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Previously

…“Oh, most assuredly!” Petunia wailed, nearly tripping over her own feet in her eagerness. “It’s a betrayal of the gravest order. My own ankle, Father! The indignity!” The King leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Petunia, your ‘rogue ankle’ has shown remarkable recovery skills in the past. Remember the Great Custard Catastrophe of ’17? You were supposedly bedridden with a sprained pinky finger for three days, only to be found scaling the west tower to retrieve a runaway kitten.” Petunia’s face fell. He remembered. Of course, he remembered. Her father had the memory of an elephant who’d meticulously cataloged every single nut he’d ever encountered