The Prospect's Dance (Book 1, Land of Sweets)

9: Claire and the Rat King (1 of 2)

I'm not sure how to begin.

Let me start with this room, because I at least know how to do that. I don't know how to talk about anything else. How I feel. About the rats. About Dannick. Or Rat. It's all I can do to sit here quietly on my bed, my eyes sliding to him on the bed next to mine. I want to talk to him, but I don't know how. I have to work through my own complications, and until I do and I'm ready to pour them out, I'm going to write about this room we're sleeping in.

The room is as amazing as the glass house. Rich and sumptuous. More private, thankfully, although I miss those gorgeous crystal walls. The room is enormous. It hadn't been assigned to any of the Queen's cronies who are here to watch the Prospects' Dance, so the rats nabbed it for Dannick and me. Or Rat. Grr. I wish the man would quit showing me these different sides of himself so I would know what to call him.

Anyway, this room. The walls are a sooty black-gray, which sounds kind of blah, except they're covered with faint bronze-gold stars. The rug looks like a cloud, and is cushiony underfoot like a cloud might be, too. It's cinder-colored—ash and violet like a night fog. And the bedding is a glossy beige that gleams a cool gold in the light. It's modern and old-world all at once, man-made and organic, civilized and chaotic. It makes my head spin. Or maybe that's Dannick. I don't know.

I guess I can't avoid the rest anymore, so here I go.

First, we ran into that Nutcracker guy, who looks like such a nice, mild man, except he's not. It's like when he threatens you and chases you down, he does it with a yawn. But he didn't chase us today, just gave Dannick a cryptic warning—well, cryptic to me, though I'm sure Dannick knows what he's talking about. He hasn't told me, though. There's a lot he hasn't told me. So far, he's only told me what I absolutely have to know. I wonder where Shay is. She wasn't with Nut.

Anyway, Suzette—who is a sweetheart, I love her—took us through the servant's entrance, past the guards at the door, and up a bunch of stairs. Holy crap. You have to be in pretty good shape to be a dancer, but my lungs were on fire when we reached the top, and even Rat was panting like a dog. Suzette's face was red, and wispy blonde hairs were plastered to her forehead.

She takes us through this door, okay, and I didn't know what to expect. I mean, she said we were going to see the rats, but I had figured out that the rats were people, so no, I didn't expect literal rats. I just hadn't expected children. Though in retrospect, I should have.

Children. Adorable children. From ages 5 or 6 on up to Suzette, the oldest at 14—or 224 technically, she says. They're all in gray like Rat was before we went to the tailor. The girls are dressed like Suzette in gray leotards, tights, and tutus, and the boys are in gray knit shirts and old-fashioned breeches with pale salmon knee socks. They were all huddled together in this sparse but beautiful tower room, all big eyes and pinch-able cheeks. And when we walked in, they all cried, "Rat!" and thronged around him.

And do you know what he did? He smiled, a huge, white-teeth smile that almost knocked me down flat. What do you do when the guy who kidnaps you and drags you into a magical dictatorship turns out to be the most gentle, loving orphanage operator you can possibly imagine? Because that's what he is, I finally know. These children, called rats by society in the Land of Sweets because no one wants to deal with them—even though it's the Land of Sweets' fault they've been kidnapped, so go figure—were given to Rat to care for as a form of punishment. But he loves these children like a brother or father and is so, so good with them. (Which is ridiculously attractive, I hate to admit.) And he actually likes the title Rat King because he finds it an honor to serve them.

You can see why I'm torn about whether or not to call him Dannick.

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