Kakistocracy: Government by the least qualified, most stupid members.
True to form, about two hours later the tribal jötunn comes back, looking very disgruntled and carrying a bloody sack on his back. Darcy eyes it suspiciously; Helblindi seems to regard it as a normal occurrence and tells the jötunn in their own language to carry it back to the kitchens.
"What was that?" Darcy whispers, still entranced by the small puddle of crimson blood the bag had dripped onto the icy floor of the throne room.
"A frost chicken," Helblindi explains, humming to himself as a great amount of banging and tinkling glass comes from the kitchen. "Or possibly that giant's hopes and dreams. Perhaps both."
"Why did he bring us a frost chicken?" Darcy wants to know. "I thought he was a chicken farmer, and only had six chickens. Why would you bring someone one of your six chickens? That just doesn't seem smart."
"He probably does not have the land capacity to sustain six chickens," Helblindi explains patiently. "So he brought you one. Look," he says as the jötunn emerges from the kitchens, bearing a covered dish and presenting it to Darcy.
Darcy lifts the lid hesitantly, is nothing short of nonplussed as a little blue chick pops out into her hand, peeping at her with high pitched squeaks.
"It's so cute!" Darcy exclaims, hugging the chick to her chest and cooing at it. The tribal jötunn looks at her in mixture of disbelief and pity; surely the woman was touched in the head, he thought, for her to be so affectionate towards bloodthirsty poultry. He feels a twinge of amusement as the chick pecks at Darcy's finger and draws blood, more confusion when Darcy just sucks at the puncture and says lovingly how cute the demon is.
"We must keep it," Darcy proclaims, even as the chick opens its beak wide and tries to gnaw at her wrist. "I love it."
The jötunn shrugs, backs out of the throne room, and on his way home, pities the crown prince for being entranced by such a foolish woman. Perhaps she was a witch, he thinks, nursing the bites on his arms that said chick had inflicted three hours previously and had made him bleed all over the canvas bag he managed to stuff the chick into. Perhaps she was like the youngest prince and fond of sorcery and magic and things like that. Perhaps, he thought with a shudder, she acted that way because she did not fear death. The jötunn shuddered at the thought, and steeled himself for the upcoming ordeals with the other five chickens.