"Promise me, that you won't remarry unless she is as beautiful as me and has golden hair like me," the ill queen pleaded with her husband.

"Of course," he promised, unsure of how'd find anyone with beauty that matched his young wife's.

Not long after his wife died. He was left alone with their young daughter.

"Don't worry Papa," his daughter told him. "We'll be alright."

The king wasn't sure he'd ever be alright again. His kingdom needed a queen and his daughter, a mother. His advisers were pressuring him to remarry, but he didn't know where to look. No one could be as beautiful as his wife.

His daughter, Abbigail, sighed. "How much have you looked?"

The king cast his eyes downward. "I haven't yet."

"You have to search even just a little before you give up." Abbigail touched her father's arm. "Promise me you'll start a search for a new queen, Papa."

"I promise." He did keep his promise. He had his men search every kingdom for a princess as beautiful as his late wife, but he couldn't find a single one beautiful enough to come close to her.

The king didn't know what he would tell his daughter. He found her in the garden, admiring the roses and butterflies flitting around.

"Honey," the king called,"we have to talk."

"What is it, Papa?" His daughter asked, sitting on a bench beside him. The sun shone down, making her golden hair shine. The king admired his daughter in the full light of day. She was as beautiful as her mother, looking more like her every day. A thought occurred to him. Why couldn't he just marry his daughter?