I’m staring at King Marcus’s new hat, trying not to laugh. It’s huge, golden, and looks like a pineapple.

I’m trying to be professional. I really am. But my mouth has other plans. “Looks like the royal treasury’s been robbed by a fruit salad.”

The words hang in the air like a bad smell.

King Marcus turns to me, his face going so red I’m worried he’s about to pop. “WHAT did you just say, Guard Greg?!”

I snap to attention. “Your Majesty, I said your hat is very… uh… creative.”

His eyes narrow. He’s trying to decide if that was a compliment or not.

But before he can yell again, he storms off. His giant pineapple hat wobbles on his head like it’s about to fall off.

Beside me, Dave nearly chokes on his own laughter. “Creative? Really?”

“Shut up, Dave.”

***

Lunch is supposed to be the highlight of my day. It’s not much. Just a sandwich I’ve been thinking about since breakfast. Fresh bread, ham, cheese, a little mustard. Perfection.

I set it down for one second. Just one second on the stone ledge by the gate.

And then… fire.

Not metaphorical fire. Actual, literal, dragon fire. A stray flame shoots out of nowhere and destroys my sandwich in one fiery blast.

I stare at the burning remains. My perfect lunch, reduced to ash. My jaw moves, but no sound comes out.

Dave, of course, is still eating his own untouched sandwich. He glances over, chewing slowly. “That’s rough, buddy.”

“Rough?” I repeat, my voice a hollow shell of its former self. “A dragon just roasted my sandwich, Dave. This isn’t rough. This is a personal attack.”

Dave shrugs. “Should’ve seen it coming.”

“How does one ‘see’ dragon fire coming, Dave?” I snap. “Does it send a memo?”

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Dave takes another bite. “My wife would’ve seen it coming. She’s got a sixth sense for stuff like this.”

“How’s work going for her?” I ask.

“Busy.”

Darla the maid appears while I’m still mourning my sandwich. She’s carrying a purple basket of bread rolls.

“Here,” she says, handing me a roll. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

I take it gratefully. “Darla, you’re an angel.”

She laughs, but there’s something… off about it. Like she knows something I don’t.

“Don’t mention it,” she says, her voice almost too casual. “Just be careful. Things are… changing.”

I frown. “Changing how?”

She just smiles. You know the type. The “I know what’s coming but I won’t tell you” smile. I’ve seen it before. Usually right before everything goes wrong.

“Oh, you’ll see,” she says, and then… she just walks off.

“Wait, what?” I call after her. “What do you mean? Why do you sound like you’re foreshadowing something? Darla?”

She doesn’t answer. Just disappears around the corner, leaving me holding a warm bread roll and a growing sense of unease.

I turn to Dave. “Did she just foreshadow me?”

Dave’s chewing thoughtfully. “Yep. Classic cryptic hint. She knows something.”

“She’s clearly important,” I say, staring after her. “And no one’s told me why. She’s probably secretly a wizard or the king’s illegitimate daughter or something.”

Dave shrugs. “Or she’s just messing with you.”

***

The afternoon somehow manages to get worse. I’m standing at the gate, minding my own business, when the king’s royal messenger shows up with a scroll. He thrusts it at me without a word and marches off.

I unroll it, skimming the contents. My stomach sinks. “Uh-oh.”

Dave glances over. “What now?”

“I’ve been summoned,” I say, holding up the scroll. “To the throne room.”

Dave raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

I groan. “Probably to apologize for insulting the king’s hat.”

***

The throne room is as intimidating as ever, all high ceilings and echoing footsteps. King Marcus is seated on his golden throne, the pineapple hat still on his head like some kind of cruel joke.

“Guard Greg,” he booms. “Do you know why you’re here?”

I bow awkwardly. “To apologize for my… uh… comments on your… fashion choices, Your Majesty.”

He narrows his eyes. “Indeed. Your words were… inappropriate. But…” He pauses, and I swear he’s trying to make this moment as dramatic as possible. “You’re also the best guard we have.”

I blink. “I am?”

“Unfortunately,” he replies, his tone sour.

Before I can figure out if that was a compliment or an insult, he continues. “I have a task for you. Something important. Dangerous. Vital to the kingdom.”

My stomach churns. “Dangerous?”

“Yes,” he says gravely. “I need you to…” He leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Escort the Royal Pineapple to the annual fruit festival.”

I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. It doesn’t come.

“You want me to guard… a pineapple,” I say slowly.

“The Royal Pineapple,” he corrects, as if that makes it better.

Somewhere behind me, Dave is definitely laughing his head off.

***

By the end of the day, I’m back at my post, exhausted, hungry, and deeply regretting every life choice that brought me here. The Royal Pineapple is safe in the festival’s hands, and Darla’s cryptic words are still rattling around in my head.

“What do you think she meant?” I ask Dave, breaking the silence.

“Probably that your life’s about to get a whole lot weirder,” he replies, grinning.

Great. Just what I needed. As if today wasn’t weird enough already.