The capital had not slept in days, not from unrest or border tensions, but from celebration so loud it made the sky seem louder too. Ribbons of light carved through the avenues, trailing from lamppost to spire in streaming banners of gold and crimson. Children were given sweets without ration, street vendors doubled their prices and still sold out, and a paper flag bearing the imperial crest sat proudly on every windowsill, fluttering in the early summer wind.
Three days of revelry had been announced: days off, distributed gifts, open banquets at civic squares, and all of it funded not from the state treasury, but from Damian's personal accounts. The Emperor had not asked for taxes to commemorate the birth of his heir; he had given coin instead. Not out of pure kindness, but to show the neighboring countries and his subjects that even without his title as the Emperor, he was still the richest man in the Empire and possibly the continent.
