It started, as most disasters do, with a misunderstanding.
Theo was twelve, on holiday with his family, and had become separated from his parents in an old city with cobblestone streets and a surprising number of people in ceremonial robes.
He asked a man in a very large hat where the bus stop was.
The man in the hat looked at Theo for a long moment, then fell to one knee.
This was unexpected.
"At last," the man said.
"The bus stop," said Theo, "is at last?"
"The Prophecy," said the man, "is fulfilled."
The Prophecy, it emerged over the next bewildering hour, involved a stranger arriving in the city on the day of the autumn solstice, with eyes the colour of the winter sea, wearing the sign of the bear.
Theo had winter-grey eyes. He was wearing a hoodie with a bear on it because it was his only clean top.
He tried to explain about the hoodie.
Nobody was interested in the hoodie.
The coronation was scheduled for three o'clock.
His parents found him at two forty-five, just as someone was approaching with a very large crown. His mother took a photo. His father immediately started planning how to handle the tax implications.
Theo said he couldn't be king because he had school on Monday.
After considerable negotiation, they agreed he could be an honorary monarch with no actual duties, a certificate, and free entry to all municipal buildings.
He still has the certificate. It's in a drawer somewhere.
The crown was too big anyway.