Queen Aveline was known for two things: her silver crown and her perfect composure. She did not flinch at war reports, failed harvests or ambassadors who bowed too long. But at breakfast one winter morning, the palace cook cracked pepper over her eggs and the queen sneezed so hard the chandeliers trembled.
The minister of roads was speaking at the time. He had just claimed the northern bridge was finished. At the sneeze, his face turned the colour of beetroot. The bridge, as everyone soon learned, was still three muddy planks and a hopeful rope.
From then on, a pepper grinder sat beside the queen’s throne. Whenever someone made a promise, the cook gave it a twist. Honest words passed quietly. Lies brought thunderous sneezes, flying lace cuffs and terrified courtiers. The kingdom became unusually truthful, and the queen’s cook became the most powerful person who never wore a crown.