Once upon a time, in a kingdom shrouded by time and mists, a King had three daughters. The first was wickedly smart. The second was highly politic and diplomatic. The youngest was beautiful and kind.
When the King died, the courtiers came to the daughters and said only one of them could rule.
The eldest took the crown, put it on, then told the courtiers they were full of it, and not to let the door hit them in the ass on the way out.
The second daughter very patiently and diplomatically explained that they'd long since figured out that their individual strengths complemented one another. And really, if Daddy had been smarter, he'd have let his brothers rule with him, too.
The youngest smiled, and told them not to feel too bad, after all it wasn't like their father allowed the court to think outside the box.
The three Queens ruled happily ever after, and as they aged, they chose from their offsprings the ones most suited to the roles needed.
The end.