Queenie smiled at her husband. Together they stood on a small, temporary stage on the banks of Kingston Pond, in anticipation of the annual Counting of the Ducks. It wasn’t exactly as Royal had envisioned; the grand proscenium arch he’d requested looked suspiciously like construction scaffolding, and there was no sign of the velvet curtains he’d been promised. Royal shook his head. He wondered if all the royal families of the world had to endure such indignities. It seemed like nobody respected a monarch these days.

Royal squinted against the mid-afternoon sun and leaned towards the microphone, blowing lightly into it. A wave of feedback screeched from the loudspeakers. The audience covered their ears and grumbled disapprovingly.

Royal cringed. He glanced desperately at the soundman, who rushed to the side of the stage and fiddled with his audio board for a moment before giving Royal a less-than-confident thumbs-up. Royal shot him a look. This was exactly why he’d requested a bullhorn and a company of trumpeters, like they used to have in the old days. Technology had a real way of messing with tradition.

“People of Kingston…” Royal announced tentatively, pausing in anticipation of the impending feedback. But his voice echoed clearly from the speakers.

“People of Kingston!” He declared once more with confidence. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to this most beloved and time-honoured tradition: The Royal Counting of the Regal Ducks!”

The audience applauded enthusiastically, hooting, quacking, and waving their duck-shaped balloons in the air. Royal put on a brave face, smiling through gritted teeth and waving to his public. He relished these little traditions, these relics of days past, but he so yearned for the time when the monarchy had meant something. When they actually ruled. When they had POWER.

“Queenie, my love! May I please have the official duck tabulator?!” Royal turned to his wife with a forced grin and an outstretched hand. She stared witheringly at him, and shook her head. Royal began to sweat. He placed his hand over the mic and leaned towards his wife.

“You didn’t bring the official duck tabulator?” he whispered curtly at her. He immediately regretted his tone of voice as Queenie’s eyes widened, and her lips tightened.

“No. I didn’t bring it. Perhaps you left it at the castle. With your scepter.” Queenie said sharply. Royal flinched. She had him there. He was always forgetting the scepter.

“What should I do?”

Queenie leaned towards him.

“Just count the ducks.”

Royal was beginning to panic. He had also forgotten his glasses.

“Right. So… on my fingers then?”

Queenie gasped.

“No, not your fingers! The tabloids would have a field day! Just count in your head!”

Royal stared at her, panicked. She gestured towards the pond as the crowd began to murmur impatiently. Royal turned, blinking helplessly at the ducks. Some swam in slow circles, while others waddled blithely on the shore. He squinted, and counted softly under his breath.

“Your lips are moving!” Queenie whispered, causing Royal to lose count.

“Don’t talk to me while I’m doing it!” he hissed back at her. Queenie sighed loudly, and grabbed the microphone.

“THERE ARE THIRTEEN DUCKS!” she yelled abruptly into the mic. The audience cheered and quacked happily, before quickly dispersing to enjoy the events assortment of carnival games and food stands.

Royal exhaled, relieved but somewhat embarrassed, and turned to his wife. Queenie patted her husband affectionately on the cheek. He looked at her sheepishly.

“It’s a silly thing, isn’t it? The Royal Counting of the Regal Ducks? What makes them so regal, anyhow?” he mumbled.

Queenie took a deep breath.

“Traditions don’t always make sense my dear. In fact, they rarely do. But they are a part of our history, and it is our duty to maintain them.”
Royal stood up a little straighter.

“Hmm. Yes. You might even say it’s within our POWER… to maintain them?” he offered hopefully. Queenie nodded.

“Absolutely. It is within our power.”

Royal’s mood brightened significantly.

“And would you also say, my darling, that in the course of our ruling, having others do our bidding is also within our power?”

Queenie nodded. “I think it’s to be expected every once in a while.”

Royal beamed. “Excellent! Come my darling! Let us peruse the souvenir stands! I took the liberty of licensing our likenesses for a new line of limited edition snow globes! It was within my power to do so!”

He grabbed Queenie’s hand, and headed down the platform steps.

“Ah! A receiving line! Shall we take a moment to mingle with our public, my dear?” he exclaimed, shaking hands with a line up of slightly confused people who, until Royal showed up, had been waiting in line for the port-o-potties.