At the palace, the Grand Duke stood outside the King’s bedroom door. He was preparing himself for his confrontation with the King. He had to break the news that the young lady disappeared. It wasn’t going to be easy. He stood tall and proud and rehearsed his speech in front of an empty chair. He held the glass slipper in his hand. At last he was feeling confident, and he turned around, ready to knock on the door. But he quickly had a change of heart.

“No, I just can’t,” said the Grand Duke nervously. He slumped down and held his head in his hands. The King was going to be livid, and it was the Duke’s fault. He looked through the keyhole in the door to procrastinate a little longer and to see what the King was doing. He wanted to see what the King’s mood was like before telling him the bad news.

In the bedroom, the King was asleep on his gigantic bed. He wore a large white nightshirt and a purple nightcap. Between snores he let out a big chuckle. He was probably dreaming about playing with his adorable grandchildren, the Duke thought.

He finally found the courage to knock on the door, cutting the King’s sweet dream short. The King awoke and collected himself.

“Come in!” he yelled.

The Duke opened the large door—slowly. He started to speak but was charged by the very excited King, who tackled him to the ground.

“So he’s proposed already?” roared the King, leading the Duke into his room. “Tell me all about it. Who is she? Where does she live?” He slid a large chair under the Duke, forcing him to sit and reveal all the details.

The Duke tried to speak, but the King continued to rant.

“Eh, we’ve more important things to discuss,” he said. “Arrangements for the wedding, invitations, a national holiday, all that sort of thing!” He lit a cigar with his candelabra in celebration.

The Duke rose from his chair and tried to get a word in but was quickly quieted. The King pushed him back down into the chair and shoved a cigar into his mouth. The King’s excitement grew. Laughing, he shoved another dozen cigars into the Duke’s mouth and lit those with his candelabra, too.

“Bu-bu-but, sire, if you would only listen!” the Duke interrupted through the mouthful.

The King wouldn’t listen. He took out his large sword and pointed it at the Duke, who panicked and dropped to the floor, spitting out all the cigars but one.

“And for you, my friend,” the King said, aiming the sword at the Duke’s head. “A knighthood!”

The Duke knew he had to just come out and tell the King what had happened, no matter the consequences. He kneeled on the floor, quivering with fear.

“Sire, she got away!” he declared.

The short, stout King was too giddy with excitement to hear at first. But when he realized what the Duke had said, his face turned as red as a beet with anger.

“She WHAT?” hollered the King, raising his fist in the air. “You traitor!” He was convinced that the Duke was working against him. He turned a deep shade of purple. His blood was boiling. He lifted his sword and it came crashing down inches from the Duke’s nose, slicing the cigar in his mouth in half.

The Duke hid behind a chair, yelling for the King to stop. The King was infuriated and slashed at everything in his path.

“You were in league with the Prince all along!” yelled the King, chasing the Duke.

“I tried to stop her,” replied the Duke. “Bu-bu-but she vanished into thin air!” He hid under a table, but the King came charging and sliced the table right down the middle.

“A likely story!” the King yelled.

The Duke jumped onto the King’s bed and bounced high into the air.

“All we could find was this glass slipper,” he said, holding it up to show the King.

The King bounced onto the bed. He went up and the Duke went down. With each passing bounce, the King tried to strike him.

“The whole thing was a plot!” yelled the King, bouncing and waving his sword. He was still convinced that the Duke and the Prince had been working together to ruin the ball.

“But, sire, he loves her,” the Duke protested. “He won’t rest until he finds her. He’s determined to marry her!”

“What? What did you say?” asked the King more gently. His demeanor changed and he actually cracked a smile.

The Duke bounced so high that he landed on the chandelier. His body draped over one of the chandelier’s arms.

“The Prince, sire,” he continued, “swears he’ll marry none but girl who fits this slipper!” He presented the sparkling glass slipper to the King again.

The King bounced up to the chandelier and sat on another arm.

“He said that, did he?” asked the King, grabbing the slipper and kissing it happily. “Ha ha, we got it!” He laughed and sliced the wire holding the chandelier. With both men still on it, the chandelier crashed to the bed, making a hole straight through to the floor.

“But, sire,” began the Duke, standing up in the mess. “This slipper may fit any number of girls.”

“That’s his problem,” said the King, tossing the slipper back to the Duke. “He’s given his word, and we’ll hold him to it.”

“No, no, Your Majesty, I’ll have nothing to do with it,” vowed the Duke. He turned his back to the King, put the slipper on the bed, and folded his arms in protest.

The King thrust his sword at the glass slipper and picked it up on the pointed tip. He slid the sword underneath the Duke’s nose with the slipper dangling on the end.

“You’ll try this on every maid in the kingdom!” ordered the King. “And if the shoe fits, bring her in.”

The Duke trembled and looked at the sword under his nose.

“Ye-ye-yes, Your Majesty,” he agreed.