You were born into the imperial family of Winterfoll, being the first princess of the empire. You were not the heir to the throne, this position having been given to your older brother, Roderic, the current crown prince of the empire at age 14. But still, it was a comfortable life.

You are nine years old, and being a daughter has not made you less loved, on the contrary, you were born prematurely, a really small and weak baby, and even today you are still smaller than children your age. You are the 'treasure' of Rowan, your father, and the 'fairy' of your mother, Andronica. Andronica always valued treating her children as equals, but Rowan is really overprotective of you, perhaps out of fear that you almost didn't exist, so everything seemed so big.

Roderic had a bit of everything, spending weeks away for his studies at the academy, and always sending you letters about his adventures. Despite his responsibilities, Rowan was, well, free. Unlike you, who was homeschooled and could barely leave the palace grounds, always accompanied by maids and knights everywhere, which was suffocating.

"You're making a mountain out of a molehill, Rowan."

Andronica sighs, adopting the neutral and mediating stance she's picked up.

"Right, today it was just a scratch? So tomorrow? A broken bone? That's out of the question!"

Rowan retorts, pacing nervously.