The Bag of Bones by Vivian French Read Free Book Online Page B

“YES!” And he pushed his brother out the palace door and into the coach that was waiting outside.
    Arry climbed in, still beaming. “There’s nothing like dancing with the girl you love,” he declared as he settled into a corner. “Maybe you’ll find a beautiful princess to dance with as well, Marcus. I’m sure Princess Marigold always gives you a special kind of smile when she meets you. Mother was saying you’d make a lovely couple.” He lowered his voice. “Nina-Rose told me not to tell you, but Marigold’s going to ask you for the Last Waltz.”
    “Me?” Marcus stopped halfway in and halfway out of the coach. “If I dance with anyone — and I’m not saying I will — it’ll be with Gracie Gillypot. She’s got more sense in her little finger than any of those frilly sisters of Nina-Rose!”
    The smile left Arioso’s face. “But Marcus — she won’t have been invited!”
    “WHAT?” Marcus stared at his brother. “What do you mean, she’s not invited?”
    Arry shrugged. “I know she’s a friend of yours, but she’s . . . well, she’s only an orphan, isn’t she?”
    Marcus went on staring while he took in what his brother was saying. Then, with a muttered exclamation, he left the coach and shot back into Wadingburn Palace.
    He arrived in front of Prince Vincent in a flurry, and grabbed his arm. “Hey!” he demanded. “You can ask Gracie to this ball, can’t you?”
    Prince Vincent’s mind was full of buttercream icing and strawberry jam. His mouth fell open, and he gaped at Marcus. “Gracie?” he asked vaguely.
    “You know — Gracie Gillypot. Lives with the Ancient Crones. Saved you from being a frog once, but I don’t suppose you care to remember that.”
    “Oh — er, yes.” Vincent first nodded, then shook his head. “Actually, I don’t suppose she
can
be asked, old boy. Not the right sort of person at all, Gracie Gillypot. Don’t want to make her feel out of place, and all that.” He coughed. “I mean, once you ask one orphan, they’ll all be expecting to come, won’t they? Even if she is a friend of yours.”
    Marcus went a furious purple — but before he could utter a word of protest, a booming voice echoed from the doorway. “A friend of Marcus’s? Of course she’s invited. ATCHOOO!” Queen Bluebell produced an enormous handkerchief embroidered with the royal arms of Wadingburn and blew her nose with the sound of trumpets. “Especially if it’s that little girl who lives with the crones. Good girl, full of spirit. Not like some of the young royals around here, and I’m not talking about you, young Marcus!”
    Vincent looked at his grandmother in alarm. “You don’t mean
me,
do you, Grandmother?”
    Queen Bluebell gave him a withering glance. “If the cap fits, then wear it.
Atchooo!
” She swung around on Marcus, her lorgnette perched on the end of her aristocratic nose. “You tell Gracie Gillypot she’s to come on my personal invitation, and she’s to sit next to me. Vincent, you’re a fool. And a snob besides, and if there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s a snob. Now — out of my way! I need to talk to dear Kesta about something of the
utmost
importance!” And Queen Bluebell the Twenty-eighth thundered across the polished floor to where Queen Kesta was rubbing her eyes and trying to remember where she was.
    As Marcus hurried away to the waiting Arry, he saw something small dressed in black whisk quickly under the grandfather clock in the palace front hall.
    Weird,
he thought.
Almost looked like a tiny person! Must have been a rat. . . . Wonder if Queen Bluebell knows the rats are dressing up these days?
He grinned as he leaped into the coach and slammed the door.
Good thing Vincent didn’t see it. He’s always moaning about them.
And then he forgot all about it as he urged the coachman to make top speed back to the palace of Gorebreath. Arry, rattling from side to side as the coach flew over the cobbled roads, couldn’t help