A Glimpse of Royalty

Chapter 2: A Prince’s Tale Boo-hoo… Hi” there, I’m Henry. You know me as Prince Charming, but let’s be honest, that title comes with a lot of pressure. Everyone loves to tell Cinderella’s story, but they never ask about mine. So, let me give you the real version of how I met her. I was born into luxury, my first cries echoing through the grand halls of Belleville’s royal palace. My father, King Edward, ordered a hundred white doves to be released in celebration. My mother, Queen Isabella, wept with joy as she held me, calling me her little prince. From the moment I arrived, my life was planned, duty, honor, and responsibility. Every birthday, my father showered me with extravagant gifts. On my fifth, a golden rocking horse encrusted with rubies. On my tenth, a stallion faster than the wind. My sixteenth birthday? A sword forged by the kingdom’s finest blacksmiths, though I had no wars to fight. I had everything, yet somehow, I felt like I had nothing. Growing up in the palace was… dull. My days were predictable history lessons in the study, fencing practice in the courtyard, and endless formal dinners where nobles spoke in riddles, all trying to gain favor with my father. I had no siblings to confide in, no real friends, just tutors, advisors, and guards who bowed instead of laughed. The only time I felt free was in the stables, brushing down my horse or sneaking out for rides beyond the castle gates, pretending, just for a moment, that I was ordinary. Then came the royal ball, the one my father insisted on throwing to find me a bride. “A prince must marry,” he had said, “and a kingdom must have a queen.” I didn’t argue. I never argued. That night, I wore my finest suit, my golden sash, my polished boots, and stepped into a ballroom glittering with chandeliers and noblewomen draped in silk. They all stared at me, whispering behind their fans, eager for a dance, eager for a crown. And then… I saw her. Not in a grand entrance, not in a dazzling gown, but through a quiet hallway window before she even stepped into the ball. She was staring at a portrait of me, not with admiration or expectation, but with something deeper. As if she wasn’t seeing a prince, but a person. As if she were looking past the golden sash, past the polished boots, past the title. For the first time in my life, I felt something real. And I knew, I had to meet her.