King Rufus's True Riches

King Rufus bounced. He bounced higher than any ordinary king had ever bounced. He bounced with the joyous abandon of a toddler who’d just discovered the magic of gravity. The air around him was a symphony of happy shrieks and delighted giggles, a sound far more delightful to his ears than the jingle of any coin. Below him, a sea of bobbing heads – his subjects, big and small, young and old – all bounced with him. The giant, rainbow-striped bouncy castle, a monument to his newfound understanding, pulsed with life.

He soared upwards, his royal robes billowing like a particularly flamboyant flag, and for a fleeting moment, he saw it all. He saw the sun glinting off the polished turrets of his castle, the emerald green of the royal gardens, the tiny, scurrying figures of children chasing each other across the sprawling lawns. But more importantly, he saw the faces. Faces alight with pure, unadulterated joy. Faces that mirrored the wide, goofy grin plastered across his own.

He landed with a soft thud, the bouncy surface absorbing his impact with a friendly sigh. Sir Reginald, looking remarkably less pompous and considerably more bouncy than usual, was attempting a rather wobbly somersault nearby. His usually perfectly coiffed hair was a glorious mess, and a streak of pink from the bouncy castle’s lining adorned his chin. He managed a slightly dizzy, but undeniably happy, wave.