A Royal Snack Mishap

King Rufus, his crown askew and his royal robes trailing behind him like a very worried, very sparkly cape, huffed and puffed his way towards the Royal Kitchen. Sir Reginald, ever the picture of misplaced dignity, trotted along beside him, his plumed hat bobbing with each anxious step. Squeaky, the wise old squirrel, perched on King Rufus's shoulder, his tiny paws tucked neatly under his chin, looking remarkably unruffled by the whole chaotic affair.

“The pantry, you say, Squeaky?” King Rufus grumbled, his voice a low rumble of desperation. “Are you sure? It’s just… flour. And beans. And really old potatoes that look like they’ve seen better days, much like myself right now.” He gestured vaguely at the assortment of sacks and jars lining the pantry walls, a faint scent of cinnamon and something vaguely cheesy wafting from within.

Squeaky twitched his nose. “Your Majesty,” he began, his voice a gentle rustle of leaves, “sometimes, the most valuable treasures are hidden in the most ordinary of places. Especially when one is… perhaps a little peckish.”