The words princess bedtime stories short often bring to mind grand balls and fairy godmothers. But the best modern tales for bedtime are often much cozier and funnier. They take the idea of a princess and turn it on its head, focusing on the small, silly, and surprisingly relatable moments in royal life. A great bedtime stories session ends with a gentle laugh and a peaceful image. Here are three original, humorous princess bedtime stories short that are perfect for sharing a smile before a quiet, dreamy sleep.
story one: The Princess and the Slightly Bossy Crown
Princess Penelope had many crowns. There was the Sparkly Tiara for parties. The Sturdy Diadem for state visits. But her everyday crown was a simple silver circle named Reginald. Reginald had one job: to sit nicely on Penelope’s head. He was not very good at it.
One morning, as Penelope practiced her violin, Reginald started to fidget. He inched forward, blocking her view of the music sheet. Scritch, scratch.
“Reginald, please,” Penelope said, pushing him back.
“That note was off-key,” Reginald said in a tiny, metallic voice. “I have a better sense of pitch. Maybe if you tilted your chin…”
Penelope sighed. Reginald was full of opinions. He thought her curtsey was “a bit wobbly.” He thought the royal jelly on her toast was applied unevenly. He once tried to direct the gardener on rose pruning from atop her head.
The final straw was the portrait sitting. The royal painter was trying to capture her smile. Reginald kept adjusting his angle. “My best side is the left,” he insisted, twisting himself. Click, click, click. “No, wait, the right has a finer filigree. Can we get a light over here?”
The painter was getting a headache. So was Penelope. She reached up, plucked Reginald from her head, and placed him on a velvet pillow. “Reginald,” she said firmly. “You are a crown. Your job is to be worn, not to direct.”
Reginald looked deflated. “But… but I have so many ideas! The palace moat could use a fountain! The drawbridge creaks on the ‘and’ of three!”
“Your ideas are noted,” Penelope said kindly. “But right now, your most important job is to be still and shiny. Can you do that?”
Reginald gave a small, metallic sigh. “I suppose. For the kingdom.” He settled onto the pillow and went perfectly still. He didn’t say another word. He just… shone. And he was breathtaking. The painter finally finished the portrait, and it was perfect.
That evening, Penelope placed Reginald on his special stand. He was quiet, reflecting the moonlight. “Good night, Reginald,” she whispered.
“Good night, Your Highness,” Reginald whispered back, his voice soft. “Your hair part is… perfectly straight.” And for the first time all day, Reginald was content to just be a beautiful, silent, sleepy crown.
story two: The Princess and the Pet Who Wouldn’t Roar
Every princess in the history of Evermore had a majestic pet. Lions. Falcons. Unicorns. Princess Elara’s pet was a small, purple, somewhat anxious dragon named Puff. Puff was perfect in every way, except for one thing: he couldn’t roar. He could squeak. He could sneeze little puffs of glittery smoke. But a proper, fearsome roar? Impossible.
“It’s okay, Puff,” Elara would say, scratching under his chin. “You don’t need to roar.” But Puff wanted to. He practiced in the courtyard. He’d take a deep breath, puff out his chest, and… “Meeeeep?”
The palace guards would try not to smile. The royal geese honked louder.
One day, a traveling minstrel came to the castle. He sang loud, booming songs about great battles. Puff listened, enchanted. During a song about a dragon guarding a mountain of gold, the minstrel let out a tremendous, practiced “ROAR!”
Puff was so startled, he jumped straight up, flapping his wings. Flap, flap, sputter! A cloud of glittery smoke filled the air. And in the middle of the cloud, from sheer surprise, Puff made a sound. It wasn’t a roar. It was a high-pitched, warbling, incredibly loud SCREEEEEEE-CH!
The sound was so unexpected, so utterly strange, that the minstrel stopped mid-note. A nearby suit of armor vibrated. A pane of glass in the window cracked in a delicate spider-web pattern.
Silence fell. Then, the entire banquet hall erupted in applause! They thought it was part of the act! “Bravo! What a unique roar!” the king cried. “So modern! So avant-garde!”
Puff, hovering in the glittery air, blinked. He had made a sound! A big sound! It wasn’t a roar… it was his sound. He landed proudly next to Elara and puffed out his chest.
From that day on, Puff never tried to roar again. When he needed to be heard, he issued his magnificent SCREEEEEEE-CH! It cleared corridors. It announced dinner. It was, officially, the Royal Squeak of Importance. That night, as Elara got ready for bed, Puff curled up on his silk cushion. He tried to yawn, which came out as a soft squeak-purr.
“That’s a good sound too,” Elara whispered, turning out the lamp. In the dark, Puff’s happy, glittery exhales looked like tiny, floating stars. He was a dragon who found his voice, and it was wonderfully, perfectly weird. He closed his eyes, a small, purple, contented dragon, silent at last.
story three: The Princess Who Loved Her Sweatpants
Princess Genevieve’s wardrobe was full of magnificent gowns. Dresses of silk that rustled. Dresses of velvet that whispered. But Genevieve’s favorite thing to wear was an old, soft, grey pair of sweatpants and a cozy sweatshirt. They were her “comfy clothes.”
Her mother, the queen, was horrified. “A princess must look regal at all times! What if an ambassador visits unexpectedly?”
“I’ll put a robe on,” Genevieve would say, snuggled on a window seat with a book.
One evening, a grand ball was being held. The palace was in an uproar of preparation. Genevieve’s newest gown, made of moonbeam fabric and spider-silk lace, was ready. It was stunning. It was also incredibly itchy.
As the first guests arrived, Genevieve stood perfectly still while her attendants did the final touches. The lace tickled her neck. The underskirt pinched. She took one step and heard a dreaded rrrrrip. A tiny seam in the delicate lace had given way.
“Disaster!” cried the head seamstress.
But Genevieve had an idea. A brilliant, comfy idea. “Leave it to me,” she said.
Ten minutes later, Princess Genevieve entered the ballroom. The music stopped. Everyone gasped. She wasn’t wearing the moonbeam gown. She was wearing her soft, grey sweatpants and her cozy sweatshirt… but she had “royal-ified” them. She’d pinned her diamond tiara to the sweatshirt’s hood. She’d draped her grandmother’s long, sparkling pearl necklace over her shoulders. She wore her best velvet slippers.
She looked ridiculous. And amazing. And utterly, completely comfortable.
“I declare this the Comfy Ball!” she announced. “Anyone may change into their coziest clothes!”
There was a moment of silence. Then, the young duke from the next kingdom laughed and ripped off his stiff jacket. The visiting prince disappeared and returned in fluffy socks. Soon, the ballroom was full of nobles in pajamas, robes, and favorite old sweaters. They danced better. They laughed louder. It was the best ball the kingdom had ever seen.
That night, very late, Genevieve climbed into her enormous bed, still in her beloved sweatpants. The diamond tiara was back on her nightstand. The pearls were in their box. But the soft, grey fabric was still there, warm and familiar. She wiggled her toes contentedly.
A true princess, she thought as her eyes grew heavy, knows that the most royal thing you can wear is a smile. And it’s much easier to smile when you’re really, really comfortable. With that happy thought, the princess in the sweatpants drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a kingdom where every day was a comfy day.