My two elder sons are clever and self-assured, but my third is a different sort of chap altogether. Very good-hearted, but simple. I’m not sure which of my sons is meant to be king. I’ll throw three feathers to the wind and let the wind decide, the way it always has.
“Go where the feather takes you,” I tell them. “And bring me back a fine carpet. The one with the finest carpet will be the next king.”