Cat's Tale: A Fairy Tale Retold [NOOK Book]

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I was tiny and pale when I was born, and so sickly-looking the midwife thought I would not last the week. When Father learned of my dire prognosis, he shrugged and said, "If she dies, it's all for the best. Girls must be cosseted and dowered. They cost time and money, and they offer nothing to their families in return."

He was not pleased when I survived my first few years, nor when I flourished in the years that followed. He might hate me still, had not my mother persuaded him of my value. Do not believe she argued on my behalf out of maternal love. My mother has never known such sentiment. No, when she pleaded my case on the eve of my sixteenth year, her voice filled with ambition, and pride that she had seen what my father could not.

"She is beautiful. Beauty is power. This girl will do more for us than a boy ever could. She will marry the king."

"There's a small problem with your plan, my dearest," my father replied. "The king already has a wife."

"A minor obstacle." Mother dismissed the current queen with a wave of her hand. "He will set her aside when he sees our Catriona."

As it happened, Mother did not need to worry about the queen for the good lady was kind enough to die of eating bad shellfish when I was barely eighteen.

"If only she had died sooner," Mother said when she heard the news. "Now we will have to wait out the king's year of mourning before presenting you at court. You will be nineteen when he sees you—positively ancient."

"If he will allow us in court," Father said. "We cannot afford the proper clothing, and there is the small matter of our familial disgrace."

Some years before my birth, Mother and Father had been on the wrong side of an attempted coup. Their involvement was minimal (or so my mother tearfully told the justice), thus they were allowed to retain the family title and the least valuable of the family estates.

"Do not worry yourselves over the king's mourning." I waved a negligent hand. "I've no wish to be presented at court among a flock of other girls."

"Oh?" said my mother, sarcasm heavy in her voice. "And how else do you propose to meet the king?"

"On my own terms and in my own time. I happen to have a plan. All I need is a fetching pair of sandals."

My mother laughed. "Why must every occasion call for new shoes? You've a dozen pairs of slippers and boots in your closet now."

"Please, Mother." I batted my lashes. "Every grand plan begins with the right pair of shoes."