In stories and skeletons I’m easy to find, yet some cowardly folk are told to grow one of mine.

You've got diamonds in your eyes, Or a bird of prey in your sight. Children chase after me as I take flight.

It's red and it offers life deliciously. Then it's lived, but printed suspiciously.

What do you call a man born with no shins?

Storybooks have dressed me well, as one who breaks a wicked spell. With polished boots and noble air, I’m often found with maidens fair. Though not the ruler of the land, a crown may one day grace my hand.