She struggled up the marble staircase, her heavy dress dragging on the floor of the hall, while all eyes were fixed on her. The silence was almost sacred, not out of respect, but out of a sense of unease and constraint. At court, smiles were forced. Everyone awaited the king’s announcement, but no one, absolutely no one, expected it. Her name was Isabella, the only daughter of King Aldemiro, ruler of a cold and cruel kingdom where appearances mattered more than character. Isabella was born different from the other princesses. From an early age, she possessed a slender figure, rosy cheeks, and an insatiable appetite. While the other girls practiced poses and dances, Isabella hid in the kitchen, seeking comfort in cakes and sweet bread. As she grew older, her father’s contempt for her intensified. At thirteen, Isabella was already the subject of hushed laughter among the servants. At fifteen,
suitors rejected even her photographs. At seventeen, the king’s patience ran out. For him, his daughter was not a princess, but a burden and an embarrassment. One cold day, under a gray sky, everything changed. The hall was crowded. Nobles, knights, ambassadors: all invited to a private ceremony without knowing why. Isabella was forced to wear a tight, suffocating royal dress. Her hands trembled as she climbed the steps to the throne, where her father awaited her with a cold expression. “Today my daughter will have the destiny she deserves,” the king said in a firm, emotionless voice. The people exchanged glances. A groom, they thought. She would finally be married. But instead of a nobleman, two soldiers entered, pushing a bound man with a bruised face and bare feet. A slave, the people whispered. Isabella remained motionless. The king continued: “Since