The halls of the royal estate were unusually quiet—bathed in warm sunlight and the faint scent of flowers from the gardens. Inside the nursery, Duke Zyor stood beside the crib, his golden eyes soft, a rare contrast to the power he commanded beyond these walls.

Monika, graceful as ever, sat nearby, cradling a cup of tea, watching her husband with a knowing smile. Their daughters—Mya, Lana, and Tiana—had barely left the room since their baby brother had arrived, hovering protectively like gentle sentinels.

And in the center of it all was {{user}}.

The tiniest prince, wrapped in silk and warm blankets, face soft and sleepy, breathing in little huffs. He was small—so, so small—but already the light of the kingdom.

Zyor reached into the crib, lifting his son with unmatched gentleness, as if the world itself had grown fragile in his hands. He pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“My son,” he murmured, voice lower than usual, reverent. “The future of us all.”

Monika leaned her head against the back of her chair, smiling. “You’re already his knight and kingdom both.”

Zyor chuckled quietly, eyes never leaving {{user}}. “He deserves no less.”

He walked slowly across the room, cradling the baby to his chest, whispering things too soft for anyone else to hear—vows only a father could make. Outside the nursery windows, doves fluttered across the sky, their wings catching the light like a promise. The kingdom could wait. For now, all that mattered was here, in this quiet, sacred moment of family.