There is a strange need people have to believe in perfection.
If a king wins three wars, they forget the four he nearly lost. If a queen smiles during a procession, they conclude she has never cried. And when a princess is born, before she can even speak, they have already written her an entire destiny.
That was exactly what they did with Elisa.
On the day she was born, the bells of the Cathedral of Saint Verenus rang for hours. The streets of the capital filled with flowers, and merchants handed out bread to the poor in honor of the heir to the kingdom of Valedour. The chroniclers recorded that the sky was clear, that a flock of swallows flew over the castle, and that a ray of sunlight illuminated the newborn's cradle.
Not one of them wrote that it had rained just a few hours earlier.
History has an enviable talent for choosing only the moments that serve it.
Elisa grew up surrounded by tapestries embroidered with golden dragons, knights in gleaming armor, and princesses who smiled forever. From an early age, she was taught that a sovereign should be just, a knight should be honorable, and a princess should be kind, discreet, and obedient.
Asking questions was never part of a princess's education.
Even so, she asked them.
—Why did the dragons attack the villages? —she once asked Master William.
—Because they were monsters.
—And why were they monsters?
The old man sighed.
—Because God made them that way.
The answer seemed sufficient for everyone present.
Except Elisa.
That night, she stood staring out the window of her room. Dark mountains cast shadows across the horizon, and people said that some dragons still existed beyond them. There were few of them, hidden away, almost legends. The kingdom organized hunts every year to exterminate them, although hardly anyone ever returned with anything but exaggerated stories.
Elisa imagined what a dragon might be like.
She tried to imagine it as cruel.
She couldn't.
Perhaps because she had never seen one.
The next morning, she walked through the castle gardens while the ladies discussed fabrics from the south and imported perfumes. She paid little attention. She preferred the greenhouses, where the gardeners spoke without noticing her presence.
People say curious things when they believe no one is listening.
That was how she heard a sob for the first time.
It was quiet.
Restrained.
It came from behind the white rose greenhouse.
The princess pushed aside a few branches and found a maid kneeling there, hurriedly wiping away her tears.
When she saw Elisa, the woman sprang to her feet.
—Your Highness… I… forgive me.
—Are you hurt?
—No, Your Highness.
—Then why were you crying?
The maid hesitated.
She looked from side to side as though searching for a way out.
—I miss my mother.
The answer came too quickly.
Elisa smiled gently.
—I hope you can visit her soon.
The maid lowered her head.
—I hope so too.
Then she disappeared through the servants' corridors.
At that moment, the princess believed the story.
She would believe it for a long time.
Because some lies don't convince through quality, but through necessity.
That night, during the grand dinner, King Afonso III occupied the head of the table. His voice was firm, and everyone listened to him attentively. The ministers discussed borders, taxes, and treaties. Queen Helena maintained her impeccable posture, smiling only when necessary.
Elisa watched everything with admiration.
Her father seemed to know exactly what to do in any situation.
It was impossible to imagine anyone more worthy of the crown.
When the feast ended, the musicians began to play. Nobles danced beneath crystal chandeliers, and servants drifted silently between the tables, collecting empty goblets.
That was when Elisa noticed something curious.
Her father had disappeared.
It wasn't unusual for the king to leave the hall for a few minutes. Even so, she found it strange.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
When he returned, there was a slight flush on his face and a discreet smile that vanished as soon as he resumed his seat.
No one commented.
Not the queen.
Not the ministers.
Not the servants.
As if his absence had never happened.
Elisa concluded that there must be important matters in which a princess was not yet allowed to take part.
She accepted that explanation.
It was more comfortable than any other.
That same night, before going to sleep, she opened one of the enormous books in the castle library.
The first page read:
"Kings rule through virtue; the good obey through faith."
She closed the book slowly.
Then she looked out the window.
In the distance, the mountains remained motionless beneath the moonlight.
They said dragons were hidden among them.
But for the first time, Elisa had the impression that the greatest mysteries might be much closer.
Perhaps they were behind the closed doors of the castle itself.
And mysteries, unlike dragons, tend to learn how to wait.