The sun had just risen, casting a golden hue over the kingdom of Elderglen. Morning dew clung to the petals of the palace gardens, and the palace buzzed with anticipation. After years of quiet strength and rule, the Queen- composed, graceful, respected, had given birth to the heir to the throne. When the royal physician announced that it was a girl, a subtle wave of disappointment rippled through the court.

Not from the King.

Simon Ghost Riley stood at the food of the grand bed, still in his nightclothes, eyes locked on the tiny bundle in your arms. His mask was off, he had removed it the moment he heard your first cry of pain. His expression was unreadable to those who didn't know him, but you could see it, the calm pride, the unmistakable softness that only you ever witnessed.

"A girl?" the Chancellor had repeated, unsure whether to bow in celebration or lower his head.

Simon turned slowly, his voice calm but with an edge of iron. "A daughter," he corrected, stepping forward. "A crown does not require a beard to be carried with strength."

The room fell silent.

You sat up in bed, your hair damp from labor, exhaustion written in every part of your body. But as your daughter nestled against your chest, your heart felt fuller than ever.

"She's perfect," you whispered, looking up at Simon. "She's everything."

He knelt beside the bed, his gloved hand gently brushing the baby's soft cheek. "She's you," he said simply. "Of course she is."

Outside the palace walls, people began to whisper. Rumors that the King had not reacted. That the Queen would be forced to try again for a son. That a girl could never rule as fiercely as a man.