I start to panic. What if I get her in trouble? The King would never fire her, would he? There isn't a better cook in all the kingdom, I'm sure of it. But knowing Alvin, there are a million tiny cruelties he can inflict on Dinah to make her days miserable, or at least annoying.

"Oh, what a sweet little kitty!" coos Eveline, tucking a load of laundry under an arm to reach out and pet me as we pass in the hall. Eveline! I wish I could speak, but since I still can't without revealing my secret, I try to communicate with my eyes and desperate meowing. Save me!

Alvin swats her hand away, making her stumble back. "This disgusting little stray was found about the King's chambers. Did you have anything to do with this?"

"No, sir," she stammers. "I've never seen this one before." When she turns her attention back to me, she becomes a different person, voice jumping up an octave. "And I'd remember, wouldn't I? Such a beauty you are!" Cats really do something to people.

Well, some people. "That's quite enough, maid," Alvin snaps. "Tell the cook I want to see her immediately. First I must dispose of this one."

"Dispose of?" Eveline's eyes go wider than mine. "You can't mean—oh no, sir, please don't."

It hadn't occurred to me that Alvin was planning on doing anything more than putting me outside. Yes, he's Alvin, but even Alvin is human, isn't he? But his resolute marching away without addressing Eveline is making me worry, not to mention the fact that he didn’t just give me to her to deal with. Does he not trust her to dispose of me 'properly' because she already seems to like me? I squirm in his tightening grasp, yelping when I can get the air. I don't want to scratch him and risk incurring more of his wrath, but maybe if I just—

"Alvin!"

Alvin turns and I spot Hans, one of the footmen, hurrying towards him with an envelope in hand. "What is it?"

"Urgent message for the King," Hans pants. "Just delivered"—a gasp—"from Randstand"—another gasp—"about the—"

"Don't say it out loud, you dimwit," Alvin hisses. "Give it to me, I'll deliver it myself."

Hans stares at me, as if just registering my presence. "Is that a cat?"

No, Hans. I'm a knapsack.

"No, Hans," says Alvin, pivoting back towards the King's chambers. "It's a chair."

I try not to think about what it means that Alvin and I had the same response to poor Hans, who I now think I was too harsh towards in my thoughts. But it's different, because I didn’t speak them out loud, isn't it? My thoughts aren't hurting his feelings.

For now, I try to focus on the brief comfort that Alvin probably won't wring my neck in front of the King. He's even let me climb onto his arm, like a picture of a monkey wrapped around a tree branch I once saw in a book. He knocks twice before walking into the King's bedroom, without waiting for a response. "Morning, Gus," he says, and I don't know why I'm surprised. The King and Alvin spend nearly every waking moment together. Of course he calls him by his given name—by a nickname, no less. "Urgent message from—"

The King is already at his desk with no less than four books open in front of him, but when he sees me, he practically flings his quill across the room to come to me and Alvin. "Who," he demands, sinking to his knees to get to my eye level, "is this magnificent creature?"

"Just a stray," Alvin replies. I bristle a little, but why? He isn't wrong. Even as a human, I'm essentially a stray. "I was just about to take it outside."

"A stray? Poor thing." He scratches my ears and I'm suddenly in heaven, nuzzling into his hand. "She doesn't belong to anyone?"

"Not that I know of," says Alvin. "And I know of everything."

"Well, then," says the King, a slow smile unfurling over his face, "I can keep her."

"What?" Alvin's outburst is the only thing that prevents my own yowl of confusion. "No, you can't."

"Why not?" he says, holding his hand out to me. Alvin might be trying to kill me, so I gratefully cross into the King's arms and let him cuddle me close to his chest. "See? She likes me. And you said it yourself, she doesn't belong to anyone."

"But that doesn't mean—"

"Sure it does."

"At least let me give it a bath or something," says Alvin. "That animal must be filthy."

"Don't be rude, Alvin." Yeah, Alvin, I want to say, don't be rude! "She's perfectly clean. Look at her fur, pure white all over. Have you ever seen anything like it? What do you think about calling her Snowball?"

"You want to name it?"

"Her."

"You can't really be thinking about keeping it."

"I won't correct you again," says the King. His voice is mild but his tone is pointed, and Alvin straightens up a bit, looking chastened. "Go to the kitchens and fetch some milk for our little princess, will you? The good kind, not the kind that skims out all the flavor."

"Yes, Your Majesty," says Alvin. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he shoots me a look that says he won't forget this.

But the King doesn't notice. "That's a good name for you," he says, gazing adoringly into my eyes. I've never had anyone look at me this closely before. Even Dinah with all her fondness is always doing a million other things, cooking, cleaning, tending to her cats, reading me a book out loud. I feel naked, which I suppose I am. Thank goodness for all this fur. "Princess. Do we like that?"

Princess? Me? I could laugh out loud. Then I remember, I could laugh out loud and give myself away, so I make a purr instead.

"Yeah, we like that," he continues, reclining on his bed, which is bigger than my entire room. "We'll call you Princess. Everyone's always on my case about meeting a princess, marrying well, forming an alliance to strengthen our country. And none of them ask what I think about it. Well, I don’t think I’ll meet a princess any better than you. And there are plenty of ways to form alliances without getting married that we can sort out.”

I'd known about the marriage talks, but I hadn't known the King's feelings about them. I had assumed he'd be all for it. After all, who doesn't want to marry a princess? And if the King doesn't feel like doing something, doesn't he simply have to say so to make it go away? Perhaps nobility is more complicated than I assumed.

The King continues speaking softly as he strokes me, making me drowsy, reminding me that in all my worry, I didn't get a good night's sleep at all before Alvin rudely woke me. "Demetria would flip to hear me say it, she's going on and on about Princess Genera and how an alliance with Randstand—"

And then suddenly, the King bolts upright so quickly I almost catapult across the room. "Demetria!"