“Let me make sure I understand you,” says Demetria, “though I doubt I ever will.”

“Tell me about it,” Alvin mutters. Both she and the King ignore him.

“You want to delay the council meeting, at which we will discuss the terms of your country's treaty with our most powerful neighbors, a treaty which may promise perpetual peace and will most likely hinge on your marriage to a princess being courted by every nation known to us, so you can go traipsing about the forest looking for a maid?”

The King looks sheepish. I’ve never seen anything like it before. “When you put it like that.”

Demetria closes her eyes. “Gus. Sweet Gus. You know I tolerate your fondness for all life. It’s quaint. People think it makes you relatable. But please, be sensible. This is important.”

“So is this,” the King insists. “Who says a princess has more inherent worth than a maid?”

“The very foundation of our governing system.”

“A king should care about his people,” he says. “All his people. If I only answer to the nobility, what good does that do for the majority of this country?”

“Fine,” Demetria says, waving him away. “Do what you like. I’ll attend to the council, go over the proposal, have it ready for your review tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Demetria.” He hugs her, which I wouldn’t have thought was something she’d allow from anyone. But the King isn’t anyone, he’s her nephew. It’s nice to see that everyone has a soft side. “You’re the best.”

Demetria smiles. “I know.”

**

The King unearths an old baby carriage for me to ride in, much to Alvin’s derision. “Why is your cat coming with us on this forest hunt?” he demands.

“You don’t think she’d be bored here all alone?”

“I think with all you’ve purchased, all the cats in the world would never be bored again.”

But the King doesn’t seem to hear him, gently picking me up to place me inside. I have to admit, part of me thought I might feel humiliated, but the carriage feels almost as good as my bed. I curl up with a purr of contentment, batting a small golden ball about as we walk.

Not just golden, I suddenly realize. Real gold. The King has given his pet cat a chunk of solid gold, encrusted with what look like diamonds. Doesn’t he know how soft this metal is? How sharp my teeth and claws are? How good it feels for me to chew on it? Oh no.

“You’re going to start dressing her up in your old clothes next,” says Alvin, glaring down at me. It’s then that I realize this was probably the King’s carriage as a child. What would his parents say if they knew the closest thing their only pride and joy had to a child of his own was a cat?

Would they like me? Why does it matter?

Once we’re outside and the searchers have been organized, Alvin starts reading aloud some letters he brought along, practically begging the King to dictate his responses to make better use of his time, but the King is busy calling out my name. Until a few days ago, not much had ever happened to me. But although there isn’t much competition for the title, being a cat in a search party for my human self easily wins the competition for strangest experience I’ve ever had.

“Lurina!” the King calls.

“Lurina!” someone else shouts a few paces behind.

“Lurina!”

“Lurina!”

The woods are full of Lurinas, and no one knows it’s me. Is it me? Who am I? I am cat? This is so weird. I need to clear my head.

I nuzzle at the King’s hand, lest he think I'm suddenly abandoning him—and he sends out a search party to find me next—before leaping from my carriage to look around. I’m surprised at how many people have come out to join the hunt. Lest I flatter myself into believing they care for me, I know most are here to encourage the illusion that they are close enough friends of the King to join him for walks in the woods. But Eveline’s here, too, sneaking me scraps of meat from her apron pocket when I cozy up to her.

“Good girl,” she whispers, giving my ears a scratch. “What a sweetheart. You’ll like Lurina, too. Don’t believe what they’re saying about her.”

Wait. What are they saying about me?

I let myself lag, falling in step with other parties. Other nobles who couldn’t have known my name until today. Some are even yelling, “Maid!” instead of my name. That doesn’t stop them from having plenty to say about me.

“I heard she got herself pregnant and ran away,” says Lady Bertha from behind a feathered fan. “That’s why the King’s so desperate to find her. If the child is a boy, he’ll have a claim to the throne, bastard or not.”

“I heard she was a spy from Randstand,” Sir Cyrus interjects. “If she’s made it across the border, we’ll be at war within the week.”

Duke Edgar, as always, looks too eager at the prospect of correcting everyone. “No, no, you have it all wrong,” he says. “She’s the King’s sister. Unclaimed, you understand.”

Everyone gasps. One mutters a quick prayer. It’s one thing to gossip about the current King, but to speak ill of a beloved deceased monarch is considered near treason.

Well, at least no one has noticed that around the time the maid went missing, a cat appeared out of nowhere. But who would make that connection? It’s far too preposterous.

At least now that my bed is somewhere I can better escape, and I know I have an hour of human time every night, I can plan my visit to Dinah. Later in the day, we head back inside, unsuccessful. I can barely eat at dinner, or listen to Demetria summarizing the afternoon’s work, or even appreciate how concerned the King looks as he regretfully tells Gertrude that they didn’t find me today, but perhaps they’ll find me next time.

Is it wrong to appreciate his concern? I feel guilty for making him worry, but I also feel...good. Important. Noticed, I suppose, which is all it takes sometimes. I know the King’s concern for every citizen isn’t something to take personally, but still. I feel good.

I feel even better when I sneak out of that ridiculous cat canopy as 11 o’clock draws near. I’ll see Dinah! I’ll have a conversation! I hurry downstairs and hide in a shadowy nook by the servants’ quarters for my transformation, and after I get my human bearings, I knock on Dinah’s door. Good thing she isn’t as heavy a sleeper as the King.

Dinah’s eyes when she sees me are as wide as the open doorway. “Lurina!”

“Shh!” I push her into the room, shut the door behind me, and envelop her in a tight hug all at once. All the snuggles and ear scratches in the world can’t compare to having your arms wrapped around someone you love, and feeling theirs back around you. I’d give up all my silks for this.

“It’s so good to see you—”

“I don’t have a lot of time,” I begin, and then it all tumbles out in a single breath: “I turned into a cat on my eighteenth birthday and I know that sounds impossible because it is but it happened and I don’t know why or what I did or how to make it stop and this can’t be happening but it is and I really really need your help because you can fix anything.” It’s only when I sniffle that I realize I’m crying. “And I really, really missed you,” I sob, and jump into her arms again.

For someone who’s just been told that magic—or at least shapeshifting—exists, Dinah remains remarkably calm. “It’s all right, my child,” she says, stroking my hair. It feels different as a human. “We’ll figure it out.”