It wasn't long before the rumors began.
At first, it was just a murmur at a royal banquet. Then, in mere days, the servants were discreetly humming the melody from my tale. By the end of the week, the whole kingdom was captivated by The Princess and the Dragon's Lair—my story of wit, guile, and the princess who didn't need anyone's rescue, thank you very much.
Father had, of course, instructed the court printers to churn out mass copies of the tale for the court, the kingdom, and beyond. The pictures were framed in every noble home, gold-leafed on every page, sewn into silk. A work of royal splendor, one that made the kingdom take notice.
And, naturally, I boasted about it to myself.
At the following royal banquet, I occupied the place of honor at the head of the table, my head held high while courtiers whispered about the "new legend" circulating throughout the kingdom. Whiskers, now growing accustomed to being a royal mascot, sprawled on my lap, his tail switching idly as I surveyed the room.
Father raised his goblet in a toast. "To Princess Charlotte," he declared with a grin, "for showing us that a true leader is one who uses her intellect, not merely her crown."
A ripple of applause ran through the court. My heart swelled with pride, and I smiled graciously, lifting my own goblet in response.
"To my daughter," the King continued, "for spinning a story that will be remembered for generations to come."
And just like that, the kingdom was mine. Or at least, in their minds.
But, of course, I wasn't satisfied with a fleeting victory. I wanted more. More stories. More drawings. More of everything.
The next day, I was back in the library tower, with Elias seated across from me. This time, however, he wasn't timid. No, the boy had gained confidence—he was certain of his place in the royal hierarchy. His drawings had become bolder, more vivid, as if he had unlocked an artistic genius within himself.
"Ready for the next one?" I asked, leaning forward across the desk, playing the quill against my lips. "This time, we're going to challenge the princess with a villain who isn't so easily outsmarted."
Elias nodded, brow furrowing in concentration as he began to sketch. It seemed as though the success of our first tale had unlocked something in him, and now he was eager to contribute.
For the next few weeks, our work only grew stronger. More tales. More escapades. More dragons. And this time, the princess wasn't merely outwitting beasts—she was confronting competitors for the crown. She was stealing the crown, because, naturally, why not?
One day, as I showed our newest creation to Father, I couldn't help but feel a thrill surge within me.
Father scanned the new pages, his brows furrowing in thought. "Another princess outwitting her foes, huh?"
"Not just any princess," I replied, my smile widening. "This one is determined to rule. Her way."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm beginning to think I should be getting lesson plans from you."
I winked. "Oh, Father, you're already a wise king. But even the wisest understand that change can come from the unlikeliest of places."
Our tales spread like wildfire. Soon, nobles were requesting copies for their own children, some even asking for personal lessons in storytelling. Elias, once a quiet gardener's son, became a regular fixture at court, his drawings now adorning every noble mansion. His talent was finally being recognized for what it was—remarkable.
Before long, Elias was invited to all the royal parties and soirées. He was my partner, my creative equal, and I couldn't help but feel a bit superior to it all. It had been my idea, my cleverness, that set everything in motion.
And as for me? Well, I was basking in the glory of my triumph, naturally. But beneath that satisfaction, I was already plotting the next grand gesture—the next tale, the next victory, the next thing that would cement my place in the history books.
I had learned a very valuable lesson: stories, once told, don't simply disappear. They grow. They thrive. And they change everything.