As life goes on with the adults of the castle, the young generation also lived a rather different looking life that morning.
The grand classroom was bathed in morning sunlight that streamed in through the wide, arched windows, casting golden patches across the floor.
Shelves of books lined the walls, and globes and maps stood ready for exploration, yet the royal children had little interest in the day's lessons.
Laughter, not learning, seemed to be the theme of the day.
At the center of it all was Miss Penfield, their long-suffering governess, an older woman with her graying hair tightly pinned back and her spectacles perched precariously at the tip of her nose.
She cleared her throat for the third time, but her voice was drowned by the giggles and playful jabs of her young charges.
"Your Highnesses," she said, trying to summon an authority that wavered in the presence of the unruly group. "Please, we must return to our lesson on the history of the kingdom."
Prince John, a slender boy of twelve with an untamable head of curls, paid her no mind.
He had abandoned his book entirely and was now poking his little sister, Princess Madison, with the end of a feathered quill, sending her into peals of laughter.
"John, stop it!" Madison shrieked, wriggling away from him, her elaborate blue silk dress making the task more difficult than she'd like.
The ruffles of her dress fluffed around her like a blooming flower, and she grabbed the hem, trying to retreat to the corner of her chair.
She might have looked dignified if it weren't for her scrunched nose and the stubborn defiance in her young eyes.
"Why should I?" John retorted with a grin, flipping a stray lock of hair out of his face. "It's your turn to answer Miss Penfield, after all. Don't you want to share your brilliant knowledge of…oh, what was it, Madison? The King's ancient decree?" He barely stifled a snicker.
Madison stuck her tongue out. "At least I don't snore when I'm supposed to be listening!" she shot back, making the others laugh.
To the side, nine-year-old Prince Anastasia, the youngest of the group, had somehow slipped beneath his desk.
He wore a robe far too big for his small frame, the hem dragging as he crawled on hands and knees toward the door in an attempted escape. Miss Penfield noticed his creeping form and sighed, a hand on her forehead.
"Prince Anastasia, back to your seat. And Prince John, I insist you stop prodding your sister and open your book," Miss Penfield demanded, her patience wearing thin.
Prince John raised an eyebrow. "But Miss Penfield, why should we bother with such old stories?" he asked, reclining in his chair with all the confidence of his royal blood. "We already know everything about those ancient wars and dusty decrees. Why, half the kingdom's probably forgotten them already!"
"Perhaps because they are a part of your heritage, and without heritage, what are we?" Miss Penfield countered, her tone sharp. But her words only prompted an exaggerated groan from the children.
"Please, Miss Penfield," Princess Madison said, batting her eyelashes in mock innocence. "The kingdom is fine now, isn't it? I'm sure your grace and Mother are handling whatever bores are coming to court today."
Miss Penfield's lips pressed into a thin line. "It may be well for you all to understand that a kingdom, even yours, faces troubles both seen and unseen. The realm does not sustain itself on laughter and luxury."
"Oh, so serious, Miss Penfield!" John teased, but a trace of seriousness flitted across his face as he shared a glance with his sister. The children had heard the whispers in the halls, the concerned murmurs from guards and staff about uprisings, about unrest. But such matters had always seemed far off, like the dull roar of a storm beyond the hills.
Madison shook her head, waving a dainty hand. "We're princes and princesses, aren't we? We should at least be allowed to enjoy ourselves."
Just as Miss Penfield seemed ready to insist on their studies once more, the classroom door creaked open. In strolled Prince Jaron himself, looking unusually relaxed, though his brow furrowed as he surveyed the scene.
The laughter stopped abruptly, and the children quickly scrambled back into their seats, adjusting their tunics and skirts in a comical attempt at decorum.
"Father!" Anastasia squeaked, scrambling up from the floor, his cheeks flushed.
Jaron looked them over with an eyebrow raised, a ghost of a smile hovering at the corner of his lips. "What's this? You're supposed to be studying, not practicing to be jesters in the court."
Madison straightened up, her back stiff. "We are studying, your grace," she said, her voice prim, though the quirk at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
Jaron fixed her with a steady look, then glanced at Miss Penfield, who stood, as always, calm and collected even amid the chaos. "My apologies, Miss Penfield," he said, nodding respectfully. "They seem to forget that their roles come with responsibilities."
Miss Penfield dipped her head. "They are still young, Your Highness. It is a privilege to be carefree—but even the young must learn of their duties."
Jaron nodded, folding his arms. "Yes, and I think I shall stay for a while. I'd like to see just how much my children have been learning." He moved to sit, and a hush fell over the room as the children cast anxious glances at one another.
Miss Penfield picked up her book, resuming the lesson in a suddenly quiet classroom, the only sound now the gentle rustle of pages turning.
The children sat up straighter, their eyes wide as they hung on her every word, though some exchanged wary looks out of the corners of their eyes.
The knowledge that their father was watching transformed them from unruly children into dutiful students.
Yet, when she began speaking again about the ancient wars and tales of valor, the children's faces softened. Perhaps, Jaron thought as he watched them, there was hope for them to understand both the weight of their heritage and the innocent joys of their youth.