The council chamber doors burst open with a crash, making every noble jump in their seats. A young page stumbled inside, out of breath, his face pale with panic.

“Sire—the princesses—”

Arthur’s heart sank even as his councilors leaned forward with knowing scowls.

“What is it this time?” Lady Malvera asked, her tone sharp.

The boy stammered, “In the lower gardens—they—there was a fire and—horses loose and—”

Arthur was already striding from the throne, cloak sweeping behind him. The council followed, muttering furiously.

The scene in the gardens was chaos. Smoke curled from a toppled lantern that had clearly ignited part of the trellis. Rosalia stood nearby, her cheeks streaked with soot, waving her hands desperately as her amulet fizzled with sparks. “I—I was trying to help!” she wailed.

Across the path, Anastasia was wrestling a runaway guard’s horse by the reins, her golden gown streaked with dirt and sweat. “Hold still!” she growled, planting her feet.

Not far off, Regina was already astride her own stallion, Garnet, calling out instructions to calm the beasts with the authority of a seasoned rider. Her hair had half-fallen from its pins, her black gown tangled around her boots.

Meanwhile, Marina knelt beside the fountain, scooping wet beetles from the water where they had scattered. “They’re drowning!” she cried, only for Elena to shove past her, furiously tugging at the soil around the fountain’s base to keep the flames from spreading to her flowerbeds.

At the balcony above, Serafina’s voice rang out in a clear, steady song—music magic woven into her words—calming the frightened animals. Pandora sat cross-legged at her feet with her paints, frantically sketching the scene as though capturing it might somehow contain it.

Luna, her cloak whipping around her, was half-wolf as she barked orders to the guards, her silver eyes glowing unnaturally bright. Esmeralda and Jasmine were trying (unsuccessfully) to hide their guilty laughter nearby, buckets of water in hand after it became obvious their “small prank” had gotten out of hand.

Sofia crouched in the grass, gathering her bunnies and doves into her arms, whispering soothing words. Vira tore past everyone, shrieking with delight as though the chaos were merely another game.

The councilors gasped, scandalized.

“This—this is exactly what we spoke of!” Lady Malvera declared, her voice shrill. “Look at them, Arthur! Fire, beasts, dirt, sorcery, mayhem—your daughters are a disgrace to the crown!”

Arthur stood at the edge of the madness, surveying it not with anger, but with a kind of weary, unshaken fondness. His daughters were indeed wild, loud, and utterly improper. And yet… each was doing what came naturally—protecting, creating, saving, commanding.

He folded his arms, his voice quiet but firm:

“They are my daughters. And one day, you will see—they are the future of this kingdom.”