In a kingdom bright and sunny lived a princess named Isobel. She was known far and wide, not just for her sparkly eyes, but because she was the pickiest princess you could ever meet! Kings and princes traveled for days and weeks, hoping she might choose one of them.

But oh, Princess Isobel found fault with everyone. One prince was a bit chubby. "He rolls like a ball!" she giggled behind her hand. Another was very tall and thin. "He looks like a flagpole!" she declared. No one was good enough.

One day, a very kind king arrived. He had a good heart and a friendly smile, but his chin had a tiny, funny curve to it, just a little bit like a bird's beak. Princess Isobel saw him, pointed, and laughed out loud. "Look everyone! It's King Thrushbeard!" she shouted, making fun of his chin.

The other kings and princes were shocked, and King Thrushbeard felt sad and quietly left.

Princess Isobel's father, the King, had finally had enough. His face grew stern. "Daughter," he said, his voice firm like a closing door, "you make fun of everyone! You are too proud. I declare this: you will marry the very first poor man, the very first beggar, who comes knocking at our castle gate!"

Princess Isobel gasped, but her father meant what he said.

A few days later, a cheerful sound drifted through the castle window – someone was playing a fiddle! Tap, tap, tap went a knock on the big castle door. Standing there was a musician with twinkling eyes, wearing simple, patched clothes. He had come to play a song for a bite to eat.

"He is the first!" declared the King. And despite Princess Isobel's tears and protests, she had to marry the poor musician.

The musician gently took her hand. "Come, wife," he said. "We must go to our home." He led her out of the grand castle, away from the soft beds and servants. They walked through whispering woods and green fields until they reached a very small, simple cottage.

"This is it?" asked Isobel, looking around the tiny room. "Where do I sleep? Who will cook?"

"We must do things ourselves here," the musician replied kindly. He tried to teach her. "Can you make a fire?" he asked. Poof! Too much smoke filled the room. "Can you weave some baskets?" he suggested. Oh dear! The twigs got tangled in her hair. "Can you cook some soup?" he tried. Whoosh! The soup bubbled over and burned. Princess Isobel wasn't very good at housework.

"Hmm," said the musician thoughtfully. "Perhaps you can sell pottery at the market." So, the next day, Isobel sat by the roadside with rows of clay pots. People started to look, maybe they would buy one! But suddenly, clip-clop, clip-clop, a soldier on a big horse came riding by much too fast! Crash! Bang! The horse knocked over all her pots, smashing them into a hundred pieces. Isobel sat among the broken pottery and cried.

She ran back to the cottage. "I can't do anything right!" she sobbed.

"There is one more thing," her husband said gently. "The King who lives in the big castle nearby needs help in the kitchen. Perhaps you can work there."

So, Princess Isobel became a kitchen helper. She scrubbed pots, washed vegetables, and swept floors. It was hard work, and she often felt tired and hungry. Sometimes, when no one was looking, she would tuck a small piece of leftover bread or a tiny bit of cheese into her pocket to take home.

One evening, the castle was filled with light and music. Beautifully dressed lords and ladies were arriving. "What's happening?" Isobel asked another kitchen maid.
"The Prince is getting married! It's a grand feast!" the maid replied excitedly.

Isobel peeked through a doorway into the grand hall. She saw people dancing in sparkling clothes, laughing and having fun. She felt a pang of sadness, remembering her old life.

Suddenly, a handsome Prince, the host of the party, walked straight towards her. He smiled warmly. "You look lonely standing there," he said. "Would you care to dance?"

Isobel felt shy and looked down at her simple dress. But the Prince insisted gently. As they stepped onto the dance floor and began to twirl, disaster struck! The little pieces of bread and cheese she had hidden tumbled out of her pockets and scattered across the shiny floor!

Everyone stopped and stared. Isobel turned bright red, feeling terribly embarrassed. She tried to run away, but the Prince held her hand softly.

"Don't run," he said. His voice sounded strangely familiar. He smiled, and she looked closely at his face. She saw his chin. It had a tiny, funny curve... just like...

"You!" she whispered, her eyes wide.

The Prince nodded kindly. "Yes," he said softly. "I am the Prince who owns this castle. I was also the poor musician you married. And yes... I am King Thrushbeard, the one you laughed at. I did all this to help you see that judging people by how they look, or how rich they are, is not kind. True beauty comes from a good heart."

Princess Isobel looked down at her hands. Tears filled her eyes, but this time they weren't angry tears. They were sorry tears. "You are right," she whispered. "I was proud and unkind. I am truly sorry."

King Thrushbeard smiled forgivingly. They held another wedding, a wonderful, happy celebration. And from that day on, Princess Isobel was no longer picky or proud. She had learned her lesson and became known throughout the land not just for her sparkly eyes, but for her kind and humble heart.

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