The Royal Scullery smelled of mildew and despair. In the corner, kneeling on the cold stone floor, were the Coral Snake and the Albino. They were currently scrubbing a pile of mud-crusted tubers with rough stones, looking miserable. Their fine silk dresses were stained, and their hands were red from the cold water.
When the door banged open, they both jumped, hissing instinctively.
Ren marched in, followed by Viper, who was carrying a massive, plucked Water-Fowl by the neck.
"Attention, inmates!" Ren announced, clapping her hands. "The pity party is over. We have work to do."
"The King is mourning," Ren lied smoothly, walking over to the hearth. "And so am I. And in my culture, when we mourn, we eat our feelings. And my feelings are currently craving something deep-fried."
She turned to Viper. "Put the bird on the table. And the bucket of fat. Do you have the iron pot?"
Viper set the bird down. "The heavy pot? It is used for boiling laundry."
