Free The Princess and the Hound by Mette Ivie Harrison Page B

magic was more than being a prince because any boy might become a prince. Only special boys, she told me, were given the gift of animal magic. Only special boys could speak to both animals and humans and find a way to bridge the gap that lay between the two worlds.”
    Did he still believe that? That the animal magic was special? His mother seemed naive to him, now. And yet the Kendel she had lived in had been just as prejudiced against those with the magic, just as likely to show violence to them. How could she have been as she was, despite it all?
    George continued. “She told me she did not know what it was I was meant to do, but she promised me that I would find it. And that it would be a task only I could succeed at. She said that no matter what happened, I could never turn away from that task.”
    The bear, George thought suddenly, thinking of the dream from the night before. The bear that had wanted so much from him, more than he could give. But hismother—what would she have said? A promise…And someday…George was ashamed to think of it.
    A long cough shook King Davit’s frame. George stood and helped his father to a sitting position. When it was done, the king said, “Thank you.” After a moment he added, “I had never heard that story of her.”
    Her. His mother.
    His father and mother had lived such different lives, even as king and queen. Yet they had loved each other so much. It was one of the reasons his father had never married again, despite the urging of his advisers.
    “She loved you very much, you know. Perhaps more than she loved me.” The king’s voice had gone to a whisper.
    “No,” said George. Never that.
    “Well, then—” But before he could finish his sentence, the king began to cough, gently at first, then violently enough that his face turned purplish red.
    Panicked, George grabbed the four boxes of medicine on the bedside table and held them closer to his father. They were from Dr. Gharn, whom George had disliked since he arrived several months ago. All his medicine had done nothing to prevent the king from sliding into a worse and worse illness, but at least he had tried. The other castle physicians had left when the king began to feel ill, saying they could see nothing to be done.
    After a moment the king chose the elixir in the blackbottle and drank down a sip, then another, until gradually his breathing grew normal once more.
    George had no special love for Dr. Gharn. The man was proud, unwilling to speak, and dressed in the stiffest, most formal attire—worse than the most pompous noble of his father’s court. He also gave off a strange scent—no doubt from all his medicine making—that made everyone keep away from him as much as they could. And his voice was high and false sounding.
    Yet he was the only hope the king had.
    “You will think about what I have said?” the king asked at last. He was lying back on the bed, his hands outstretched, utterly motionless except for the movement of his lips.
    “Yes, Father,” said George. In fact, as George took his leave, he found that he could not stop thinking about it. About his mother and how much she had loved his father. And George. George could never hope to be as she had been. Not as good, or as brave, or as loving.
    Dr. Gharn was forgotten entirely. The heart had never been something that could be healed with an elixir.

C HAPTER N INE
    “Y OUR H IGHNESS, HAVE you found a betrothal gift for Princess Beatrice yet?” Sir Stephen, his face as long and thin as always, caught George on the way downstairs.
    Once years ago George had asked his father why Sir Stephen never laughed. The king had gone very still, then said simply, “If he is sober, he has good reason for it, George.” And no more than that.
    “No,” George said. The truth was, he had no idea what to choose.
    “There is a merchant in town who has a wide variety of pretty things. I have arranged for her to come to the meeting chamber if you’d like to see a