“Father was a stuffed shirt and you know it,” Mendanbar said without bitterness. “If he hadn’t drowned in the Lake of Weeping Dreamers three years ago, you’d be grumbling as much about him as you do about me.”

Willin scowled reprovingly at the King. “Your father was an excellent King of the Enchanted Forest.”

“I never said he wasn’t. But no matter how good a king he was, you can’t deny that he was a stuffed shirt, too.”

“If I may return to the topic of discussion, Your Majesty?” the elf said stiffly.

The King rolled his eyes. “Can I stop you?”

“Your Majesty has only to dismiss me.”

“Yes, and if I do you’ll sulk for days. Oh, go on. What about the North-Northwest dungeon?”

“It has come to my attention that it is not properly equipped. When it was first built, by Your Majesty’s great-great-great-great-grandfather, it was naturally stocked with appropriate equipment.” Willin set his list of things to do on Mendanbar’s desk. He drew a second scroll from inside his vest and began to read. “Two leather whips, one Iron Maiden, four sets of thumb-screws—”

“I’ll take your word for it, Willin,” the King said hastily. When Willin got going, he could read lists for hours on end. “What’s the point?”

“Most of these items are still in the dungeon,” Willin said, rerolling the scroll and stowing it inside his vest once more, “but the rack was removed in your great-great-grandfather’s time and has never been replaced.”

“Really?” King Mendanbar said, interested in spite of himself. “Why did he take it out?”

The little steward coughed. “I believe your great-great-grandmother wanted it to dry tablecloths on.”

“Tablecloths?” Mendanbar looked out the window at the North-Northwest Tower and shook his head. “She made someone haul a rack up eight flights of stairs and down six more, just to dry tablecloths?”

“A very determined woman, your great-great-grandmother,” Willin said. “In any case, the dungeon is in need of a new rack.”

“And it can stay that way,” said Mendanbar. “Why should we get another rack? We’ve never used the one we have.” He hesitated, frowning. “At least, I don’t think we’ve ever used it. Have we?”

“That is not the point, Your Majesty,” Willin answered in a huffy tone, from which the King concluded that they hadn’t. “It is my duty to see that the castle is suitably furnished, from the topmost tower to the deepest dungeon. And the dungeon—”

“—needs a new rack,” the King finished. “I’ll think about it. What else?”

The elf consulted his list. “The nightshades are becoming a problem in the northeast.”

“Nightshades are always a problem. Is that all?”

“Ah . . .” Willin cleared his throat, then cleared it again. “There is the matter of Your Majesty’s marriage.”

“What marriage?” Mendanbar asked, alarmed.