I hurried down the long flight of stairs leading to the banquet hall. I had barely gotten used to the castle schedule, and my dress was long and ridiculously decorative. Attempting to keep my balance, I moved as swiftly as possible through the long, cold stone halls to gracefully take my seat at the table, next to the King and Queen.

Guests and noblemen of the court bowed and smiled when they saw me. I could tell they were genuinely enthusiastic to welcome me, Aurora, the long-hidden Princess who had once suffered a terrible consequence of an evil fairy's curse. What fame whirled around me in just a matter of days, when I myself barely remembered the details of the event! I remember falling under a spell-like mindset, following a small green light through dark, ominous-looking corridors and up many flights of stairs. I remember the light taking me into a small, high room and transforming itself into what I later learned was a spinning wheel. And I remember pricking my finger on the sharp end and looking at my injury. I thought I was losing much more blood than I should from such a minor hurt . . . and then I slipped into darkness.

After being awoken by Prince Phillip, I was told the story of how he had battled a dragon to save me from permanent sleep. Thereafter the details of how my former curse came upon me were provided by my parents.

My parents. King Stefan and Queen Leah. They did not yet seem to me like my parents. Had it not only been a matter of months since I had learned—and yet still found hard to believe—that my biological parents were monarchs of the entire kingdom, including the beloved and familiar forest in which I grew up? No, they were loving and wise people, but even now I did not feel the bond that a daughter should share with her mother and father. Perhaps they knew this, even if I never spoke of it. Perhaps it pained them, but they did not wish to trouble me with their sorrow, and so they bore it silently, like stoic philosophers of the ancient days.

These thoughts kept me occupied during the first half of the banquet. My attention was brought back to what was happening around me by the sound of music. Time to dance! Though I was still unfamiliar with castle life, I loved dancing, and seized every opportunity to do so.

The person I danced with most was Phillip. Of course I could hardly dance with anyone else, because he was my fiancé. Occasionally I would dance with his father King Hubert, or my own father, King Stefan. But Phillip and I could dance and carry a conversation at the same time and it was typically during the evening banquets that we exchanged some of our best ideas. This evening Phillip brought news.

"My father is very much concerned with establishing a possible trade route over the sea," he said quietly as we glided together over the stones. "He thinks it will set an advantage for us over other kingdoms of the continent."

"With whom would he trade over the sea?" I nearly whispered, for the news was mildly exciting.

"The Saracens," Phillip replied casually. "They know much of art and craftsmanship, and of warfare."

"Aye," I agreed. "Then trading with them would be an advantage. For as we live, nations are intermittently warring, and one kingdom that befriended us five years ago may be our enemy tomorrow."

"Then we shall have the advanced weapons of the Saracens to defend ourselves from enemies over here," agreed Phillip. "To protect peace."

Thinking how sadly ironic his words were, I said, "Surely you don't mean war is the model way to uphold peace."

"Certainly not the model way," Phillip replied. "But when our enemies attack us, we cannot be doormats. We must cast aside ease to protect our independence in the longer run."

"Yes, our independence—our safety and freedom, those are beautiful things worth protecting," I mused.

"And sometimes we must endure painful things to protect beautiful things," Phillip added.

Those words rang in my head—"endure painful things to protect beautiful things." I recalled the day after my sixth birthday, when I still lived in the forest with my three fairy guardians. It was early and nobody was up yet except me, and that morning was so warm and fair that I wanted to be outside while I waited for Fauna to wake up and make breakfast. So I stepped out and looked toward the garden. At that time of year, Merryweather's roses were almost in full bloom. They looked so beautiful! I wanted to pick one to keep in my room, but as I had yet to learn that roses had thorns, I cut my palm and wrist as I carelessly reached into the thick greenery and wrapped my hand around one of the stems. Awaking to my crying, Flora, Fauna and Merryweather rushed out to see what was the matter with me.

Later, after washing and bandaging my hand, Merryweather explained something to me that I never forgot: she said the roses had thorns to protect themselves from such carelessness, and that their beauty was much greater to enjoy undisturbed. She took me out to the garden again, and as I looked upon the roses, holding my then-bandaged hand carefully away from them, somehow I thought they looked prettier than ever. They were too lovely and dare I say noble a flower to be plucked greedily from their growing place. The lesson I had learned was painful, but it caused me to appreciate beauty in and of itself. I had endured thorns for roses. And it had been well worth it in the end.

My thoughts came back to the present as Phillip continued discussing King Hubert's plans. "Father has already told me he intends to present his idea to your father tonight. He wishes for the two of them to go to the East together. There they will make a proposition to the Saracen King to establish peaceful trade with Christendom."

"The Saracen King will not be easily persuaded," I said, thinking of our past crusade in the East.

"That is why Father has made a brilliant plan!" said Phillip, his eyes gleaming with excitement and pride. "He will not tell me what it is, but rest assured, two wise monarchs such as your father and mine can certainly persuade the Saracen King to open trade with our kingdoms!"

I nodded. Phillip spoke so admiringly of his father, it was easy to trust his word. I turned my head then, and just as I did so, I noticed a rather large shape gliding from one stone pillar to the next on the other side of the banqueting hall. Was someone eavesdropping on us? I caught sight of the onlooker; his face was contorted into a look of snake-like malice. He was not smiling, but he had the look of one who is well pleased with what he just heard, as if the news might yield him some personal gain.

I recognized him; his name was John Ratcliffe. He was a man of an advisory position in my father's court. Not a particularly high one, but a lowly climber, parasitic to the greater and wiser counselors who understood and loved what was best for the kingdom—and for the king. I could never envision Ratcliffe as anyone half as noble as those lords; he reminded me more of a belly-crawler—a crocodile, a snake, something of that sort. Someone not to be trusted. Shivering at his gaze, I turned my head back towards Phillip and tried to focus on the dance.

. . .

That night as I was getting ready for bed, I reached into my bookshelf and took out a tired old volume with a worn leather cover. It was my favorite book, written by a Saracen philosopher of the East. Decades ago, such books would have been forbidden throughout the continent, but thanks to King Stefan's academic renaissance, our kingdom was no stranger to the writings of our said enemies.

I loved this book, not only for its content, but for the person who wrote it. The author was Princess Jasmine, who lived long ago and was fated to a life of silence behind the screens of purity. Yet against all odds, she published her thoughts on the moral and social nature of human beings. Her words were very beautiful and her conviction was very strong. How I admired her and wanted to be like her! Princess Jasmine lived hundreds of years before I was even born, and so had been dead for some time. Yet I loved to imagine that she dwelled among the stars and watched me like a guardian essence. She was my role model.

I began to feel drowsy and had nearly fallen asleep reading when Belle, my favorite handmaiden, walked in to make sure I was comfortable. "I'm all set, Belle," I told her, smiling. "You should get some sleep yourself."

Because it was expected of her, Belle said, "No, I'm fine, Princess." But even in the dull lamplight, I could see her trying to hide a yawn.

I liked Belle. She was beautiful, with long brown hair and eyes that were soft and kind, yet wise and insightful. Belle was smart—smarter than any of my other handmaidens. And she had a certain grace about her that made her appear both calm and alert. Since I had come to know her, I had realized that even though she wasn't royalty, there was something queenly about Belle. She had authority, but not to command; she was someone to whom others would look for guidance.