A castle like a thousand others.

  A moat with a drawbridge encircled it completely. Beyond the bridge lay a cramped inner courtyard, where the smith, healer, and other castle-adjacent artisans huddled in wooden shacks that looked as if they’d simply glued themselves to the outer wall.

  The smell was distinctly castley—equal parts horse manure and whatever the cook was making inside. First it teased the mouth with delicious anticipation… then the manure hit.

  What drew the eye most, however, was the lack of ducks. This was Reralt’s castle. Cluckthulhu, breaker of beaks, was not welcome here. The rest of the avian world had taken the hint.

  From the center of the courtyard rose marble stairs leading to a grand ornate door: metal-plated, trimmed in gold leaf, etched with heroic quests in heroic poses. Beyond lay the main chamber—a buffet hall with a gallery sweeping up toward the master’s chambers. At the back, the servants’ stairs.

  On the first floor, two men argued.

  “I don’t want to,” said the younger—bruised, battered, missing fingers.

  “Fedeggs,” replied the older, the chamberlain: a grey-bearded elder in purple robes, battered nearly as badly. He pointed at a nearby door. “It is your sacred duty to get our lord to come out and start his next adventure.”

  Fedeggs hesitated.

  “Or do you truly want him here… for an unknown amount of time?” the chamberlain added.

  That did it. Fedeggs went pale, then knocked hard.

  “Reralt! Come out!” He glanced at the chamberlain, rolled his eyes, then added: “Glory awaits!”

  From within came the muffled reply:

  “No! I haven’t seen enough glory from the first one yet.” Then, inexplicably, Reralt knocked back.

  “But my lord,” the chamberlain croaked through the wood, “you have your own story! Your own book!”

  “It’s already on the Royal Road—and that big river too,” Fedeggs muttered. “What more could you want?”

  “Stars!” Reralt shouted. “I want—no, I need more stars!” It sounded like a tantrum. Which, for Reralt, meant an ordinary day.

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  “Stars?” Fedeggs frowned.

  “Ratings,” the chamberlain explained.

  “And some nice words that tell me how awesome I am,” Reralt added.

  “And reviews,” the chamberlain sighed. “Decent, well-thought-out reviews.”

  Fedeggs nodded solemnly. “We all remember that one-star troll. Poor creature just needed a hug.”

  He raised a hand and shushed the chamberlain. “If you’re quiet, you can still hear him cry.”

  They both went still. The wind through the window almost shaped itself into a voice. Broken sobs rode the draft, and the rain outside snottered against the stone like a runny nose.

  “Em dashes are AI—” the echo moaned, fading into the night, sobbing all the way.

  The chamberlain sighed again, then raised a bony finger and pointed straight at you. His skin was grey, his joints creaked—but the gesture compelled you all the same. Surely you could be convinced to leave a rating?

  “Sure this works?” Fedeggs asked, now looking directly at you. “The person doesn’t look convinced.”

  “I won’t come out otherwise!” Reralt bellowed. His voice thudded against the door. He was clearly sitting with his back pressed against it, blocking it completely.

  “You can’t force five-star ratings,” the chamberlain muttered. He inspected the hinges. Sturdy. Not the first time.

  “Four stars!” Reralt shouted. “I need four stars!”

  Four? the narrator asked. That seems odd.

  “Adverbs end in –ly…” the echo wailed again, dripping down the stones like bad prose.

  “Well, I am a star already—and you told me six stars isn’t possible?” Reralt reasoned, the question mark practically audible.

  That’s not how it works, the narrator sighed. He stopped midway through trying to convince his own creation. He knew him too well.

  It would be so much easier if you just left a rating.

  The second book is already written, after all.

  With chapters such as:

  – The Planet of the Apis

  – Magic, The Greedening

  – Eye Ball 8?

  …surely worth at least four stars.

  P.S. Of course I’ll post it anyway. We do not let that big baby—

  Reralt! Stop!

  You’re tearing up the book!

  “Too many semicolons…” the ghostly troll whispered, punctuating his own misery—then fell silent, determined to have the last word.

  Final reminder: Rate, review, follow, favorite, or comment.

  Not for me, of course — Reralt would really appreciate it.