“Haven’t the citizens anything better to do with their time than stand around the streets throwing flowers at each other?” I snarled, turning from the window. “Somebody should be keeping the kingdom during all this foolishness.”
As usual, J. R. Grimble took it on himself to soothe me.
“Your Majesty is simply nervous about the pending reception. I trust his wisdom will not allow his edginess to spill over onto his loyal subjects?”
“I was assured when she crossed the border that she would be here this morning. Morning! Ever see the sun set in the morning before?”
“Undoubtedly she was delayed by the condition of the roads,” General Badaxe offered. “I have told your Majesty before that our roads are long overdue for repair. In their current state, they hinder the passage of travelers . . . and troops should our fair land come under attack.”
Grimble bared his teeth.
“And his Majesty has always agreed with me that repairing the roads at this time would be far too costly . . . unless the General would be willing to significantly reduce the size of his army that we might use the savings from wages to pay for the road work?”
The General purpled.
“Reduce the size of the army and you’ll soon lose that treasury that you guard so closely, Grimble.”
“Enough, gentlemen,” I said, waving them both to silence. “As you’ve both said, we’ve discussed this subject many times before.”
It had been decided that rather than having the King of Possiltum sit and fidget in front of the entire populace, that he should sweat it out in private with his advisors until his bride actually arrived. Royal image and all that. Unfortunately this meant that since morning I had been confined in a small room with J. R. Grimble and Hugh Badaxe for company. Their constant bickering and sniping was sufficient to turn my already dubious mood into something of record foulness.