Freya did not wake up that morning expecting to be accused of grand theft agriculture. Yet here she was, standing in the middle of Elden Root's central square, knee-deep in burlap sacks, ankle-deep in suspiciously well-peeled potatoes, and neck-deep in trouble.
"Miss Freya," intoned a squat, gnome-like official wearing a monocle far too large for his face. "You are hereby charged with the unlawful redistribution of starchy assets."
"Redistribution?" Freya blinked. "I tripped. Over a cart. That was already tipped. And possibly on fire."
"Likely story!" the monocled gnome bellowed, turning dramatically to the gathered crowd, who had clearly come to enjoy a public roasting. Not of potatoes—those were currently scattered across the cobblestones like delicious shrapnel—but of her.
Behind her, Auri whispered, "I told you stealing potatoes would end badly."
"I didn't steal them!" Freya hissed. "I was just walking and... potato happened."
A very serious city guard stepped forward, helmet slightly askew. "We found this spud in your cloak pocket."
Freya glanced down. Sure enough, a golden potato was nestled in her pocket like a guilt-laden russet of doom.
"That's a snack," she said weakly.
"Is it?" The guard raised a brow. "Is it, or is it a weapon in the ongoing war against the Crown's Grain Subsidy Program?"
"What does that even mean?!"
The monocled gnome raised a scroll. "Article VI, Section Potato—'No person shall abscond with more than one tuber from municipal stockpiles without the express written consent of the Royal Masher.'"
"The Royal what now?"
"The Royal Masher. He's the kingdom's highest-ranking potato-related official."
"Oh, this kingdom needs help."
"You're not wrong," Auri muttered.
---
Half an hour later, Freya found herself seated in a makeshift court inside a bakery-turned-hall-of-justice. The judge was a burly centaur wearing a powdered wig, the bailiff was a raccoon in a tiny chainmail vest, and the stenographer was an elderly elf with a typewriter on her lap and absolutely no patience.
Freya sat in the defendant's booth, which had been hastily constructed out of bread crates and baguettes. Auri perched beside her, nibbling on a croissant and attempting to blend in with the legal decor.
The prosecution's star witness was an animated sack of potatoes named Spudrick.
Spudrick rolled to the center of the room with the solemn gravity of someone who'd seen too much. "I saw her. She took Gary."
"Who's Gary?" Freya asked.
"My best friend," said Spudrick, voice cracking. "He was a Yukon Gold. Had a future. Dreams."
"This is actually happening," Freya whispered, face in hands.
"She boiled him!" Spudrick wailed.
"I DID NOT!"
"Objection!" shouted Freya, standing so quickly a baguette toppled.
The centaur judge banged a dinner roll on the bench. "Sustained. Defendant will refrain from yelling at sentient produce."
"This trial is a farce!" Freya shouted.
"Farce is what we make with parsnips," Auri muttered. "Stay focused."
---
Meanwhile, back at the guild hall, the Quest Board of Doom buzzed ominously. A new sheet had been posted:
> URGENT: Princess of Peels suspected in Royal Potato Conspiracy. Reward offered for capture and/or well-seasoned casserole.
"Freya's in trouble," muttered Klaus, the brooding rogue who had inexplicably joined Freya's growing band of misfits two chapters ago.
"She's always in trouble," said Lira, the wizard whose spells worked best when she was slightly drunk.
Klaus squinted at the board. "But this time, there are vegetables involved. And I don't trust vegetables."
"Same," said Lira. "Let's go ruin someone's day."
---
Back in court, things had escalated. The prosecution had called in a bard to sing a dramatic reenactment of the crime, complete with interpretive dance and a potato-shaped lute. Freya had no idea how someone could make a ballad about starch theft both tragic and funky, but here it was.
By the time the closing arguments began, Freya was considering just admitting guilt for the sake of getting out of the courtroom/bakery. She could smell cinnamon rolls baking and it was becoming emotionally confusing.
Auri, acting as her defense attorney, stood and addressed the court.
"Ladies, gentlemen, raccoons, and root vegetables—my client is innocent. She's a victim of circumstance. And gravity. And possibly a very angry sack of talking potatoes."
The jury, made up of various townsfolk and one very confused goat, murmured among themselves.
Spudrick wept in the corner.
The judge adjusted his wig. "I'll allow a recess while we deliberate."
Freya slumped onto her bread bench. "This is worse than the cabbage cult."
"Statistically, you're now wanted in more vegetable-related crimes than anyone in the kingdom's history," Auri said helpfully.
"Put that on my resume."
---
The jury deliberated for approximately twelve minutes and returned with a verdict: guilty on two counts of unauthorized tuber transport and one count of resisting root vegetable authority.
Freya was sentenced to community service.
"Specifically," said the judge, "you will assist the Royal Masher in organizing the Grand Potato Festival."
Freya blinked. "That's… not terrible."
"You will wear the ceremonial Spud Suit."
"…I spoke too soon."
---
Three hours later, Freya stood in the middle of a parade wearing an enormous foam potato costume with googly eyes, waving sadly at cheering children. Auri followed behind on stilts, juggling radishes and pretending not to know her.
"This is somehow the most humiliating AND least dangerous quest I've had in weeks," Freya muttered.
"You haven't even met the Mayo Monarch yet," Auri replied.
"Stop inventing terrifying titles."
"He's real. And he's coming. With slaw."
The parade continued down Elden Root's main street, where booths offered everything from potato-themed jewelry to mashed potato body scrubs. Freya did her best to look festive and not internally screaming.
"Next time," she muttered, "I'm picking a world with dragons. Or even taxes."
"Too late," said Auri. "You're the Spud Queen now."
A child ran up and handed Freya a drawing of her as a heroic potato warrior.
She sighed. "I hate how cute this is."
A distant voice rang out: "All hail Lady Tuber!"
"…I quit."
But she didn't. Because somehow, she knew her adventures were just beginning—and next time, they might involve tomatoes.