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Chapter One
The Girl Who Sang
In the Kingdom of Wilson, the royal palace stood tall above the city, but inside it, life was not always grand.
Prince Daniel Wilson was only eight years old when he first understood what it meant to be watched.
Every time he walked through the court halls, ministers bowed. Servants lowered their heads. Even children stood straighter near him. He didn't hate being a prince, but sometimes he wished someone would just talk to him normally.
His father, King Charles Wilson, was known as a wise and patient ruler. He believed in fairness more than fear. Daniel admired him deeply.
"Strength is not loud," the king would say. "It is steady."
Daniel remembered that.
Not far from the palace lived the Royal Poet, a respected man whose words were often recited during ceremonies. In that house, a daughter was born.
Her father named her Clarinet, after the instrument whose sound he loved.
From a young age, Clarinet loved music. She would hum while walking, sing while staring out the window, and repeat melodies she heard in the marketplace.
But when she began learning to read, something went wrong.
Letters confused her. Words flipped. Sentences refused to stay still.
At first, teachers thought she was careless.
Then they thought she was lazy.
Eventually, they began whispering.
"A poet's daughter who cannot read properly?"
The whispers reached her ears too.
By the age of seven, she stopped going to school. Her father avoided speaking about it in public. Her mother tried to stay hopeful, but even hope felt heavy sometimes.
Clarinet started staying indoors more often.
But she never stopped singing.
One day, King Charles heard about the poet's talented daughter.
"Bring her to court," he said simply.
Clarinet was terrified when she entered the palace for the first time. The ceilings were too high. The walls too bright. The people too important.
Daniel was sitting beside his father when she walked in.
She looked small.
Not royal. Not confident.
Just a girl trying not to tremble.
"Sing for us," the king said kindly.
Clarinet closed her eyes.
And she sang.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it was clear. It didn't feel rehearsed. It felt honest.
The court became quiet.
Daniel found himself leaning forward slightly. He didn't understand music deeply, but he understood feelings — and her voice carried something soft and real.
When she finished, the applause startled her.
For a second, she looked like she might cry.
But then she smiled.
Daniel smiled too, though he didn't know why.
After that, she was invited occasionally to sing at small palace gatherings.
They didn't talk much at first. He was a prince. She was the poet's daughter.
But they noticed each other.
One afternoon in the palace garden, a tutor handed Clarinet a book in front of a few noble children.
"Read this aloud."
Her hands froze.
The letters blurred again.
A few children laughed quietly.
Daniel felt something sharp rise in his chest.
"She was invited to sing," he said calmly. "Not to read."
The tutor stiffened but stepped back.
Clarinet didn't look at him.
But she heard him.
And she remembered.
Days later, near her home, some children teased her openly.
"Can't read!"
"Dumb poet's daughter!"
The words hurt more than she expected. She ran home and didn't come out again for days.
Her mother noticed the silence.
The next morning, instead of books, she brought flour to the table.
She traced letters in it with her finger.
Then she turned them into sounds.
Then into small songs.
"Sing the word," her mother said gently.
And for the first time, the letters didn't fight her.
They followed the rhythm.
It was slow.
But it worked.
Weeks passed. Clarinet began reading simple lines on her own. Not perfectly. Not quickly.
But proudly.
Meanwhile, in the palace dining hall, Daniel asked casually,
"Will Clarinet sing again at the spring gathering?"
King Charles glanced at his son.
"You seem interested."
Daniel looked down at his plate.
"I just like her voice."
He didn't add that when she sang, he forgot about expectations.
And for a few minutes, he wasn't the future king.
He was just a boy listening to a girl who made the world quieter.
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