The next morning started with a bang, or at least a knock, startling Mibbet awake, into a spectacular leap, merging into a pratfall, a crash, a bang, and a wallop, followed immediately by the sudden knowledge of a thing twolegs apparently called a “funny bone” though right at this moment Mibbet could not find a single amusing thing about that particular feature.

Inside her head naggyvoice provided her with a plentiful supply of so called “swear words” that she was rapidly becoming incredibly grateful for, as her world became pain, and a gross sick feeling in her stomach. Though the individual who had knocked quickly made themselves scarce with a quick note that breakfast was ready as she fled. Probably for the best all things considered.

So a sore, tired, angry former amphibian dragged herself from the warm pile of blankets on the floor and headed towards the place where food was served yesterday. Though why twolegs didn’t seem to hunt their own bugs was hard for her to understand.

She sat at the table, yet again observed by what seemed like half the population of the village as plates were served, with that weirdo “taster” guy from yesterday snagging a bit of everything yet again.

Whatever this stuff was it smelled wonderful, though naggyvoice grumbled about “commoner fare” as usual she soon went quiet on tasting it.

The food known as pancakes, with syrup was absolutely divine, and she couldn’t even describe the joy that was Bacon, eggs, and fried bread. Though it was hard for her to enjoy it properly with a naggyvoice constantly correcting her “table manners” with every single bite she consumed.

“I suppose this stuff isn’t so bad, it’s certainly sweet, though the meat could do with some pepper”. The voice grumbled, though she seemed to be secretly enjoying it very much. For Mibbet today was the wonderful day when her tastebuds would for the first time meet with a true wonder of twolegs civilisation.

Humans drink mud? She asked herself as she examined the dubious fluid before her. Did mud always smell this good? Must be a twoleg thing, she thought to herself before daring to take a sip, and as we all know one sip is all it takes.

The drink was disgustingly bitter, yet somehow the incredibly insufferable urge for more screamed out to her. This stuff was called coffee, and it was wonderful, she rapidly finished it off, and chased it down with two more mugs before it hit. The naggyvoice tried to warn her but it was already too late, as Mibbet began to rapidly tremble, her pupils widening to alarming proportions as the tingles set in.

The sudden urge to move became unavoidable, she wanted to jump but didn’t know how, you know what? Screw it, she was gonna figure it out, rightnownow?Whynotnow, nowwasgood.

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The village Headman had a headache. Bob had been in the job for a few years now, but nobody had prepared him for suddenly appearing crown princesses. He’d taken the job largely because he was the only capable candidate who hadn’t fled fast enough when offered the role.

The old stories had prepared him well he had thought, but in all the talk of spinning wheels, making sure the princess avoided pricks (on the finger naughty. If you thought otherwise go wash your mind out with soap this instant.) Or consuming forbidden fruit (like poisoned apples). Or making absolutely sure there were no peas under the mattress (how peas were supposed to get there in the first place was beyond him, he just assumed they appeared like the magic rosebushes.) Or avoiding snogging frogs. It seemed though that they quite failed to mention one specific weakness of the royal line. COFFEE.

She was on her third cup before they realised things had gone a bit skee wiff, but was still calling for more when the headman pulled everybody out of the building for the sake of the royal dignity. As far as he was aware unless there was some kind of trend in the capital that he was as of yet unaware, royalty were not supposed to leap or bound off the walls like an assassin.

If they were then they definitely should not be repeatedly messing it up, mistiming jumps while cursing with language that would make a sailor blush, correct themselves, and try again. Yet here they were. It would seem the delicate constitution of royals was unable to tolerate too much of such things as sugar and caffeine (though one would think in that case assassin leaps and swearing would also be out, apparently not though.)

On the positive side it seemed whatever her highness was up to she was definitely improving, on the negative side he could only hope and pray, to whatever convenient gods happened to be listening right now, that the sugar and coffee wore off before the royal guards showed up to escort her home.

He was in so much trouble. Bob popped his third antacid, and second painkiller of the day as he desperately tried to arrange for her highness to be cleaned up before the guards arrived, he was pretty sure caffeination majeste was not a formal crime. But if the sugar crash and resultant grump hit before the princess was safely extracted from the village , then her reputation alone indicated that he would be much better off prebooking a slot in the dungeons to avoid the inevitable crowding.

Mercifully it seemed that her hops though now almost gymnastic in nature were gradually slowing down. Bob did the only thing he could think of in the circumstances and quickly called for a big pot of mashed potato and minced meat, in gravy. Maybe it was hoping for a bit much that a little protein and carbohydrate could save his job, or at least his skin at this point, but he clung to that hope as desperately as a drowning man clings to a life raft.

It didn’t take long for the princess to notice the food, and with an almost feral leap pounce, practically shovelling the much needed food into her maw, with a speed that was absolutely terrifying to behold.

“Probably just as well the stories never mention this bit come to think of it” Bob mumbled to himself aghast as the food vanished.