Emperor of Firon by U.H.R

Author:U.H.R
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Firon, Emperor Of Firon, EOF, Spinning Empires, Aneria
Publisher: U.H.R
Published: 2025-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

​SHEPHERDS PALACE

The Shepherd Palace gardens were a modest thing by imperial standards. No maze-like hedgerows or enchanted statues, no singing vines or jewel-fed fountains. Just a narrow cobblestone path winding through a patch of neatly trimmed grass, a humble circle of rose bushes in varying shades of red and blush, and a scattering of trimmed trees and squat shrubs that offered shade rather than spectacle. In the center of the garden stood a single-tiered marble fountain, aged and worn, with a carved cherub holding a shell dish that spouted a thin trickle of water into a shallow basin overgrown with moss. The air smelled of sun-warmed stone and the sweet perfume of roses, and a warm breeze rustled the trees with lazy indifference. Beyond the garden lay the outer patio. White stone bleached soft by the sun, ringed by pale columns that offered little more than decorative grace. A wide linen umbrella, cream-colored and delicate as a blossom, stood unfurled to provide shade. Beneath it, reclining on a low couch stacked with silken cushions, sat Seshion, her form swelled beautifully with pregnancy. She wore a gown of flowing yellow chiffon that wrapped around her body like a breeze made solid, her bare feet tucked under her as she rested one hand protectively on her round belly. Her skin shimmered with the bronze hue of old summer, and her hair was braided loosely down one shoulder, pinned with tiny gold flowers. A soft sheen of sweat glistened at her temples, though her expression remained serene, even amused. Beside her stood Selvic, her faithful lady-in-waiting, clad in a simple house-blue dress of cotton with a sash of silver silk tied neatly around her waist. She fanned her mistress gently with a hand-fan carved from ivory and painted with clouds, her face calm and alert. “Mommy, look!” came the bright voice of the Ninth Prince. Selvey came bounding through the garden barefoot, his linen trousers soaked in mud to the knees, a tunic half-unlaced and hair wind-blown. He was eleven, slight and sprightly, with skin like burnished copper and a halo of pure white curls that glinted under the sun. Of all the Emperor’s sons, he was the only one who bore the unmistakable softness of Seshion’s features. His silver eyes wide and eager as he ran toward her. “Look, Mommy!” he called again, clutching something tight in his small fists. Seshion straightened slightly, smiling as he reached her. She ran her hand through his unruly hair with practiced affection. “What is it, my little moon?” “I caught a fairy disguised as a rock!” he declared, presenting the object in triumph. Seshion took one look at the lump of dirt-streaked stone and bit back her laugh. “That seems an awful lot like a rock to me,” she said gently, eyes twinkling. Selvey squinted at it, suspicion dawning. Then, with a sigh of dramatic disappointment, he threw it to the ground. “You’re right. It’s just a rock,” he muttered, lips puffed in a pout. Seshion chuckled and cupped his cheek.

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