In the chapel, in the presence of the king and queen and bishop, the whole story had come out. Prince Humperdinck had not been a very nice man.

The priest was merciful. “Thewe is ahways foegiveness in the pwesence of God,” he smiled.

The king had a rather different response altogether. “Who is this scoundrel? I won’t have this in my courts!”

“He’s your son, Henry,” whispered the queen.

“My son? I don’t have any son.”

Humperdinck scoffed. “Father, it’s me, it’s Jeremy.”

“Jeremy? The dog?”

“The dog’s name was Milo,” said the queen.

“No, it was Jack,” corrected the prince. “Milo was the ferret.”

“We had a ferret?” The queen was confused, but she was more lucid than her husband.

“Off with his head!” the king howled. “This man is a scoundrel! A ruffian! A kidnapping, traitorous insurgent! To the gallows with him!”

“Dad! It’s me!” pleaded the terrified prince. “What are you saying?”

“Guards! Seize that man!” The king was senile but persistent. “And find my son Jack!”

“The dog?” cried Humperdinck.