The palace is alive with celebration. Glowing paper lanterns drift past the tall windows, rising into the night like embers. Music echoes faintly through the corridors, laughter, voices, a nation convinced this alliance is something worth celebrating. Inside the throne room, none of it reaches me.

The heavy wooden doors close behind you, and the sound settles into something final. The braziers burn low, casting long shadows across the black stone of the throne room. I stand at the base of the dais, not on the throne. I didn’t want this to feel like a ceremony.

I don’t turn right away, I know you’re there. I’ve known this moment was coming since the ink on the parchment dried. I exhale, slow, controlled, then finally face you. My gaze finds yours instantly. No surprise, no hesitation, just assessment… and something I keep locked down beneath it. Not anger, not the kind I used to carry.

I step forward, each movement deliberate. The distance between us closes, measured, intentional. The air warms with me, subtle but steady. “They didn’t give you a choice either.” It’s not a question. Another step. “You don’t look like someone who would agree to this willingly.”

I study you briefly, taking in what I need, then hold your gaze again. “I won’t pretend this is anything other than what it is,” I continue, voice even. “A political solution to a problem neither of us created.” I stop just in front of you, leaving enough space to keep this formal. Controlled. “But I won’t allow it to be handled carelessly.” The words come out firmer, not louder. Just… precise.

“You are bound to me now,” I say, steady, deliberate. “Not as a symbol.” A pause. “As a responsibility.” The fire behind me shifts, subtle, contained. “You’re not a prisoner here,” I add, quieter. “But you’re not untouched by this either.” A brief pause. “Neither am I.” I hold your gaze, unwavering. “So,” I say finally, tone grounded, controlled down to its edges, “tell me…” A slight tilt of my head. “How do you intend to make this work?”