In a kingdom of pale stone towers and long gardens, a prince had come home from many roads with empty hands. He had ridden over bridges, through market towns, and past summer fields, seeking a true princess to marry. He had met many young women in silk, wearing bright jewels and careful manners. Yet each time, something felt out of place, and he returned to the palace no surer than before.
One evening, he stood beside the great hall fire while the wind howled around the roof. His mother, the queen, sat near the hearth, her sewing laid across her lap. "You have traveled far," she said. "And still you wait." The prince looked into the flames. "I do not ask for riches," he said. "Only that I may know what is true when it stands before me."
Before the queen could answer, rain began to strike the windows in quick silver lines. Then came a knock at the palace gate, not loud, but steady under the storm. A servant crossed the hall to draw back the heavy bolts, letting in a rush of cold air that carried the smell of wet earth and leaves.
On the threshold stood a young woman. Water shone on her cloak and darkened the hem of her dress, while her hair had loosened in the rain and her shoes were heavy with mud from the road. She bowed as well as she could after such a journey. "I ask shelter for the night," she …
6 chapters
