The Masked Royals

Prologue

For as I long as I can remember, my father and I have read a fairytale before bed. We have read the classics: Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Romeo and Juliet, Sleeping Beauty; and the lesser known works: Prince and the Pauper, Through the Looking Glass, The Juniper Tree; and each telling or retelling is as precious and special as the tale itself.

Mother disapproved, as she did most activities that weren't lessons, tea, or sitting pretty by the King's side. But on rare occasions, when she would slowly open the door to listen to father read by the firelight's glow, a small smile cracked her appearance. Even she could not fully despise fairytales.

On the eve of my 18th birthday, I insisted a telling of my favorite tale. It was a spin on the classic Prince and the Pauper, known to me as, the Princess and the Pauper. It was a story of love, passion, and the unbreakable truth to stay pure to one's self. Father picked it up at a market in a different kingdom. He didn't recognize the author or leather binding of the book itself, but the woman at the cart said it was marvelous read with marvelous characters. What better gift to bring home to my daughter, he thought, as he paid handsomely for the tattered book.

Father cleared his throat and opened the old cover, tufts of his gray beard dangling above the irreplaceable words.

"A long time ago, in a place very far away..." He began, his soft voice spinning the words through the air. I grinned and sat back in the chair, the fire flickering on my hand.

"Wait, father." I said. He stopped and peered over the book. "Tell that part again, it's my favorite."

He smiled and recited the first encounter between the princess and the pauper again.

I sighed dreamily and rested my head against the back of the rocking-chair.