Free A Pearl Among Princes by Coleen Paratore Page A

stick.
    Ransom rears back. I see Mackree’s body stiffen.
    â€œHe’s taken,” Mackree says, not looking up. Mackree coughs and spits.
    â€œLook at me when I talk to you,” the egg PIT says.
    The barn door swings open and Sir Richard joins them. “Is he ready, Mackree?” Sir Richard asks, nodding toward Ransom.
    â€œAye, sir,” Mackree says, stepping away from his horse.
    Sir Richard greets Ransom, then mounts him with ease.
    The egg prince is fried. “I claimed that horse,” he says to Mackree. “You know that, boy. I’ll have you reported.”
    â€œI’m no boy,” Mackree says in a measured tone. “And good luck reportin’. Ransom is my horse and I’m the only one decidin’ who’s fit enough to ride him.” Mackree spits again.
    This time a bit of shiny spittle lands on the egg boy’s boot.
    â€œI’ll have you whipped,” Sir Humbert says, coming toward Mackree with his riding stick raised.
    â€œThat’s enough!” I shout, rushing forward. “Leave Mackree be, you brute.”
    Sir Humbert looks at me and laughs. “Well, if it isn’t Lady Grace of the Gardens.”
    â€œ Uggh ,” I sneer at him. “If it isn’t the stumbling Humbert.”
    His smile freezes. He nods at Mackree. “Figures you’d let a girl fight your battles. A real man knows how to . . .” The dining hall bells gong loudly. Humpty’s fondess for food rules the day. He leaves, then turns back. “We’re not through, boy ,” he says to Mackree. “I would challenge you on Tournament Day, but then, of course, you won’t be riding. You’ll be scooping dung from my horse’s rump.”
    Mackree moves toward Humbert, but the egg prince hurries off.
    I reach to touch Mackree’s arm. “What a pompous . . .”
    Mackree pulls away like I’ve stung him. His face is quivering as if he might cry. My heart breaks watching him feel so shamed.
    â€œGo, Pearl, now. Go .”
    And as much as I want to console him, respecting his wishes, I do.

    Lu and Nuff are waiting for me in the shade of the huckabee tree. Lu offers me a smashed peanut and strawberry sandwich.
    â€œSir Richard the soldier is such a dearie,” Lu says. “Handsome and heartfelt too. How wonderful it would be to wed such a man. When I went to retrieve his chamber pot this morning he said, ‘No lady, I’ll do that task myself.’ Isn’t that sweet?”
    â€œAnd smelly,” Nuff says, and we giggle.
    â€œThe royals are learning their manners,” Nuff says, separating a segment of juicy orange and popping it into her mouth. “I was walking by the window when Professor Millington was saying how ‘ladies are charmed by men with fine manners, especially as displayed at the dining table.’
    â€œShe said”—and Nuff hardens her nose, sucks in her cheeks, shoulders back, chin up, affecting the proper posture of the instructor of Manners and Protocol—“‘Gentlemen . . . in the presence of a lady, there will be no burping, no slurping, no letting off steam— ’”
    â€œSteam!?” I nearly choke on my sandwich.
    Lu giggles. “What’s she mean, steam?”
    â€œActually I think she said ‘bottom steam,’” Nuff answers, “otherwise known as ‘gassy vapors.’”
    â€œOh, Nuff,” I say, “enough. You are too too funny.”
    â€œBottom steam?!” Lu repeats. “Oh, no, she didn’t say that.”
    â€œDid too,” Nuff says, waving her hand in front of her nose, and we three double over laughing.
    I notice Nuff instinctively puts her hand over her mouth to cover the broken front tooth she thinks makes her unattractive. That, of course, is silly. Nuff is beautiful, especially when she’s laughing. But you can tell a person something a million times and that doesn’t make it true