He was a good young man, and he always did his best. The trouble was, he would never slay a dragon.
King William remember his own battle with Death-by-Flame. It required fifty-five sword chops to sever that green horny neck,and he had to charge on his horse dozens and dozens of times. If he'd have fallen off - just once - he'd have ended his days like a grilled sausage. As it was, he still nursed a nasty burn on his leg that twinged whenever bad weather was coming. And the terrible roaring! The hideous heat! King William shuddered at the memory, even though it was thirty years ago.
"Ahrrmmm!" King William cleared his throat. "I will see the Keeper of the Royal Library about something for you, Timothy. He's getting old and doddery. He could do with some help in ordering the books. Or there might be something in the Royal Bank - keeping the accounts, perhaps?"
"But all my life I've wanted to be a Dragon-Slayer, sire!" protested Prince Timothy.
"Timothy!" said his father. "After all those failures in your school report?"
