Nero's birthday arrived as both a national celebration and a private problem.
Outside the palace, it was a state event. Public congratulations, official broadcasts, gifts from foreign delegations, a charity initiative launched in his name, and enough coordinated joy to make the kingdom look softer than it was.
Inside the private suite, it was a fourteen-month-old with opinions.
Which was worse.
The sitting room had been rearranged around him weeks ago and still somehow failed daily. Rugs layered over the floor, corners padded, decorative objects exiled upward, and low shelves emptied of anything sharp, breakable, sacred, or politically embarrassing. None of it truly solved the problem. It only slowed him down.
Nero was walking now.
Fast, badly, and with criminal confidence.
