A scene from the throne room

The incident itself is trivial to the ounce: one mug, chipped at the handle, sitting four inches inside the royal blotter on the desk. I have since learned the vending hatch rents its mugs by the hour and calls the arrangement a loan, which is news to everyone who has ever bought a mug.

Suspending the ledger does not refund the mug, and the hatch's terms put the replacement at one signed apology and a nap. The blotter itself survived, though the ink has bled through to the desk beneath, which we are calling Patina.