The soft sound of footsteps echoed faintly through the corridor as Adelina made her way toward the princess's chamber. The morning sun had already begun to rise, yet the room beyond the great carved doors remained silent. With careful hands, she turned the handle and stepped inside.
The air was cool and still. Only a few slender rays of light filtered through the heavy curtains, drawing faint golden lines across the marble floor. A gentle lullaby drifted from the crib at the center of the room. The delicate tune of the mobile that hung above it, swaying slowly in the dim light.
Adelina's kind eyes softened. She moved quietly toward the window, drawing the curtains aside to let the sunlight flood in. The chamber came alive, the pastel walls brightened, the soft pink and lavender hues of the canopy bed shimmered, and the rows of plush toys lining the nursery corner seemed to smile in greeting.
At the heart of the room, in a crib adorned with silken ribbons, lay the young princess Órfhlaith. Barely three months old, she was awake, her tiny fists pressed against her mouth, golden eyes glimmering like morning dew. When Adelina leaned over the crib, the baby's gaze followed her, curious and trusting.
"Good morning, Your Highness," Adelina said gently, her voice filled with warmth. "You're already awake, I see. Such a quiet little one, never giving anyone trouble."
Órfhlaith cooed softly in response, her lips curling in what almost looked like a smile.
Adelina chuckled quietly. "Ah, if only everyone at court were as peaceful as you. Come now, my lady, let's get you ready for the day."
She lifted the infant with practiced care, her motions tender but steady, and carried her toward the adjoining bath. Steam rose lightly as she prepared the water, the scent of lavender soap filling the air. Órfhlaith splashed weakly, waving her tiny hands as though she understood the soothing rhythm of the maid's voice.
Once bathed and dried, Adelina dressed her in a soft floral gown of pale pink and blue, fastening the ribbons around her baby waist. "There," she murmured, brushing a wisp of golden hair from the baby's forehead. "Our little princess looks as lovely as a spring bloom."
After feeding her, Adelina laid her back into the crib and turned to tidy the room, arranging toys, folding linens, and setting the bottle aside. Orfhlaith was quiet in her crib.
Soft lights, dim, almost transparent, appeared one by one. They filled the air around the crib.
Órfhlaith's eyes brightened. She reached toward them with eager little hands, laughter bubbling from her chest.
The first light, glowing a gentle red, drifted closer. Its warmth touched her skin, and she giggled, feeling a pleasant heat spread through her tiny fingers. Then came the blue light, cool, soft, and calming. It brushed against her cheek like water gliding over smooth stone.
The green light followed, wrapping the air in a sweet, fresh scent. Órfhlaith's nose twitched; she sneezed once, startling herself into another laugh. Finally, the gray light swirled gracefully around her, stirring the air into a playful breeze that tugged lightly at her blanket.
To her, the lights were alive, friends she had known forever. They glimmered and danced, invisible to anyone else, but their presence comforted her deeply.
The spirits linger near her, their soft glow wrapping her in a sense of safety. They dance and weave through the air, drawing laughter and gentle giggles from her lips. The little luminous beings delight in her joy. They cherish her presence, finding comfort in the purity of her lightheartedness.
Adelina paused for a moment, her gaze settling on the young Princess. The child was kicking her feet and waving her tiny hands again, her face glowing with laughter.
She is doing it again.
At times, the Princess would burst into smiles and soft giggles, looking around as though something or someone was keeping her company. To someone unfamiliar with a child's ways, it might have seemed like a simple shift in mood. Perhaps it was.
Still, Adelina never questioned it. The Princess was of royal blood, after all, and many mysteries surrounded those with the royal bloodline.
So she smiled at the happy child. "You're in such a good mood this morning," she said, amused. "What has caught your fancy, little one?"
Órfhlaith stared at her with bright, innocent eyes, still giggling, while the spirits faded one by one, leaving only the faintest shimmer in the air.
Moments later, the door opened.
Adelina immediately bowed low as Emperor Aemilius entered. The morning light caught in his hair, pink streaked with threads of gold, and gleamed against the intricate embroidery of his deep white and crimson attire. The golden clasp of his cloak bore the sigil of the empire, and the way he carried himself made the air seem to settle around him, calm, powerful, absolute.
"Your Majesty," Adelina greeted softly.
Behind him, Ozias, his personal aide, entered the nursery as well. His steps were quiet, measured, and precise, the faint click of his polished boots softened by the velvet carpet. His tailored uniform, dark with gold-trimmed edges, fit him with precision, and his blond hair was neatly pushed back at the sides, a few loose strands falling across his brows.
As always, his face was composed, calm and unreadable, the still expression of a man trained to show no emotion before the Emperor. He inclined his head politely toward Adelina, who bowed in return. Ozias stopped a respectful distance, his posture straight.
Aemilius inclined his head slightly, his gaze already drawn toward the crib. "How is she this morning?"
"Healthy and content, Your Majesty," Adelina replied. "She has eaten and bathed. She's been in wonderful spirits."
He gave a quiet nod. "Good. You may take your leave for now."
Adelina bowed once more and left the room, closing the door behind her.
For a moment, the Emperor stood still, watching his daughter. Then he approached the crib and lifted her gently into his arms. "Good morning, Órfhlaith," he murmured, his voice deep yet softened by affection.
Órfhlaith's golden eyes met his, curious and bright, and for a fleeting moment her lips curled into a wide, toothless smile.
Even as an infant, Órfhlaith recognized the man who often came to see her. His presence was different from everyone else's, warm, steady, and strong. When he held her, the world felt still, as if nothing beyond his arms could reach her. His voice, deep and calm, carried a rhythm that soothed her more than any lullaby.
She didn't understand who he was, not yet. But she knew his scent, the way his heartbeat sounded when she pressed her ear against his chest, the way his hand would always brush gently over her hair. There was a familiarity in his touch that made her feel safe, as though she had known him long before she opened her eyes to the world.
Whenever he came near, the air around her shifted, soft, comforting, like sunlight filtering through silk. The tiny spirits that often danced around her seemed to quiet down too, as if they, too, respected his presence.
To her, he was safety. Warmth. The quiet strength that anchored her tiny world.
The baby reached for his face, her tiny fingers brushing his chin, and she smiled into a wide, toothless smile, so bright it felt like it could brighten the world.
Noticing the man standing at a distance, Órfhlaith gurgled softly and let out a pleased coo. Her small fingers curled and uncurled as though reaching for him.
Aemilius noticed how she stretched her tiny hands toward the man standing behind him. A quiet amusement flickered in his eyes as he looked over his shoulder. He nodded, giving the man approval to step closer.
The faintest hint of a smile touched Ozias's lips, rare, brief, and entirely sincere. He approached one careful step closer and bowed his head toward the baby. "Good morning, Your Highness," he said quietly.
Órfhlaith laughed, her eyes shining like sunlight caught in glass.
"I'm going to the garden," Aemilius said. He glanced at his aide, who stood quietly by the door, ever attentive. "Once our guests arrive, send them there."
Ozias stared at his Emperor for a few seconds, his expression blank in that familiar way Aemilius had come to know well. After so many years working together, he had learned to read the slightest nuance behind that impassive gaze — and this one, in particular, seemed to say, "Must I, truly?"
Aemilius stares back at him blankly, amused by the unspoken question. Of course Ozias knew exactly who the guests were. They were rarely ones to wait for permission to enter but he gave the order nonetheless
At the end of their silent exchange, Ozias inclined his head with his usual composure.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," he said simply.
Aemilius gave a faint nod in return, the hint of a smile ghosting across his lips before heading out.
The path leading to the imperial garden was quiet, lined with marble pillars wrapped in ivy and flowering vines. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the arching branches above, scattering a soft glow across the pale stone floor. The air was cool and fragrant, carrying the scent of blooming roses and dew.
At the end of the path, the garden unfolded like a living masterpiece. Lush trees arched high above, their leaves whispering in the morning breeze. Beds of flowers painted the ground in vibrant hues, roses, peonies, and azaleas in full bloom, their petals glistening with droplets of light.
At the heart of the garden stood an ornate fountain, huge and majestic, its gentle streams of water cascading into a clear basin that mirrored the sky. Two wrought-iron benches framed the fountain, their intricate carvings shaped like vines and wings. The soothing sound of flowing water blended with the faint rustle of leaves, creating a tranquil melody that eased the soul.
This was no ordinary garden, it was a sanctuary of life and serenity, a place where the world seemed to slow its pace. The Empress had once loved it deeply; she had overseen its design, tending to every flower and tree. Her presence lingered still, woven into the gentle hum of the wind and the shimmer of sunlight on petals.
Aemilius walked slowly along the stone path, holding Órfhlaith in his arms. As he passed under an arch of climbing roses, the light grew warmer, softer. He stopped near the fountain, where the sunlight touched the water's edge and reflected onto his daughter's face.
"This was your mother's garden," he murmured quietly, his voice low and almost tender. "She loved it here."
Órfhlaith cooed softly, her golden eyes following the play of light around her.
A few meters from the fountain stood a sunlit sitting area, bathed in a gentle golden glow. The space was framed by carved white stone pillars, from which cascaded wisteria in shades of violet, blue, and soft pink. The blooms swayed lightly in the breeze, filling the air with a delicate fragrance.
At the center stood a large round table of polished marble, its surface catching the sunlight like glass. Around it were three finely carved wooden chairs, their backs shaped with elegant floral patterns. The table had already been set with a porcelain tea service resting beside a silver five tier serving tray of pastries and fruits and treats.
A few small details stood out amidst the refinement, a milk bottle placed neatly to one side, and a couple of plush toys waiting near one of the chairs. They seemed almost out of place yet they softened the scene, giving it warmth and life.
Aemilius took his seat and gently settled Órfhlaith on his lap. Reaching for the teapot, he poured himself a cup of black tea, the faint aroma of roasted leaves mingling with the floral scent of the garden. He had given strict orders that no one was to disturb them.
Aemilius took a slow sip from his cup, the steam curling upward. "Our guests will be here soon," he murmured to Órfhlaith, who was happily playing with her fingers.
They sat together in quiet peace, Órfhlaith gazing around with wide, curious eyes while Aemilius quietly savored his tea. The moment lingered in calm silence, until a familiar voice broke through the stillness.
"I never thought I'd live to see the great Emperor Aemilius holding a baby."
Both father and daughter turned.
Standing at the edge of the pergola was a man with tousled pink hair, and bright grey-golden eyes full of mischief. His shirt hung loosely open at the collar, revealing the hint of a grin that mirrored the light in his eyes.
Aemilius sighed, though the corner of his mouth lifted. "You're early, Zanthius."
"Of course I am," the man said easily. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."
His gaze dropped to Órfhlaith, curiosity and warmth flickering in his expression. "Well, well. Who's this little jewel?"
Órfhlaith stared up at the man as he approached, her golden eyes wide and unwavering. The air around him seemed to shimmer faintly, carrying a playful kind of energy that made her tiny hands twitch with curiosity. Something about felt familiar yet different.
The man's presence was cheerful, light, and quick like the wind, warm and unpredictable, like fire itself. Órfhlaith turned her head toward him, cooing softly, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling in the air as if she were trying to grasp that warmth.
"Look at that, she likes me already," he said with a grin, clearly amused by the baby's curiosity. He liked how she held his gaze, unblinking and fearless.
"I doubt it. I think you frightened her," another voice replied, steady and composed, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.
As the man stepped beneath the archway, the wind stirred, lifting strands of his pink-golden hair. He was dressed in a three-piece formal ensemble, soft ivory and muted beige tones, his necktie fastened by an ornamental brooch. A light cloak of the same hue draped gracefully from his shoulders. He looked as though he were ready to attend a formal audience.
Órfhlaith turned her gaze to the second man. Like the first, he, too, felt familiar.
The atmosphere shifted at once, heavier, steadier, like the earth itself. His presence carried the quiet strength of deep roots anchoring an ancient tree. Everything about him felt cooler, calmer, like water. And when the sunlight filtered through the leaves, it caught his silver eyes, making them gleam with striking brightness so unlike his cool and detached demeanour.
Órfhlaith grew still, her golden eyes following their every movements.
"She looks frightened of you," the pink-haired man teased proudly. "Unlike you, I'm wonderful with children. They adore me."
The long-haired man rolled his eyes but said nothing. His gaze fell on the little Princess, and for a few silent seconds, they studied one another. Then, the corner of his lips curved faintly. She continued to stare, unwavering.
"Seems she's melting your cold, stone heart," came a playful voice.
The long-haired man turned sharply to glare at the one mocking him. The exchange made Órfhlaith blink and shift slightly in her father's arms. There was something familiar about these men, their features, their presence. They reminded her of someone.
Her gaze moved from her father to the two strangers and back again. Yes... they reminded her of him not only in appearance but in the way the air itself seemed to change around them. Each carried a power and warmth that felt both foreign and close.
Aemilius, who had been watching quietly, noticed her small movements, sensing her curiosity. Adjusting her in his arms, he said firmly, "Quiet."
Both men looked toward him.
"This is Órfhlaith, your niece," Aemilius said, pride softening his voice. "Órfhlaith, this is Klaudius," he gestured to the man with long hair, "and this is Zanthius," he added, nodding toward the one beside him. "They are my brothers."