Julie’s heart was pounding. Butterflies fluttered in her chest. She’d lost her concentration. She forgot to put espresso in an old professor’s drink, and added it to a small child’s chocolate milk instead.
Shortly thereafter Lysander the Conqueror became a victim of a horrible accident. A knife fell on him while he was sleeping.
“You have beautiful hair!” She noticed. “It’s so soft and shiny, like in a shampoo commercial!” Her fellows all agreed—all the elves, both short and tall, agreed. Even by elvish standards, Sertraline had amazing hair. That’s why they made him king.
“I blame myself really,” Fausta recalled. “The first was carrying me off after our wedding celebration, when he tripped and landed on my knife. The second died during our wedding feast when I accidentally spilled hemlock juice in his drink, and the third died of a heart attack after our vows. I don’t blame myself for that one, he was a very old man. It was just luck, I suppose.”
Apparently, Alexander was no longer the king. This didn’t upset him since he hadn’t wanted to be king in the first place. The thing that did upset him was finding his elder brother murdered, his sister telling the entire palace that he did it, the senate taking his crown and giving it to her, and the new queen sentencing him to death for said murder.
Getting kidnapped by a princess was the pinnacle of humiliation.
As Alexander mopped up the puddle of green, he listened for Ilona to join the argument. This was usually what happened whenever Florian started ranting. Ilona would intervene, and the situation would escalate, and once they had a good fight, they would calm down and Alexander could lead them in a respectable discussion.
Alexander couldn’t believe it. The twins threw him into a fountain. He had no idea why it made him so angry. After all, he was expecting them to torment him, or find some round-about way of killing him. He never expected something so juvenile. Were they superior beings or spiteful little children?
“Oh, I am not the prisoner here,” Alexander returned. “You hate me, yet you give me so much of your time. I think that you are my prisoner. Only I’ve left the prison open, even asked you to go, but you are still here complaining about my cruelty.”
So while Eda was a real fairy, she wasn’t answering Scott’s password questions by magic. She was looking at his Wikipedia page. (She’d guessed about the numbers at the end of Fluffy’s name.)
The airport called the Department of Fish and Wildlife to get permission to euthanize Herbert. (And by euthanize they meant shoot him down. Fire breathing dragons explode into a giant fireball when shot with an anti-aircraft missile. It’s a glorious site.)
After covering Dave’s chest in suction cups and clipping a monitor to each of his fingers, Fred explained that the best thing Dave could do was try and get a good night’s sleep.