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She clicks her long fingernails against the table, listening carefully to be certain that she hears no footsteps. Of course, she’s locked the door and he wouldn’t dare disturb her.
Not intentionally.
But he’s like a large puppy, in addition to being a stupid monkey, and he might just break down the door unintentionally.
But she hears nothing, so she reaches into her dress and pulls out a thin, flexible book. She lays it on the table, and with a last, narrow-eyed glance around the room, she opens it slowly.
Half an hour later, she draws the hundredth red circle in the book and closes it. She sighs and smiles, retrieving a sheet of fine lilac stationary, her violet checkbook, and her own purple quill.
—
When Kronk wakes up on Christmas morning, he isn’t expecting much.
But then he sees the palace tree and his jaw drops open and he squeals like a child, unabashedly delighted and astonished by the small mountain of wrapped gifts under the tree, all with his name on it. (It doesn’t compare with Kukzo’s gift mountain, but that doesn’t matter. He’s never gotten so many presents in his life!)
Even Yzma’s pre-caffienated grumbles and sour looks can’t take the beauty out of it.
Hours later, he sniffs joyfully and looks up at the gleaming tree. Santa had brought him every last gadget, device, bowl, pot, and utensil in the Williams-Sonoma-Xipil catalogue.
How had he known?