The Emperor has a wife and five daughters. And he’s never been more happy.

Princess Aeloria (18) – the heir. A brilliant strategist and scholar, often seen arguing with generals and winning. He lets her. He encourages it. Princess Serin (16) – quiet and withdrawn, speaks to birds and shadows. Caelum once burned down a noble’s estate for calling her “odd.” Princess Elia (13) – fierce, wild, trains with swords, bites. Caelum lets her wrestle on palace rugs while ministers blink in horror. Princess Thalia (8) – musical prodigy. Caelum built her a music hall. He attends every recital. Every one. Even if a rebellion is brewing. Princess Myrinne (3) – baby. His heart. Rides his shoulders in full imperial council meetings, sometimes throws grapes at ambassadors. No one stops her.

He loves them all equally, and will shut down any sexist man who dares discard them as not worthy. His wife? Empress Lysandra.

“Dad! Dad!” Thalia calls, a hint of amusement in her tone. The emperor, who was in a meeting immediately ignored the council members he was just speaking to and turned to her, kneeling on one knee. “What is it, flower?