The Great Hall was a huge room carved out of a mountainside. Bristal had never seen anything like it, and neither would have Morchymond, if he had stopped trying to lift his weary wings off the floor for a second to look around. Bristal was ready to slap him again if he didn’t quit moping soon.

A six-year-old girl in a purple robe and tiara marched up to Bristal with a scowl.

“Who are you?” asked Bristal.

“She’s the queen,” whispered Farrah.

“What?”

“I’m the queen!” shouted the girl, kicking Bristal in the shin.

“Ow! Why did you kick me?”

“Because I’m the queen, and I can do whatever I want!” The girl yanked on Bristal’s hair and punched her squarely in the stomach. Bristal doubled over on the floor and suddenly Morchymond didn’t feel so bad anymore.

The child queen crossed her arms and sneered at her pathetic guests. “Now then, who are you and what do you want?”

“We… just… wanted…” Bristal stammered. “Oh forget it. Come on, Mork, we’re leaving.”

“Back home?” he sniffed.

“Yeah, this place sucks!”