Once upon a time, in a royal castle as tall as a giant’s stack of pancakes, lived a boy named Owen. The castle smelled like warm cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven, and the halls echoed with the *clip-clop* of the king’s shiny shoes. Owen loved exploring every nook, especially the grand library, where the books felt as soft as a kitten’s belly under his fingers.

But Owen had a secret. When the royal teacher, Madame Quill, asked the class to read aloud, his heart went *thumpity-thump* like a rabbit in a sack. His hands turned clammy, his knees wobbled like jelly on a plate, and his words got stuck in his throat like a stubborn piece of toffee. The other children didn’t notice—except for one. Princess Lila, with her wild curls bouncing like springs, always grinned when Owen’s voice disappeared into a squeak. "You sound like a mouse who swallowed a kazoo!" she giggled.

One morning, the king announced a grand contest: whoever could tell the most courageous story in front of the entire court would win the Whispering Crown—a magical hat that made the wearer’s voice as clear as a bell. Owen’s stomach did a somersault. *Speak in front of everyone?* His toes curled inside his shoes just thinking about it. But then he remembered the way his little sister, Mia, beamed when he told her bedtime stories. *Maybe… maybe I can do this.*

The day of the contest arrived. The throne room smelled like polished wood and the faint tang of nervous sweat. The crowd murmured like a hive of bees, and the floor felt as slippery as a banana peel under Owen’s feet. One by one, the children stepped forward. Sir Reginald told a tale of slaying a dragon (though everyone knew he’d tripped over his own sword). Lady Beatrice recited a poem about flowers (while sneezing three times in a row—*achoo! achoo! achoo!*). Then it was Owen’s turn.

He took a deep breath. His hands shook like leaves in the wind, but he thought of Mia’s giggles and the way the library books felt under his fingers. *I’ll pretend I’m just telling this to her.* And then… he began. "Once, there was a knight so small, no one noticed him. But he had a heart as big as the castle’s moat, and a voice that could—" *GULP.* Owen’s words wobbled, but he kept going. The crowd leaned in. The king’s eyebrows shot up. Even Madame Quill stopped tapping her foot.

By the end of his story, the throne room was silent—except for the *sniffle* of the royal dog, who had tears in his eyes. The king clapped so hard his gloves went *POP!* off his hands. "That, my boy, was the bravest story of all!" he boomed. And with a flourish, he placed the Whispering Crown on Owen’s head. Suddenly, Owen’s voice rang out strong and clear, like a trumpet announcing sunrise. Princess Lila whooped, "Told you you weren’t a kazoo mouse!"

That night, as Owen curled up in bed, the crown gleamed softly on his nightstand. The castle smelled like victory (and a little bit like the king’s stinky cheese snack). Outside, the wind rustled the trees—*whoosh*—and Owen smiled. Courage wasn’t about not being afraid. It was about speaking up anyway, even when your knees felt like jelly.

And from that day on, whenever someone in the castle felt their voice disappear, Owen would wink and say, "Just pretend you’re telling it to Mia."