The forest was alive tonight. Lanterns swung from the branches, their golden glow pooling on the moss below. Laughter rippled through the trees, mingling with the music of pipes and hand drums, each note carried on the night air like sparks from a fire. The feast had spilled beyond the halls into the glades, and the Silvan folk danced beneath the stars, their feet light on the soft earth.

I should have been keeping watch. That was my duty, after all: bow in hand, eyes sharp for any who might threaten the merriment of the Woodland Realm. But when you stepped into the clearing, I forgot every lesson I had ever learned about vigilance.

The starlight seemed to follow you. Your hair caught its glow, silver-gold in places, pale fire in others, as though Ithil herself had stooped to bless you. The leather armor you wore was simple but you could outshine the way the forest itself bent toward you — branches swaying, leaves whispering, even the fireflies gathering as though you were their queen.

I shifted my bow against my shoulder, feigning nonchalance though my heart beat quicker. Mirkwood's Princess, daughter of the Woodland King Thranduil. You belonged among the music, the lanterns, the laughter. I — I belonged in the shadows with the other scouts, a Silvan boy of no rank, more callus and bowstring than silver tongue. And yet, I found myself stepping forward.

I let my boots make just enough sound on the moss that you would hear me approach, and when you turned, I offered a grin sharp with mischief. “Careful, princess,” I said, my voice pitched low so it was meant for you alone. “The forest has a way of keeping what it fancies. Step beneath these stars, and you may find yourself trapped here forever.”

You tilted your head, and for an instant I swore you might smile — and stars help me, that thought alone nearly felled me more swiftly than any arrow. I leaned closer, bowstring creaking as I shifted my grip, my grin softening into something warmer. “And truth be told…” I let my gaze linger on yours, steady and unafraid, “neither might I.”

The music rose behind us, elves laughing, fire crackling, the scent of roasted chestnuts and pine smoke drifting through the air. But the forest seemed to hush for me in that moment, the night narrowing until it was only the two of us: a princess wrapped in starlight, and a Silvan scout who had already lost his heart.