Over the next two weeks, the castle was abuzz with furious preparations, and Fredrick was at the center of it all. It had been ages since he'd focused on anything besides giving King Gastronso his nightly sponge bath, which made this opportunity to organize an event a welcome breath of fresh air.

The idea behind the day's announcement was certainly an odd one and arguably insincere, but if it got the kingdom out of its hole he wasn't going to question it for a second. Instead he focused on the mountain of event-related tasks, biding his time until the kingdom improved so he could leave the servant life forever.

His current task took place in the heart of the kitchen, where the air was filled with the fresh-baked aroma of cherry tarts emerging from the big stone oven. Fredrick was in charge of inventory management, carried out by manual counting he recorded on a scroll. This was all at the behest of the greedy king, who wanted to ensure he didn't 'over-provide' for the peasants who'd be clamoring for a binge-fest. The maximum ration was one per citizen, and even though Fredrick was tempted to add some extras for the sugar-happy children, the king surveyed the kitchen with an eagle eye.

Fredrick finished counting and rolled up the scroll. "Right then that's it. Shut down the oven and pack these up."

"Looks tasty!"

Fredrick jumped when he heard the king's voice behind him. He turned and there he was, already wearing his royal tasting bib.

"You're back," said Fredrick, trying to hide his annoyance towards the king's micromanagement.

"I'm here to confirm if you adhered to the quota of flour," he explained. He waddled over to the vat of flour. The vat was six inches higher than his rotund frame, and required the use of a stool for him to take a peek inside. He hopped up onto the stool and gestured to Fredrick. "Measuring stick."

Fredrick handed him the primitive ruler and the king dipped it deep into the vat. "Hmm..." he mused. "Hmm."

"It's exactly the amount you instructed," said Fredrick, losing his patience by the second.

"I'm not sure about that," he contended, extending his arm as deep into the vat as it would go. He learned forward an inch too far, and the rest seemed to happen in slow motion. "Oh...oh..." The king could say no more, as the stool went out from under him and his body dangled precariously on the edge. Fredrick reached up to help him but he was a second too late; the king tumbled right into the vat.

A puff of flour escaped from the top, as Fredrick stood there wondering what to do. "Er...your majesty?"

The king's stubby fingers emerged from the edge of the vat. "As I was saying...you went a quarter of an inch past the mandated quota of flour." Despite the mishap his voice was surprisingly calm. "Which is why you need to do a better job of monitoring waste." Fredrick began to tiptoe away, as he considered leaving him trapped in there forever. "Oh and Fredrick?"

Fredrick rubbed his eyes in frustration. "Yes?"

"Hand me a tart like a good lad, would you?"

Fredrick looked from the tarts to his detailed scroll of inventory. "But your highness...every tart has been rationed for the citizens."

"They'll live," the king said casually. "Now hand one over would you? I didn't wear my tasting smock for nothing."

Fredrick approached the cooling rack and as he grabbed a fresh-baked tart. On his way to the vat he seriously considered rubbing the tart into the ground, infusing it with ants, or even worse. The only problem was his duty to serve, and the terrible nuisance of being born with a conscience...

***

It was officially a fortnight later, and as the royal scroll had promised, the battered town square had been utterly transformed. Freshly planted flowers brightened every corner, and the king's official banners hung from the highest rafters. The odd decomposing rat carcass still remained, but it was certainly a marked improvement from the colorless squalor of before.

Dense crowds navigated the stalls of free food, and the one-item limit per citizen was in full effect. Despite the ration it was still a grand feast for the hungry masses, as they collectively moaned whilst gorging themselves on turkey legs and tarts.

Myrielle was in the thick of it too, and though her hands were free of food items for the moment, the bottom of her dress resembled a mutant cupcake. The bouffant skirt made her seem both overdressed and also reminiscent of a village freak. It was a rare combination all humans would prefer to avoid, but the people around her were too busy gorging to notice her just yet. Her inconspicuousness was surely temporary, because if anything was certain about society, it was that eventually and inevitably...the trolls would come.

Myrielle's siblings and her mother followed close, despite their obvious embarrassment of being seen next to Myrielle.

"On second thought perhaps this was a bad idea!" Rose yelled out, struggling to be heard over the crowd. "And I must say, this dress doesn't reflect my true talent!"

"Don't worry mother, you've sewn a masterpiece!" Myrielle knew full well that the compliment was a lie, but the dress had a special purpose that went far beyond simple fashion.

"Up ahead!" said Myrielle, clapping as her endless skirt billowed in the wind. "Time to change our fortunes, starting with some tarts!"

Emilia spun around in a circle with glee. "Tarts! Tarts! Tarts!"

Myrielle glared until Emilia stopped chanting. "We can't afford to draw attention to ourselves!" Her statement was steeped in an irony she actively ignored, and after trying and failing to straighten out her massive skirt, she strolled past the tart stall with a casual air. Once she had passed it she hid behind some bushes, and from there the assembly line began: Emilia stole a tart and passed it to Thomas, who then handed it to Rose, who then tossed it to Myrielle. And then in the final step...Myrielle lifted her skirt without any hesitation. Underneath it were empty sacks sewn into the lining, and suddenly the 'mutant gown motives' were clear. She stuffed the stolen tart into one of the sacks and the process began once more.

All told, the contraband effort led to several pounds worth of fruit, tarts, vegetables and turkey legs.

Myrielle emerged from behind the bushes and pulled her skirt down. She attempted to casually twirl, but her dress was so heavy she could barely do a full rotation. "It isn't noticeable is it?"

Rose seemed nervous. "To be clear we will be sharing this food with our neighbors."

Myrielle nodded dismissively as she struggled to adjust her skirt. "Of course mother, of course; extra turkey legs and pears for one and all..."

As Myrielle and her family blended back into the crowd, they started to make the slow migration to the stage. It was here that the royal family was meant to arrive, but after all this time of eating, burping, and early on-set food comas, not a single person from the royal family had appeared...

***

Deep inside the castle in Prince Rainier's lavish chamber, the curtains were drawn and all was quiet. Somewhere in the bed beneath the layers of luxurious fur blankets, the prince lay motionless.

A brisk knock on the door stirred him awake.

"Go awahhh!" he cried, in full-on teenage angst mode.

The door swung open anyway and Fredrick hurried in. He'd been through the motions of the prince's whiny ways for a decade, but today was not a day when he could lazily avoid his royal duties. He held up the prince's shiny attire. "The king is long finished with his twelve-course lunch so you must get dressed at once."

"What about his post-lunch nap?" the prince mumbled. "That usually lasts until dinner."

Fredrick noticed a speck of lint on the prince's shirt and brushed it off. "The king is foregoing his four-hour nap for the sake of this special event; now please put this on!"

"You put it on," the prince whined, burying himself even deeper into the blankets.

Fredrick tapped his foot impatiently, trying to think of an effective approach that didn't involve punching him in the face. The king could at least be manipulated with food, but with this princely little bitch it was a little more complex. What Fredrick knew for certain was if the day's kickoff event turned out to be anything less than stellar, the kingdom's chance to recover would disappear. So Fredrick dug a little deeper into the prince's insufferable psyche.

"If you put this on now," Fredrick teased, "I'll sneak in some more of those erotic drawings you like."

The prince's head emerged from the pile of blankets. "You mean the ones with the curvaceous milk maids?"

Fredrick nodded. "The very same. They even released a whole new series of scrolls: 'Milk maids getting caught in the rain.'" It certainly wasn't Fredrick's favorite chore to visit the local brothel and purchase drawings from the sleazy resident artist, but for the fate of the kingdom...he would do it.

The prince miraculously hopped out of bed, buoyed by a newfound cheerful disposition. "I suppose a new set of scrolls is worth the embarrassment to come."

The prince made his way to the lavatory whistling a happy tune, as Fredrick crossed his fingers that the royal announcement and all that followed would bring The Enraptured Kingdom out of ruin...

[WRITER COMMENTARY: This chapter is the important beginning of the worlds of the peasants and the royals colliding. As you've seen, the villagers have had a rough year, so Myrielle is going into Robin Hood mode, to steal from the rich to help her family. It's definitely a moral grey area, but I guess when you've been going hungry and this ridiculous king has been screwing you over, you find a way to sleep at night. As for Fredrick...he is not a fairy tale character we've seen before, but does he remind you of someone? We'll get to that later... :-)]