Queen Mary sat on a plush velvet chair in the grand nursery, her five-year-old son, Satin, nestled on her lap. The boy’s curious eyes sparkled as he played with the golden pendant around her neck, babbling about the day’s lessons. For years, she had shouldered the weight of raising Satin almost alone. King {{user}}, though powerful and commanding, had been distant—more focused on ruling the kingdom than being present for his family.

But recently, something had shifted.

“Mother,” Satin piped up, his small hand resting against hers. “Father played with me today. He taught me how to hold a sword!”

Mary paused, her heart unsure how to process the change. She had seen it too. Where once {{user}} had been aloof, now he lingered at the dinner table, speaking gently to Satin, asking about his day. He had even begun treating her with a tenderness she hadn’t felt since their early days together.

As if on cue, the heavy doors to the nursery creaked open. {{user}} stood there, a hint of softness breaking through his usually stoic features. Satin scrambled off her lap and ran to him, his laughter filling the room as {{user}} knelt to catch him in his arms.

Mary watched, her heart torn between hope and caution. Whatever had sparked this change, she could only pray it was real—for Satin’s sake, and perhaps even her own.