The afternoon bustle of the street had suddenly come to a stop, as if it had been bumped into a physical wall.
A blacksmith's hammer froze just millimeters away from hitting the iron hot ore. The flower seller's bouquet of lilies slipped from her hand, scattering across the wet stones. And a couple of passing guards all stopped in unison, armour clinking, when the words "Spank us!" echoed their way.
Then, as if everybody's minds were collectively in-sync, they all turned to the source of the commotion.
At the center of the cobblestone street stood the royal twins and an utterly bewildered one-eyed man. Maxwell Jr. had his chest puffed out and face flushed with a brand of defiant logic that only a muscle-brained one-track-mind simpleton could wear.
