On Christmas Eve, the king invited his prime minister to join him for their traditional evening walk through the city. It was a yearly ritual the king loved—quietly strolling among his people, admiring the Christmas lights, and giving a royal wave here and there, even though no one recognized him in his “disguise” of a fake mustache and oversized scarf.
This year, however, the king was feeling frugal.
“I enjoy Christmas cheer,” he said, “but I don’t want my subjects spending too much on decorations. Lights are lovely, but electricity bills are not.”
The prime minister, always happy to agree with the king, nodded. “Wise as always, Your Majesty. Perhaps we could encourage everyone to use… candlelight?”
The king smiled. “Exactly! Natural lighting. It’s good for the environment and the wallet. Let’s see how everyone is doing.”
As they walked down the first street, they saw a house that was brighter than the royal ballroom during a wedding. LED lights flashed in six colors, inflatable snowmen danced, and a mechanical reindeer galloped in place.
The king squinted. “I think I just had a seizure. Who lives here?”
“The Minister of Energy,” the prime minister whispered.
They knocked on the door. A man wearing sunglasses opened it.
“Merry Christmas, Sire!” he said. “Sorry about the brightness. I’m testing a new national lighting system. Very scientific.”
The king nodded slowly. “It’s lovely. My retinas are on fire, but lovely.”
The next house had much simpler decorations: one strand of slightly tangled lights and a cardboard snowflake taped to the mailbox.
“This is more like it!” the king said.
“That’s the Minister of Finance,” the prime minister explained. “He cut his own Christmas budget by 70%.”
“Promote that man,” the king said, rubbing his hands together.
As they walked farther, they noticed a crowd gathered around the town square. In the center stood a large Christmas tree with no lights at all.
“Did someone forget to plug it in?” the king asked.
“No, Sire,” a nearby child replied. “The mayor said electricity costs too much, so he painted lightbulbs on the tree with glow-in-the-dark paint.”
The king looked impressed. “That’s actually rather creative.”
“It only works for ten minutes after sunset,” the child added.
“Oh.”
They continued walking until they reached the bakery. It had gone all out with festive music, warm lights, and the wonderful smell of cinnamon.
A huge sign outside read:
“Christmas Cookies for the King—Half Price if You Spot Him!”
The king blinked. “Do I count if I spot myself?”
“Technically,” the prime minister replied, “you’re incognito. So yes.”
They went inside and bought cookies for half price.
The baker winked at the king. “Nice mustache, Your Majesty. You come here every year.”
The king looked shocked. “You knew?”
“Of course,” she said. “But we also know you don’t like making a fuss. Besides, you tip well.”
Blushing slightly, the king took a bite of a gingerbread man and muttered, “Royal discretion is hard work.”
As they returned to the palace, the king patted the prime minister on the back.
“I think the people are doing just fine with their decorations. There’s cheer, there’s light, and most importantly, no one has sold a goat to pay their electric bill.”
The prime minister nodded. “And we even got cookies.”
That night, the king issued a royal decree:
“Celebrate wisely. Use your lightbulbs and your imagination. But above all, save a cookie for your king.”