If someone had told me before that the Emperor—the Emperor—would be the kind of man to talk too much and wave cake in front of a child's face while humming a melody that sounded suspiciously made-up, I wouldn't have believed them. But now I knew better. Because under the crown, Alric wasn't just serious and powerful. He was... chatty. Endearingly so.
We were still in the Empress' Garden after introductions had melted into gentle chatter. The table under the wisteria had been reset with sweets and drinks, tiny sandwiches and flower-petal tea in white porcelain cups with golden rims. Alric kept me in his lap like he hadn't sat on a throne moments ago. One arm rested easily around me, while the other reached for sweets and gestured whenever he told a story.
He talked about the time he and Caelum got lost in the royal archives because Caelum fell asleep between two scroll racks. About the time he tried to ride two horses at once and nearly broke his nose. About how the Empress once threw a book at him when he forgot their wedding anniversary.
He spoke fast, too fast for me to answer. Not that I would've. I was still busy being confused. Because this was the man people called His Radiance. The man the Empire bowed to. And he was trying to spoon feed me chocolate cake. "Come on, just one bite," he coaxed, holding the tiny silver fork in front of my face like it was a royal relic.
I leaned back slightly, nose scrunched.
He blinked. "Too much chocolate?"
I nodded slowly.
He looked devastated. "But it's the kitchen's best one!"
Caelum, sitting across the table, just sipped his tea and smirked.
"Leave the child alone," Serenya said gently, reaching for a small porcelain plate. She picked up a few apple cookies, delicately browned and dusted with cinnamon. "These are less sweet," she offered, placing them on a smaller plate before handing it to me.
I took one cautiously. Bit into it. And blinked. It was soft. Warm. Faintly spiced. Not too sugary. It didn't try to cover anything up with frosting or syrup. It just tasted like… something kind. I ate three without thinking. Serenya smiled.
Alric sighed. "Betrayed by my own wife and her orchard cookies."
She chuckled. "They always win."
After that, Alric asked more questions. Some about my favorite colors. Some about books. Some about animals. Some about Evelune. Some about whether I liked the food here or the people. Most of them I didn't answer. Not because I didn't want to. But because I didn't know how.
How do you answer What's your favorite animal when you've only ever known a black cat with eyes like coins? How do you explain that you liked tea not for its taste, but because it was warm and made your hands feel like they belonged somewhere?
But Alric never pushed. When I stayed quiet, he nodded and moved on, still smiling, still talking. He didn't sigh like the caretakers. He didn't scold. He didn't say "What's wrong with you?" He just accepted the silence like it was part of the conversation.
At one point, when Alric and Caelum began discussing royal ceremonies and the headache of spring receptions, Serenya stood and reached for my hand. Her fingers were soft and cool, her grip light. She looked down at me, her golden eyes glowing softly in the light filtered through the trees. "Would you like to walk a bit?" she asked.
I nodded. Just once. She helped me down from Alric's lap. I didn't take her hand at first. But as we walked down one of the vine-wrapped paths, I reached for it on my own. She didn't look surprised. She just smiled.
The Empress' Garden was more than a garden. It was a living dream. Every path curved like a secret. No sharp turns, no hard stones—just smooth trails wrapped in wildflowers, fountains tucked between walls of ivy, soft benches half-hidden beneath lilac trees. I could hear the sound of birds in every direction, their songs layered over the hush of running water.
"See that fountain there?" Serenya said, pointing as we walked. "It's enchanted. The water feeds the whole garden."
I stared. The fountain was small, but the water glowed faintly where it spilled over. Not bright. Just enough to shimmer. "Does it have magic?" I asked.
She nodded. "A gift from my family. The garden is mine, but the water belongs to the land."
We walked slowly. She matched my pace perfectly. Never pulling. Never pushing. At one point, we passed a cluster of bushes where bright birds hopped between branches, their feathers deep green and amber. One landed on a tree stump and tilted its head toward me. Another chirped, almost like it was laughing.
"I like the birds," I said softly.
"They like you too," she said.
I sat on the grass. I didn't ask permission. She didn't tell me to stand. The ground was warm. The grass smelled like rain and mint. I tilted my head and closed my eyes just for a second—and when I opened them, butterflies were fluttering around me. Not one. Not two. Dozens.
Their wings were soft pastels and pale jewel tones—blue, violet, peach, gold. They circled above me, a few landing gently on my sleeve, my hair, the tips of my boots.
Serenya laughed. A real laugh—not quiet or polite, but delighted. Her hand covered her mouth like she couldn't stop it. "You're blessed," she whispered. "You must be."
I didn't know what to say. But I smiled. A small one. A real one. We had lunch there, under a soft canopy of trees. One of the kitchen staff brought a light meal to the garden—vegetable tartlets, warm broth, soft fruit.
Serenya offered to feed me, but didn't insist. I ate slowly, letting her wipe my mouth once or twice when I lost focus. Her touch was soft. Patient. At some point—I don't know when—Serenya pulled me gently into her lap.
I didn't resist. Her arms wrapped around me loosely, one hand resting just above my heart, the other stroking my braid. I closed my eyes. Not because I was tired. But because… I wanted to. And in her arms, I didn't feel like the "prodigy" or the "creepy one" or the "quiet boy." I didn't feel like a mask or a doll or a mistake. I didn't feel like a prince or a political symbol. I just felt like a child. Small. Safe. Held. Like… a baby.
I knew I was one—only three years old. But I'd never gotten to act like it. Never got to cling. Never got to be carried or fed or rocked or kissed just because. But here, in this garden—In her arms— Something inside me unclenched. And I slept. For a long time.
When I woke up, I was somewhere else. Still warm. Still wrapped in arms. But different. Not Serenya. Caelum. I could smell his cologne—clean and soft like cool rain. I could feel the shape of his hand on my back, the way he held me close like I might drift away if he didn't.
My cheek was against his shoulder. My arms were wrapped around his neck. I was… clinging. Like a needy baby. But he didn't mind. He just carried me like he always did. Like I was his cub. And he was my wolf.
I didn't speak. I didn't lift my head. But in the quiet, I whispered—"Daddy…" He didn't say anything right away. But I felt the breath leave his chest. Then his hand rose and stroked my hair, threading gently through the braid.
"Always," he whispered. "I'll always be your daddy."
And I closed my eyes again. Because in that moment—I believed him.