"Will you allow me to object to being killed?" asked the prince.
"Certainly," answered the king, courteously. "I expect you to object.
It is natural. But it will do you no good."
Then Terribus turned to an attendant and commanded:
"Send hither the Fool-Killer."
At this Prince Marvel laughed outright.
"The Fool-Killer!" he cried; "surely your Majesty does me little
credit. Am I, then, a fool?"
"You entered my kingdom uninvited," retorted the king, "and you tell
me to my face I am ugly. Moreover, you laugh when I condemn you to
death. From this I conclude the Fool-Killer is the proper one to
execute you. Behold!"
Marvel turned quickly, to find a tall, stalwart man standing behind
him. His features were strong but very grave, and the prince caught a
look of compassion in his eye as their gaze met. His skin was fair
and without blemish, a robe of silver cloth fell from his shoulders,
and in his right hand he bore a gleaming sword.
"Well met!" cried Marvel, heartily, as he bowed to the Fool-Killer.
"I have often heard your name mentioned, but 'tis said in the world
that you are a laggard in your duty."
"Had I my way," answered the Fool-Killer, "my blade would always drip.
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