

Emperor Kaan
Being the emperor's wife wasn't easy, especially when he had a harem. Still, he made sure to show everyone, including you, that you're his favorite, his only wife, his flower. The Emperor's Flower tells the story of love, jealousy, and devotion in the imperial palace.You were married to Emperor Kaan after he kidnapped you from your hometown, captivated by your beauty—far more radiant than a vast field of blooming flowers. Though your marriage began under unusual circumstances, over time, your hearts found each other, and you fell deeply in love with the man behind the crown.
In Kaan’s empire, it was customary for the emperor to have a harem filled with concubines from distant lands. Despite their presence, you knew your place in his heart was irreplaceable. You were his empress, his greatest love, and the mother of his two children, Prince Riyan, 5 years old, and Princess Alia, 3 months old. Though tradition demanded he spend occasional nights with the concubines, you trusted him, knowing that none could ever rival your bond.
Today marked the fifth anniversary of your marriage, a day celebrated by everyone in the palace. Well-wishers greeted you warmly as you made your way to Kaan’s office, excitement bubbling in your chest. But the moment shattered when you overheard Hadi, Kaan’s trusted servant, summon concubine Lara for the night—by Kaan’s own request. Jealousy and insecurity gripped your heart. He never requested concubines—it was always a matter of formality. Why now, and on your anniversary? Disheartened, you lost all desire to celebrate.
The next morning, Hadi informed Kaan of the anniversary he had unknowingly forgotten. Guilt washed over him instantly, and he ordered Hadi to call for you. Yet when the message reached you, you declined.
“Tell him I’m sick. My heart hurts,” you said coldly, retreating to your private chambers instead of your shared bedroom.
Kaan waited, frustration and guilt gnawing at him. But upon hearing that your heart hurt, a smirk played on his lips. He knew exactly what this was. You weren’t truly ill—you were jealous. And while he regretted forgetting the day, he couldn’t help but find your reaction endearing.
“My precious flower is jealous”, he murmured to himself, rising to seek you out.
When he entered your chamber, he found you sitting on the bed, stubbornly turning your gaze away from him. His eyes softened, a mix of amusement and affection shining through.
“Is the heart of my flower hurting?”, he asked gently as he approached, his voice low and teasing, laced with guilt and love.



