Gus gapes at me, eyes as huge and round as his glasses. “You can talk?”

I blink. Not the reaction I expected. “Yes, but did you not hear what I said?”

He simply shrugs, though his face is unable to contain the smile that’s taking it over. “People are always trying to kill me,” he says, sounding almost reasonable. “I’ve never had a talking cat before. How did this happen? Are you magic? Are you cursed?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I mean, yes, cursed, probably. But I don’t know how or why.”

“I knew it,” he breathes, carding his hands through his hair in bewilderment. “I knew magic was real.” When he snaps back to attention, it’s unfortunately focused on the wrong topic still. “Are you a human who got turned into a cat like in The Crafty Caterina or a cat who’s learned to talk to humans like in The Cat Who Knew Too Much?”

“I don’t know what those are.”

“They’re stories,” he helpfully supplies, as if that part wasn’t obvious. “The Crafty Caterina is about a princess who—actually, Lady in The Cat Who Knew Too Much is a princess, too.” Gus lights up, more excited than I’ve ever seen him. “Princess! Are you actually a princess? Are you a cursed princess?”

“I’m—sure, okay, can we please focus?” I finally snap. “I’m risking my life trying to save yours!”

Immediately, his brows contract in concern. “Oh no, does revealing yourself to me break some kind of curse rule? Do you have to stay like this forever, like in The Sorrowful Snowball?”

“I don’t know that either.” Suddenly I’m even more worried than before. There’s so much to this curse business I still don’t understand. “I only mean, you know, I was afraid to talk to you before because I thought someone might think I was a witch or something and I’d be burned at the stake.” Saying it out loud now, I feel silly. Good thing he can’t see me blush under all this fur.

“Why would anyone burn you at the stake?”

If cats can shrug, that’s what I’m doing now. “I don’t know, a lot of people in this country are still weird about magic and superstition.”

“Hm.” Gus appears thoughtful. If nothing else, I’m grateful he isn’t calling me wrong or stupid to my face, even though I feel very much of both right now.

Then he says, “What’s this about someone trying to kill me?”

**

In a way, repeating what little I’ve heard of Hector and Leander’s whispers feels as silly as admitting out loud that I was afraid of a tiny, cat-sized stake. Gus looks unconvinced, and seems particularly reluctant to believe anything ill of two members of his most intimate council.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he says, trying to cushion the blow. “But are you sure you’re interpreting what you heard correctly? Hector and I grew up together, and Leander’s family has been advising the crown for generations. Why would he turn against it now?”

Is there anything I can say that doesn’t make it personal? “I don’t know,” I reply wearily. “Things change. Maybe they’re being bribed or blackmailed.”

“They could come to me if that’s the case,” says Gus, looking more wounded at the prospect of his friends not asking him for help than of a possible coup. “And besides, there’s too much risk involved. It’s treason if they’re caught, whether they’re successful or not. Even if they were hired by whoever was to take over, there’s no pardoning regicide. What ruler would want them in their midst? They’re smarter than that.”

Are they? I haven’t seen much evidence to the contrary, but I suppose Gus would know his lifelong friends better than I do. Besides, there are more pressing matters. “We’re running out of time,” I say. “They may be on their way as we imagine what their motives could be. Ask them yourself when they arrive, but at least be prepared for it.”

“No,” Gus says thoughtfully. “If you’re right, we can’t let them know we’re onto them. And if they’re coming with a plan, we won’t be safe here, no matter how prepared we are. There’s two of them and only one of me, and unless you’re hiding something underneath all that fur, I doubt you’ll be of much use in a fight.”

“I do have claws,” I feel compelled to point out, which earns me a grin. “Besides, I’ve seen you fight. Demetria is a one-woman battalion and you more than hold your own every morning. Hector and Leander wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“They might not be alone.” Gus pauses then, ducking his head and adding, “Anyway, I’d like to avoid having to kill my friends, if possible.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him the part about Leander never having liked him. It’s cruel enough finding out your friends are trying to kill you; you don’t have to know they were never really your friends to begin with.

“All right, then,” I say, trying to sound both soothing and helpful. “What’s the plan?”

Gus moves to scoop me up, then pauses. “I presume you weren’t picked up much when you were a human. Not after the age of five, anyhow.”

“Can’t say that I was, no.”

”Do you mind it as a cat?” he asks. “Is it demeaning? Would you rather walk on your own?”

I laugh, and am mortified that it turns into a cough when a hairball gets caught in my throat. “No, I don’t mind. I mean, if it’s weird for you to carry around someone you think of as a person, I get it. But no, I don’t find it demeaning.”

Gus smiles and opens up his arms to me. “All right, then. Hop on, Princess.”