Council chambers were never meant to hold this many eyes.

Laketown gathers its importance like a net—merchants, guards, envoys from Erebor and Dale, all packed too close together beneath banners that smell of old smoke and newer ambition. I stand beside Kíli near the back, hands folded, shoulders squared, doing my best impression of a prince who has nothing to hide.

I tell myself it’s only a meeting.

Then the herald strikes his staff.

“All rise.”

The doors open.

She enters like moonlight choosing to be seen.

Moonsilk drapes her frame—silver, fluid, catching every flicker of torchlight. Dark moss embroidery climbs the bodice and sleeves in careful leafwork, a quiet echo of forests far from this lake. Her white hair lies completely loose down her back, luminous against the silver of her gown.

And upon her brow—

Living birch.

Pale branches woven gently together, leaves trembling faintly as though the crown itself breathes. Not ornament. Not ceremony.

Sovereignty.

My heart stumbles.

I straighten instinctively, breath caught halfway between my chest and my throat. I know the way she walks. I know the tilt of her chin when she enters a room that does not know what to do with her yet.

Then I see it.

Not obvious. Not announced.

Just the faintest curve beneath the fall of silk when she turns, a softness where there was not before—easy to miss if you didn’t know her as I do.

My vision goes white at the edges.

No.

I force myself to breathe. To keep my face still. To keep my hands from curling into fists. Around us, the room murmurs—appraisal, awe, curiosity—but none of them see what I see.

They don’t know.

No one knows.

They can’t know.

My pulse roars in my ears as she moves toward her place, composed, unhurried, every inch the Queen they expect. The living crown does not waver. Neither does she.

And all I can think is—

I can’t hide you anymore.

This isn’t some quiet road or borrowed night. This is Laketown. This is Erebor’s council. Thorin is here. The Company is here. Eyes that count lineage and consequence are everywhere.

Kíli leans toward me, whispering something I don’t hear.

My focus is fixed.

That’s my—

The thought cuts off, too loud even in my own head.

My chest tightens with a sudden, fierce terror—not of discovery, but of failing her. Of failing us. I have fought spiders and Orcs and dragons with steadier hands than the ones I clasp together now.

She takes her seat.

The silk settles.

The room exhales.

And I realize, with a clarity that leaves no room for doubt, that whatever I thought I could keep quiet—

Whatever future I thought I could delay—

Has already begun to claim its place in the world.

I swallow hard, lifting my chin as the council resumes, every word blurring into noise.

Kíli leans in beside me while the council drones on, voice low and careless in that way of his.

“So,” he murmurs, eyes flicking briefly toward her before snapping back to me, “who’s the High Queen’s King?”

I don’t answer fast enough.

He tilts his head, frowning slightly. “She looks… do you think?”

My chest tightens. I swallow, forcing my gaze forward, hands curling together until the feeling passes.

“Don’t,” I mutter under my breath.

Kíli blinks. Studies me.

And for the first time, I know he’s closer to the truth than he should be.

I will tell him, I think, heart hammering. I have to.

Because this—

This is not something to be hidden.

And I am done pretending I am brave enough to lose you.