CHAPTER 1
Prince Carlos Charles Charming jingle-jangled down the twisty corridors of Fancy Castle. His eyes squinted in concentration. His lips silently repeated his routine over and over.
Tumble, juggle, dance a jig.
Booger gag, then flip your wig.
Tumble, juggle, dance a jig.
Booger gag, then flip your wig.
“Okay, I got this.” He nodded, and the bells on his three-pointed hat tinkled. “I’ll be great.”
But Carlos repeated his routine a few more times, just to make sure.
He slowly turned the corner, careful to keep his hat quiet. He peeked through an enormous doorway and into the throne room.
The throne room wasn’t a room, really. It was more like a very long and very large stone hallway. But it was an impressive hallway, with a high, pointy ceiling that looked like it belonged in a church. The walls were lined with dozens of portraits of the many, many generations of the Charming family.
Some of the portraits showed Charmings admiring the natural beauty of Faraway Kingdom.
Others showed Charmings riding horses.
Most of them, however, showed Charmings stabbing things. Charmings loved to get stabby.
And every Charming in every portrait looked brave and noble and serious.
Oh, so serious.
Ugh.
A ribbon of red carpet stretched from the doorway to the far wall. The far wall was very far, about a hundred feet away. There, seated upon a golden throne, was Carlos’s dad, King Carmine.
Poor Dad, Carlos thought. He works too hard.
Carlos was right. The king worked all the time. He even skipped meals when there was too much work to do. And there was always too much work to do. The man was little more than skin and bones.
The king had been working in his throne room since dawn, shuffling through paperwork and signing his name on each page with a floppy peacock quill. Even from a hundred feet away, Carlos had no trouble making out his father’s frown.
King Carmine was a good king. He was also a good dad; he was always loving and patient with Carlos. And they shared the same light tan skin and friendly dark brown eyes. But that frown! It was always on his face. Carlos had to think very, very hard to remember the last time his dad had laughed.
But today, Carlos was going to change all that. He was going to turn that royal frown upside down. He sucked in a deep breath.
“ARE YOU READY TO LAUGH?!” he bellowed, his words bouncing off the throne-room walls.
The startled king jerked his head up from his paperwork.
“I SAAAAAID, ARE YOU READY TO LAUGH?!” Carlos yelled.
The king’s eyes fell back to the stack of papers in his lap. “Carlos, can you do this later? I’m really busy, son.”
“IS THAT A YES?!” Carlos screamed.
“It is not a yes,” the king said.
“YOU SAID ‘YES!’ SO PREPARE YOURSELF FOR THE MIRTH-MAKING MERRIMENT OF THE FANTASTICALLY FABULOUS FUNNYMAN! THE ONE … THE ONLY … YOUR SON … THE GREAT COMI-CARLOS!”
Carlos leapt through the throne room’s doorway. His stomach trembled with nervous delight, making the bells on his lime-green jester pants happily jingle. His routine was etched into his memory. It was a part of him now.
Tumble, juggle, dance a jig.
Booger gag, then flip your wig.
First: tumbling. Carlos tucked himself into a perfect somersault, performed a quick roll down the red carpet, and sprang back up onto his feet.
“Ta-da!”
It was a super somersault, perhaps his best ever. But there was a problem.
For weeks, Carlos had rehearsed his routine in his tiny bedroom. There, a single somersault would move him from one end of the room to the other. After the somersault, he would move on to the second part of his routine: juggling.
Carlos’s one somersault didn’t get him to the other end of this room, however. His dad was still ninety feet away.
Hm, he thought. I need to get closer. I better somersault again.
He tucked, rolled, and, again, sprang to his feet.
“Ta-da!”
Now Dad was about eighty feet away.
Dang.
So Carlos performed another somersault.
Tuck! Roll! Spring!
Seventy feet.
Tuck! Roll! Spring!
The last somersault was a little wobbly but still sort of good.
Sixty feet.
Carlos couldn’t tell if his somersaults were improving his dad’s mood, because they were starting to make him a little dizzy.
“Carlos!” the king yelled.
Nope, he still sounds frowny, Carlos thought. He needs to see more somersaults.
Carlos stumbled a little as he got ready.
Tuck! Roll! Sort of spring!
Fifty feet.
Tuck! Roll …
… SPLAT!
Carlos patted his pants pocket. The eggs he had planned to juggle were now an icky, sticky mess.
“Ugh.” His dizzy brain made the room tilt sideways.
Let me think. Let me think. What comes next? Tumble, juggle … Tumble, juggle …
“Dance a jig!” Carlos exclaimed. “It’s time to dance a jig!”
“Carlos,” the king said, “not now. No jigs.”
Carlos skipped and pranced, stumbling a bit because he was still dizzy. Egg yolk soaked through his pants, dribbled down his leg, and formed a gooey puddle at his feet—a puddle that he slipped in.
“YIKES!” Carlos thudded to the floor.
The king gasped. “Carlos!” He stood in alarm. The high stack of papers that had been resting on his lap whooshed out and fluttered across the floor. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Carlos panted. “Did you find my fall funny?”
“No!” the king said. “I thought you hurt yourself!”
“Oh, no,” Carlos said. “You’re the one who is going to get hurt! You’re going to hurt yourself laughing when you hear my joke!”
“Carlos.” The king rubbed his eyes. “No jokes, please.”
Carlos struggled to sit up, more determined than ever. “One joke?”
“No,” the king said.
“Just one,” Carlos said. “Just one joke.”
“No.” The king’s eyes drifted to the scattered papers at his feet. “Oh, what a mess.”
“Please?” Carlos asked. “Just one. You’ll like it. I promise.”
The king was too unsettled by the mess to put up a fight. In addition to being a good king, he was a tidy king. He stammered, “I-I really … I really need to pick up these papers, son.”
“Pleeeeease!” Carlos begged. “One little joke! You’ll really like it, Dad. You’ll laugh so much. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease.”
The king sighed as he spoke, making his voice kind of whispery. “Okay,” he whisper-sighed. “One joke.”
“What’s the difference between a booger and a peanut-butter sandwich?” Carlos asked.
“What?” the king replied.
“I said…” Carlos began to answer.
“I heard what you said.” The king’s eyebrows knitted together. Now he had frowny lines on his forehead that matched the frown on his mouth.
“Do you know?” Carlos asked. “Do you know the difference between a booger and a peanut-butter sandwich? Do you?”
“No,” the king said.
“You don’t know the difference?!” Carlos gasped, sounding alarmed. “Remind me never to have lunch at your house! HA-HA!”
The king didn’t laugh. Instead, he carefully tiptoed through the piles of papers down the red carpet. He stopped at the edge of the puddle of eggs, where Carlos sat. He offered his hand. Carlos took it, and the king pulled the boy to his feet.
“So, um…” Carlos cleared his throat and rubbed an achy elbow. He must have banged it when he slipped. “Did you like my routine?”
“Carlos…” the king began.
“Did you like any of it?” Carlos asked, nervously peering down at his curly toed shoes.
“Son…” the king began again.
“I just wanted to try to make you happy,” Carlos said.
The lines on the king’s forehead faded. His eyes grew wider. Kinder. “You do make me happy,” he said. “But you know how your mother and I feel about this. You cannot be a jester. You are a prince. You have a responsibility to serve this kingdom as a prince. You need to do princely things.”
“But, Dad, I don’t want to do princely things,” Carlos said. “I want to be funny. I want to do fun-ly things.”
“Fun-ly is not a word.” The king adjusted his crown. He plucked a piece of lint from his fur cloak. “Carlos, you and I are Charmings.” With a grand gesture, the king swept his hand at the dozens of portraits that hung from the walls. “For two thousand years, Charmings have ruled Faraway Kingdom. I am following in this grand tradition. Do you know why?”
Carlos’s chin dropped to his chest. “Because it is your duty.”
The king nodded. “My Charming duty.”
At that moment, a poop joke popped into Carlos’s head, but he kept it to himself.
“And someday you, too, will be king,” Carlos’s father said. “And to be a king, you must first learn how to be a prince. And that means…?”
“… doing princely things,” Carlos sighed.
“That’s right, son,” the king said. “So I need you to run downstairs and get fitted for a suit of armor.”
“Armor?!” Carlos sputtered. “But…”
“Please.” Carlos’s dad was so nice that even his kingly orders were polite.
“Okay,” Carlos replied, but he said it in a way that showed it wasn’t okay. Not okay at all.
Carlos thumped back to the entrance of the throne room, keeping his eyes on the floor so he could avoid any egg puddles. The king began to scoop up his paperwork.
“Dad?” Carlos said.
“Yes, son,” the king answered.
“Before I go, can I do the last part of my routine?”
The king’s eyes grew wide. “There’s more?”
Carlos nodded. “Tumble, juggle, dance a jig. Booger gag, then flip your wig. I did everything but the wig-flipping part.”
“What’s the wig-flipping part?” the king asked.
“My hat,” Carlos said. “I throw it really high in the air, and it lands back on my head. It’s pretty cool. I practiced it for a long time.”
The king nodded. “All right. Go ahead.”
“Really?” Carlos asked.
“Yes,” the king said. “Do your trick.”
“WOO!” Carlos triumphantly yanked off his jester hat and hurled it high up in the air. He braced himself for his routine’s dazzling finish.
But the hat never came back down.
Carlos’s and the king’s eyes rose heavenward. The hat was tangled in the chandelier.
“Dang it,” Carlos said.
The corners of King Carmine’s mouth twitched a bit into something approaching a smile but didn’t quite get there.
“You’re lucky,” the king said.
“I am?” Carlos didn’t feel lucky at all.
The king nodded. “Those chandelier candles are usually lit. You’re lucky the lamplighter quit yesterday.” The king’s mouth twitched again. “Your hat could’ve gone up in flames.”
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