Prince Garytt of Stuwart woke the entirety of the castle with his screaming.
The servants down the hall all look around at each other, none of them wanting to go and assist the prince. The woman with the most seniority among the servants eyes the boy with the least. “Weren’t you about to say, ‘It can’t get any worse?’”
The others murmur in agreement.
“Hey, he didn’t know the prince would react to the flooding like this!” The boy’s friend says, puffing out his chest. “It can’t be that bad on the top floor of the castle, anyhow.”
The woman rolls her eyes. “Fine. If it’s not that bad, why don’t you two dumb sheep go and assist the prince with his wailing?”
The first boy glowers at the second, but they both leave the room in a rush — better to not have to deal with an angry boss and a prince’s temper tantrum.
With much hesitation and even more dread, the boys follow the screaming down the hall and to the ornate doors that they practically have to push each other through.