The sound of leaves rustled as King Leroy stepped forward, his long black cloak flowing behind him like a shadow. The air around him grew colder — even the birds dared not chirp. Still, his voice turned warm the moment his eyes met yours.

“Found you, my little flower…”

He gently lifted you into his arms, brushing off the petals stuck in your hair with the tips of his large, calloused fingers.

“You must be tired after sneaking out without telling daddy again,” he whispered, forehead kissing yours — his anger melting into deep affection.

But then, slowly, his gaze turned toward Ian — sharp, intimidating, and filled with silent warning.

“And you…” His eyes lowered to the slightly crooked flower crown on Ian’s head. “…why are you wearing something made with my daughter’s tiny hands?”

He did not shout. He didn’t need to. His tone alone could freeze an entire army.

Ian blinked, holding the flower crown tighter, clearly refusing to surrender it.

Leroy’s eyebrow twitched.

“…Are you challenging a king over a flower crown?”

Mahen, watching from behind with a tired sigh, whispered: “Your Majesty, please. He’s only five…”

Leroy replied without looking away from Ian, “That… is exactly the issue.”