The French royals and I have never gotten along. It all started a century ago, when I accidently said, “Excuse me, ma’am” to Louis XIV. In my defense, the guy was wearing a long curly wig and high heels. Anyone would have made that mistake. Since then I’ve been put on the do not invite list.

Marie has always had a hard time getting the French’s approval, too; that’s probably why we bonded so quickly when we met at that opera in Paris. They blame her for everything, just like the Fairy Council is always so quick to point their finger at me.

Anyhow, I swam my way out of the fountain, found my shoes and hat scattered in the garden (don’t remember how that happened, either), and stumbled back inside the palace. Lester was still asleep on a couch inside; the gander would sleep through an asteroid hitting the earth if he was up too late the night before.

There was so much champagne and dessert left over from the night before; the maids were still cleaning it up. I wrapped up a couple of pieces of leftover cake to take home—there’s no cake like Versailles cake!

I found Marie in her chambers. She had been up for hours and her hair was already perfectly in place and soared two feet above her head. Now that’s a party MVP!

“Marie, I just wanted to thank you again for such a wonderful night!” I said. “I haven’t had that much fun since the Crusades.”

“Mother Goose! Thank God you’re alive! After you fell out the window last night, we thought you were dead!” Marie said.

“Well, that explains the kink in my neck,” I said. “From the looks of it, I must have continued the party in the gardens.”

Suddenly, a soldier ran inside. He was sweating and out of breath, but we didn’t think much of it at first. The Palace of Versailles is so big, everyone is usually sweating and out of breath by the time they got to Marie’s room.

“Madame, the palace is under attack! Hundreds of villagers are storming the gates! They say they’re starving!” the guard said.

“Oh no, what should we do?” Marie asked.

“May I make a suggestion?” I said. “You’ve got tons of food left over from the party. Why don’t you offer them some cake? I’m sure they’ll appreciate it—it was some of the best cake I’ve ever had!”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Mother Goose,” Marie said, and then nodded at the soldier. “Let them eat cake!”

I don’t care what those stiff French aristocrats say about Marie Antoinette—a queen who parties like her is a queen I can get behind!