C1 The Very Beginning

The old sorceress sat quietly in her moon-shaped chair, silver smoke curling from the glowing runes on her robes. Her grandchildren gathered around her, eager and bright-eyed, waiting for a story.

“Grandmother,” the eldest whispered, tugging at her sleeve, “please tell us a story. A real magic one.”

She smiled, the wrinkles on her face shifting like soft ripples. Tapping her crystal staff against the floor, she filled the room with a warm golden light.

“Do you remember the story of Rapunzel?” she asked gently. “The girl with hair like the morning sun? The tale whispered beside fireplaces and sung by traveling storytellers?”

The children nodded, leaning closer.

“But,” she continued, lowering her voice, “most people only remember the tower, the witch, and the thief. They forget how the story truly began long before danger ever touched her life.”

She lifted her staff again, and the golden light deepened.

“Few recall the peaceful days of this Kingdom,” she said softly. “Or the two princes whose choices shaped the kingdom’s future. Every great tale begins long before the first sign of trouble.”

She looked at them one by one.

“This story does not begin with a tower,” she said.

“It begins with a kingdom called Arrandelle.”

Arrandelle was a bright land of clear rivers and frost-tipped mountains. At its center stood a palace of white stone that caught the sunrise and glowed like a beacon. Within its halls lived a royal family loved by their people.

King Jeremy was a man of discipline and fairness. Queen Elizabeth was gentle and wise, and people often said her presence felt like the first rain after a dry season.

They had two sons.

Prince Adrian, the elder, was tall and thoughtful. He inherited the king’s discipline and the queen’s calm. Ministers respected his precision, scholars praised his intelligence, and diplomats admired his poise.

But respect was not affection.

It was his younger brother, Prince Eric, whom the people adored.

Eric was the kind of prince who remembered names, listened to everyone, and walked the markets without guards. He moved through Arrandelle like someone who truly saw the world around him.

One morning in the eastern market, an elderly baker waved him over.

“Your Highness,” she said, brushing flour off her apron. “Take this loaf. It’s warm.”

Eric laughed. “If I accept every gift you offer, Mistress Melda, you’ll have nothing left to sell.”

“Nonsense,” she said with a smile. “You’re good luck.”

He thanked her and quietly set a pouch of silver on her counter when she looked away.

People often said Eric made the kingdom feel alive.

And they said Adrian made it function.

Where Eric was warm, Adrian was steady. He woke early, managed schedules, settled disputes, and met with advisors long after others had gone to bed. But whispers still lingered.

At the end of one council meeting, two ministers spoke softly as Adrian stood just outside the doorway.

“He’s thorough,” one said.

“Yes,” replied the other. “But Eric… he has a way of putting people at ease.”

Adrian paused in the shadows. His jaw tightened for a moment, but he said nothing and walked away.

Even Queen Elizabeth sensed the quiet distance between her sons.

At dinner that evening, Eric told a story about a startled horse and a spilled bucket of feed. Laughter spread around the table. Adrian smiled politely but said little.

After the meal, the queen touched his arm.

“Adrian,” she said softly, “you don’t have to carry everything alone.”

“It’s my responsibility,” he replied.

“Responsibility should not silence comfort,” she murmured.

He offered a faint nod but no answer.

The next morning, sunlight stretched across the halls as Adrian walked through the palace with files tucked under his arm. A servant bowed.

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

“Good morning,” Adrian replied with quiet politeness.

Inside the council chamber, Minister Rowan greeted him. “We’re ready to begin the discussion on the new border taxes.”

Adrian set his papers down. “Then let’s start.”

The meeting went on for hours. Voices rose and fell. Numbers shifted. Adrian remained calm and clear-headed.

“Raising the tax too quickly will pressure the farmers,” he said. “A gradual increase is wiser.”

Rowan nodded. “A sound point, Your Highness.”

Adrian accepted the compliment with only a small dip of his head.

When the meeting finally ended, he stepped into the hallway and exhaled slowly.

“Brother?”

He turned to see Eric walking toward him with an easy smile.

“You look tired,” Eric said.

“It was only a meeting,” Adrian replied.

“A meeting you’ve been in since dawn,” Eric added. “Have you eaten?”

“That can wait.”

Eric placed a hand on his arm. “You work too hard.”

“And you work too freely,” Adrian answered, though his voice held no irritation.

Eric chuckled. “Someone has to talk to the people.”

“Do they still gather for you in the market?” Adrian asked.

Eric laughed softly. “They do. You should join me sometime.”

“I think I would make them uncomfortable,” Adrian said quietly.

“You underestimate yourself,” Eric replied.

Adrian didn’t answer.

Queen Elizabeth watched them from a balcony as they crossed the courtyard. Eric looked cheerful and warm, Adrian composed and quiet.

King Jeremy joined her. “You’re worried,” he observed.

“I’m their mother,” she said. “Worry comes easily.”

“They’re strong boys,” he said.

“Yes,” she whispered, “but strength comes differently to each of them. Adrian carries duty alone, and Eric carries the people’s expectations without asking for them.”

That night, nobles from the western valley visited Arrandelle. Music played, servants carried trays of wine, and the hall glowed with torchlight.

Adrian spoke with Lord Braine about the year’s harvest.

“We expect a good yield,” Braine said proudly.

“That’s reassuring,” Adrian replied. “The kingdom needs steady supplies.”

Across the hall, Eric entertained a group of young nobles.

“The merchant insisted I take the apples,” Eric said, laughing. “I told him I couldn’t possibly eat that many.”

Adrian watched him for a moment, not resentfully, but simply separate.

When King Jeremy raised his cup and called both sons forward, Eric stepped brightly to his side while Adrian walked with measured steps.

“Arrandelle thrives because we stand together,” the king declared.

The hall lifted their cups in agreement.

Later that night, as Adrian returned to his chamber, he paused near a window. Below, he spotted Eric laughing with a guard in the courtyard.

“The kingdom loves you, brother,” he whispered.

There was no bitterness in the words, only quiet truth.

Despite their differences, the princes shared one path: both were promised to the princesses of Seatopia, a kingdom of bright harbors and deep blue seas.

Princess Athalia, reserved and intelligent, had been promised to Adrian since childhood.

Princess Emelia, gentle and warm, had loved Eric long before their engagement became official.

Where Athalia was admired, Emelia was cherished. Even foreign courts noticed the contrast, though neither sister encouraged comparison.

The peace between their kingdoms began when Eric and Emelia met by chance at the midsummer summit. Both had slipped away from formal duties to escape into the palace gardens.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Eric had said when he spotted her near the crystal lily fountain.

“You are,” Emelia replied with a quiet smile, “but I suppose I can share this place.”

That small moment grew into something neither expected. Each day, they returned to the gardens, pretending it was coincidence.

Two years later, peace felt within reach.

The palace of Arrandelle buzzed with preparations for the twin engagements. While seamstresses worked tirelessly and musicians practiced, Eric and Emelia sought quiet moments together.

One afternoon, they walked through the orchard as spring blossoms drifted in the air.

“I wish peace always felt this gentle,” Emelia said softly.

“Gentle things must be protected,” Eric replied. “And I intend to protect this peace.”

“You act as if the whole world rests on your shoulders,” she teased.

“It often does.”

“Then let me share the weight,” she said. “Peace belongs to both of us now.”

They continued walking beneath the trees, knowing peace was never simple especially for those born to rule.