The United States of Auradon, a land of peace and enchantment, prosperity and delight, encompassed all the good kingdoms. To the east lay the colorful domes of the Sultan's seat, where Aladdin and Jasmine lived, not far from where Mulan and Li Shang guarded the imperial palace. To the north was Charming Castle, owned by Cinderella and her king, next door to "Honeymoon Cottage," the forty-bedroom palace that Aurora and Phillip called home. And to the south, one could spy the lanterns of Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert's divine domicile, near the spot on the coast where Ariel and Eric had made their under-and-over-the-sea royal residence at Seaside.
But right in the center was the grandest castle in all of Auradon, with lavish turrets and balconies, its highest towers flying the proud blue-and-gold banner of the good old USA. Inside the magnificent building were many ballrooms, great rooms and state rooms, a formal dining room that could seat hundreds, where everyone was made to feel like a pampered guest, and a wondrous library that held all the books that were ever written.
This was all fitting, of course, because this was Castle Beast, home of King Beast and Queen Belle, the seat of Auradon. Thirty years ago, King Beast united all the fairy-tale lands into one under his crown; and for the past two decades he had ruled over its good citizens with strong and fair judgment, and only occasionally a tiny bit of his beastly temper. Belle had a calming influence on the hotheaded Beast: she was not just the love of his life but the pacifier of his moods, the voice of reason in a gathering storm, and the mother of his only children.
The jewels in the crown was their handsome son, twenty-five-year-old King Ben. There had been no fairies at his christening to bestow gifts, perhaps because he did not need any. Ben was as handsome as his father, with his strong brow and chisel-cut cheekbones, but he had his mother's gentle eyes and keen intellect. He was a golden boy in every way, with a good heart and a winning spirit. friend to all, and the benevolent ruler of a new generation.
And then there was their beautiful daughter, twenty-four-year-old Princess Beatrice.
If Ben was the sun under which Auradon flourished, Beatrice was the moon luminous, distant, and often shrouded in clouds of her own making. While the kingdom whispered that she was the most breathtaking vision to ever grace the palace halls, Beatrice herself often felt like a poorly written character in a masterpiece of a story. She possessed her mother's thick, chestnut curls and her father's piercing blue eyes, but where Ben had inherited their father's confidence, Beatrice had inherited the Beast's haunting insecurity.
On this particular morning, the Princess was not found in the ballroom practicing her waltz, nor was she at the vanity having her hair coiffed into the perfect royal bun. Instead, she was tucked away in the highest corner of the Great Library, hidden behind a stack of ancient travelogues. In the quiet world of ink and parchment, she wasn't a "sculpted" beauty or a political pawn; she was a girl with an active imagination and an open mind, searching for a vocabulary large enough to describe the restlessness in her soul.
She knew the expectations: smile for the cameras, agree with her father's stern decrees, and marry a prince as polished as a museum exhibit. But as she looked out the window toward the distant, misty silhouette of the Isle of the Lost, Beatrice felt a familiar tug of rebellion. She was secure in her beliefs, even if her peers found her "peculiar," and she was quite certain that the "happily ever after" written for her wasn't the one she intended to live.
Beatrice's gaze lingered on the horizon. To the rest of Auradon, the Isle of the Lost was a grim reminder of a dark past a trash heap for the wicked. But to Beatrice, who felt like a bird in a gilded cage, the Isle looked like the only place in the world where no one was expected to be perfect.
She often wondered if the villains there felt the same "peculiarity" she did. Did they also feel the crushing weight of a legacy they didn't choose? She traced the outline of the magical barrier in the distance, her heart aching with a strange, impulsive curiosity that she knew her father would call "dangerous" and her mother would call "concerning."
The heavy oak doors of the library creaked open, the sound echoing against the vaulted ceiling. Beatrice didn't pull her eyes away from the window until a familiar, comforting shadow fell across her book.
"I knew I'd find you in the 'Travel and Exploration' section," a warm voice teased.
Beatrice looked up, her expression softening. "And I knew you'd be finished with your council meeting early, Ben. You always were too efficient for your own good."
Ben moved to her side, leaning against the stone windowsill. He looked every bit the golden king, yet there was a flicker of nervous energy in his eyes that only his sister could detect. He looked out at the Isle, his expression turning solemn.
"I've been thinking about them, Bea," Ben said quietly, nodding toward the distant island. "The children. They're living in a dome of shadows while we sit here in the sun. It isn't fair. They aren't their parents."
Beatrice felt a jolt of electricity, the kind that usually preceded her most impulsive decisions. "You've finally decided to say it out loud, haven't you? You're going to bring them here."
Ben turned to her, surprised by her quickness. "I am. My first official proclamation. I want to give them a chance. A few of them, at least. To see if they can be more than the stories written about them."
Beatrice stood up, her long, reddish-brown curls cascading over her shoulders. For the first time in weeks, the fog of her own depression seemed to lift, replaced by a spark of genuine interest.
"Father will hate it," she said, a small, defiant smirk playing on her pink lips. "He'll say they're monsters. He'll say they'll ruin the 'perfect' image of your reign."
"I know," Ben admitted, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "That's why I need you, Bea. You've never cared about 'perfect.' You're the only one who looks at a person and sees the soul, not the crown or the horns."
Beatrice looked back at the Isle, her mind racing. She thought of the sons and daughters of villains, growing up in the dirt while she sat surrounded by gold she didn't want. The thought of them arriving in Auradon felt like a breath of fresh air in a room that had become far too stagnant.
"I'll help you," Beatrice whispered, her blue eyes flashing with a sudden, stubborn resolve. "But Ben... don't just pick the ones who 'fit in.' Pick the ones who need a home. Pick the ones who are just as lost as we are."