The kids sing their song, and everything proceeds as planned.
I talk with them, and we agree on what flower is prettier and how much the King is a good person. I make it clear that he sent me here to bring them toys and sweets, so they now love him as much as I do.
«They say the King is evil,» a little boy says. He's blond and pale, just like a noble's son, but the shade is somehow dull. It might be because of the dust of the slums.
«Who says?» I inquire, bending forward and whispering as if we were plotting treason. «Are you sure those people are dependable? I met the King, and he doesn't seem evil to me.»
«How?»
«He's charming and brings sweets to me,» I try. «He also worries that I'm all right. That's not an evil person, is it?»
The kid shrugs, opening his eyes wide.
«Maybe, there's someone evil who's bad mouthing the King!» I realise, clapping my hands as if I've just got the idea. «What if it was the case?»
«Oh, no!» he sighs.
