The Crown and the Blade 10/5/2025

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

My daughter is an avid reader. In this, she is very much like her mother. Few things delight her more than being swept into a good story. Yet she’s still at the age where reading can sometimes feel a little too much like schoolwork, so she occasionally needs encouragement to pick up a book she would otherwise adore. But once she’s immersed, she will happily binge for hours. She just has to be reminded that the book isn’t an assignment to endure, but a joy to savor. And once she’s lost in the pages, she rarely comes out—except to read a passage aloud to her father and me, or to adjust the blanket so the dog is more comfortable beneath it.

The elements of a story that captivate her are strikingly similar to those that have always enthralled me. She loves fantasy. Give her a tale of magical happenings and mythical beasts, and she will be utterly invested. Her enchantment began years ago with unicorns, and it has never subsided. In fact, some of the figurines she now treasures once belonged to me as a child. I thought the fascination might fade over time, but it has only grown and branched out. When she discovered that the unicorn is Scotland’s national animal, she was ready to move there immediately—helped along, of course, by her fondness for Highland cows.

Lately, though, another creature has joined her menagerie of fascination: dragons. Her love of unicorns hasn’t waned, but now dragons have claimed her imagination as well. Not the mindless monsters that torch villages and hoard treasure, but the other kind—the ones that can be trained, bonded with, and fiercely loyal. In her imagination, a brave princess can ride seamlessly from the back of her unicorn to the scaled shoulders of her dragon should need arise.

She is like her mother in her delight at all things royal: tiaras, thrones, and gowns spun with golden thread. But she refuses the idea of a helpless princess. She loves a heroine who is as strong as she is regal—one who can wield a sword as well as wear a crown. Her play arsenal includes swords, bows, arrows, and more exotic weapons, the first of which I bought for her. From there, the tradition grew: my father built my first wooden sword when I was four, and when my daughter received hers, he promptly made another for her, and a dagger—and, truth be told, matching ones for my husband and me. After all, what’s the fun of swordplay without equally armed opponents?

So yes, she loves the gowns and the jewels, but she also longs for strength, courage, and the power to stand firm for what is right—even when that means opposing authority. She envisions the warrior princess: bold, beautiful, and unyielding.

I’ve often told her that the advice to “follow your heart” is dangerous. The heart is fickle, easily swayed by fleeting emotions. She understands this and agrees—though she once told me, “It’s only safe to follow your heart if it tells you to do the right thing.” And to that, I could only say yes.

I am proud that she longs to fight for what is good and true, even when it isn’t easy. I am glad she sees that life is more than glittering jewels and sparkling gowns—though she may still want to wear them. I am so thrilled to know that she is willing to battle for what is just even when it may not be the easiest thing, even if it means mussing her hair or putting her crown aside. For she is also the kind who, if necessary, would leave her unicorn in the enchanted meadow, mount her dragon, draw sword and ride into battle for what is right.