A few years later...

"I can’t believe the prince is already turning three," Chesley said with a soft laugh as he watched Asher arrange bundles of freshly cut flowers on the long table. "It feels like only yesterday he was just a tiny bundle in your arms."

Asher smiled faintly without looking up, carefully aligning stems by color and size. "Yes," he murmured. "These three years passed far too quickly."

Slowly, meticulously, he adjusted the arrangement before him—adding a sprig here, removing another there. Every flower had its meaning, every choice deliberate.

Today was Florian’s birthday.

His precious son’s third birthday.

By Floramatrian tradition, a child’s third year marked the first bouquet ceremony—when a parent formally presented wishes for the child’s growth, happiness, and fate through flowers.

A small ritual meant to be joyful, something light and sweet before the heavier expectations of adulthood settled in.

For all of Asher’s daughters, he had upheld the tradition faithfully—crafting new bouquets each year until they reached seven, the sacred age when their first official royal gifts were bestowed.

But Florian...

This bouquet meant more than all the others combined.

"This is the first bouquet I’ll ever give him," Asher said softly, fingers brushing through the blooms. "And the last child we’ll ever welcome."

Chesley looked at him warmly. "You’ve made countless bouquets before, Your Majesty. Princess Kazaria’s first is still talked about to this day—she cried herself to sleep clutching it."

A small chuckle escaped Asher. "Yes... she adored it."

He lowered his gaze back to the sprawling arrangement before him—rows of blossoms set aside like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be completed.

"But this one needs to be different," he added quietly. "He’s our only boy. Leticia and I agreed long ago—no more children after him."

His hand briefly stilled over the table.

’My last miracle.’

"I want Florian’s first bouquet to be the largest he’s ever seen," Asher admitted. "Something bright enough to stay in his memory forever."

Chesley laughed lightly. "You sound as though you’ll never have another chance to spoil him with your bouquets."

Asher shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Oh, I’ll spoil him every year after that too," he said with teasing certainty. "Each bouquet will be bigger than the last—grand enough that he’ll never forget how loved he is."

His fingers paused over a cluster of lilacs.

Soft. Pale. Delicate.

The same color as Florian’s gentle curls when sunlight caught them just right.

Asher carefully selected one blossom and tucked it into the heart of the bouquet.

’Just like my dear Florian.’ he thought fondly. ’Quietly beautiful. Gentle, but resilient.’

For growth.

For kindness.

For happiness.

And most of all—

’For a life without pain.’

Asher straightened, surveying his work.

"Speaking of the little prince," Chesley said, tilting his head as he surveyed the near-finished bouquet, "where is he now?"

Asher didn’t hesitate. "With my dearest and the girls, of course," he replied with a fond smile. "They’re keeping him company while I finish this."

Chesley hummed softly, nodding. "I’m glad they’ve finally begun giving you more time with him, Your Majesty. Truthfully... I’ve been worried about you ever since Prince Florian was born."

"Worried about me?" Asher asked, arching a brow. "Why? I’ve never been happier than I am now, Chesley."

The words came easily—almost automatically.

Yet Chesley didn’t smile back.

"Perhaps," he said gently, folding his arms across his chest. "But the palace was overflowing with joy in that first year. Everyone wanted to hold him, to see him, to be near him... and because of that, you hardly had the chance."

Asher’s fingers slowed over the bouquet.

Chesley continued, his tone steady but careful. "I’ve been at your side long enough to notice these things, Your Majesty. You always keep your head high. You never allow your sadness to show. Even when something pains you... you remain dignified."

Asher’s hands went completely still.

’Is it truly that obvious...?’

"And because of your devotion to the queen—which I deeply respect—you never once voiced your disappointment," Chesley went on. "You made no complaints about the distance. Even when you barely held the prince during his first year."

He sighed. "The princesses fell in love with him the moment they saw him. They were constantly taking turns caring for him. Your mother even complained more than once that their training was being neglected."

Asher’s gaze flickered downward.

’I didn’t complain... because I didn’t want to seem selfish.’

Because Leticia deserved to dote on her only son.

Because his daughters adored their brother.

Because everyone believed the king consort should be grateful for any moment he was given.

And so he had swallowed the quiet ache.

’Waiting for my own chance to be a father.’

Outwardly, he only smiled faintly.

"I never thought it was worth mentioning," Asher said quietly. "He was loved. That was all that mattered."

But deep down, a familiar tightness formed in his chest.

"Well, in any case, it doesn’t truly matter anymore, Your Majesty," Chesley said with a gentle smile. "You have far more time with His Highness now. Princess Kazaria has already begun preparations to become Crown Princess, and your other daughters are easing back into their training as well. With responsibilities shifting... you’ve finally been able to spend those long days with the little prince."

"Exactly," Asher replied, nodding as he returned his focus to the bouquet.

He adjusted the ribbon at the base of the stems, smoothing it carefully, then reached to shift one of the lilac branches— 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Prick.

A sharp sting shot through his thumb.

"Ah—!"

"Oh—Your Majesty!" Chesley gasped, stepping forward. "Your thumb—you’re bleeding!"

Asher instinctively pulled his hand back, staring down at the thin bead of red blooming against his skin. It was barely anything, just a single thorn’s revenge.

"It’s nothing," he said quickly. "I must not have noticed the thorn."

Yet Chesley didn’t relax. His brows knit together in concern.

"You’ve never let yourself get pricked before. Not even once. Are you truly certain you’re all right?"

Asher paused.

The words should have come easily.

"I’m fine."

But they stuck.

Because suddenly—so suddenly—it wasn’t the pain in his thumb that troubled him.

It was the weight pressing into his chest.

A quiet, uninvited heaviness.

’Why do I feel like this all of a sudden...?’

Asher looked at the blood again, watching it slowly trickle along the side of his thumb.

So small.

So harmless.

And yet...

A chill coiled inside him.

A whisper of unease he couldn’t explain.

Everything was good now.

Everything was calm now.

He finally had time with Florian.

So why did his heart suddenly feel tight—as if something fragile was about to break?

"Really...I’m... fine," Asher said again softly.

But this time—

He knew it was a lie.

He kept staring at the small wound as the sense of dread refused to leave him.

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

’I managed to finish on time.’

Asher thought the moment he steadied the bouquet in his arms.

Despite the earlier rush—and the brief mishap with the thorn that had pricked his thumb—he had pulled himself together as he always did.

A small sting wasn’t enough to derail something this important.

Today was a big day.

Today was about Florian.

And Asher couldn’t help the quiet excitement bubbling in his chest as he looked down at the flowers.

This bouquet... it felt special.

His best work yet. Every bloom had been chosen carefully, arranged with intention, not just skill.

He walked through the familiar palace halls, careful not to jostle the flowers as he headed toward the Garden Room.

The Garden Room was reserved for the royal family and a select circle of guests—an intimate space for celebrations that were meant to feel personal rather than political.

For the children’s earliest birthdays, all festivities were held there. Gentle gatherings, filled with soft laughter instead of grand formalities.

Once they turned seven, everything changed.

Banquets. Balls. Larger guest lists. Lavish celebrations meant to announce the children to the world.

But for now...

Florian was still young enough to celebrate here.

And Asher was grateful for that.

He liked the warmth of the Garden Room—the quieter joy it held. It suited Florian far better than overwhelming ballroom grandeur.

As he walked, His fingers adjusted around the ribbon tied neatly around the bouquet.

’I hope he likes it.’

The thought made Asher smile to himself as he approached the doors, anticipation building with every step.

As soon as Asher reached the door, he pushed it open eagerly, already smiling—

And was met with the gentle scent of fresh blooms and damp garden soil drifting through the open space beyond.

"I’m here!" Asher called out brightly as he stepped inside, bouquet clutched carefully in both hands. "Where’s my little Flo—"

The words died in his throat.

He stopped just inside the doorway.

"Oh, Father! You’re here—come look!" Liliana exclaimed happily, skipping toward him and pointing to the gathered crowd near the center of the pavilion.

Asher followed where she pointed—and there she was.

Leticia stood among the ladies and attendants, radiant in the sunlight, Florian held securely in her arms. The little boy was laughing softly, curls bouncing as he leaned forward—

’No...’

Asher’s chest tightened.

It wasn’t the sight of Leticia holding Florian that froze him.

It was what Florian was holding.

Small, shimmering objects cradled between his fingers—catching the light in facets of blue like cut gemstones.

Eggs.

Butterfly eggs.

Before Asher could move—

"There they are," a voice spoke quietly behind him.

Astana.

Asher felt his spine go stiff.

"They are the rarest species," his father continued, stepping close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. "I’m certain you recognize them, given your fondness for butterflies."

Asher didn’t answer.

His gaze never left Florian.

"Blue Diamond butterflies," Astana said calmly. "The only butterflies capable of hatching from eggs. Highly intelligent. Nearly mythical. Incredibly rare."

’Why... is Florian holding Blue Diamond butterfly eggs?’ Asher thought, his heart suddenly pounding.

"Her Majesty made a grand announcement earlier, during your absence," Astana went on. "She declared a change to tradition. Tomorrow will mark Florian’s first official birthday ball."

Asher swallowed.

"And the Queen has named her gift."

Astana gestured forward with a faint nod.

"She will be presenting Florian with the rarest butterflies Concordia can offer."

Asher’s gaze dropped to the bouquet in his arms.

The bouquet he had poured days into crafting.

The flowers chosen to symbolize growth, gentleness, protection—his private tradition passed down through generations.

’My gift...’

"But... our tradition," Asher breathed.

Astana folded his arms. "Tradition changes when someone challenges it."

Asher looked up at him, stunned.

"I told you, Ash. If you wish to raise your son according to your heart, you must be more proactive. You are his father."

"But—"

"This," Astana interrupted quietly, "will not stop. Not unless you choose to stop it. Leticia loves Florian with fiery passion—for better or worse. If you yield every time, your voice will be lost beneath hers."

Asher clenched the bouquet tighter.

Is that what’s happening? Am I already losing ground?

Astana softened his voice, just slightly.

"You love Florian, don’t you?"

"Of course," Asher replied instantly.

"Then protect him—not only with affection, but with direction." Astana met Asher’s eyes fully now. "If you do nothing, the path the women in your life has set for him will become the only one he knows."