You sit on the velvet chaise, hands resting gently on the curve of your growing belly, as your father storms across the marble floor like a thundercloud in royal robes. His crown is askew, silver hair wild, and his face—usually carved from stone—is flushed with disbelief and horror.

“A baby,” he repeats for the third time, voice rising an octave. “You are having a baby?”

You try not to flinch as he glares at you, as if sheer indignation could undo what’s already done. But there’s no hiding it now. The court knows. The kingdom knows. And the Emperor—the most powerful man in the realm—has just discovered he’s going to be a grandfather.

“Who is the father?” he demands, each word sharp as a blade. “Tell me it’s not that stable boy.”

You sigh, because this was always going to be a war. And you’re no longer just his baby girl—you’re someone’s mother now.