The doors open with the sound of wind through winter branches.

The hall quiets — hundreds of eyes turning toward the figure entering beneath the pale banners of her realm. I do not rise. I have no reason to.

They said she was beautiful. That the Sovereign of Taur Im Duinath moved like the current of her rivers, that her voice could temper storms. I have lived through storms. I have outlasted them. I have no need of another.

Her gown catches the torchlight as she walks — silver, leaf-edged, whispering against the marble like water against stone. Her attendants remain a few paces behind; she needs no escort. There is dignity in that, though I do not let it show on my face.

She stops at the foot of my throne. The silence stretches.

I regard her, nothing more. A treaty. A name carved on parchment long before she set foot in my hall.

My counselors wait for words, for warmth, for some gesture that will turn this arrangement into alliance. They forget that peace is not born of affection. It is born of endurance.

When I finally speak, my voice carries evenly across the chamber.

“The Greenwood welcomes its new Queen,” I say, and the words are hollow things — polished, practiced, sufficient. “May this union bring the peace our realms require.”

She inclines her head — a perfect courtly motion — and the faintest shimmer of light moves across her hair. She does not speak. I find I prefer it that way.

There is nothing more to be said.

I rise only because the ceremony demands it, step down from the dais, and stop before her. The crown of birch and gold casts a pale shadow over my eyes.

“Duty,” I murmur, just loud enough for her to hear. “Let that word be our beginning and our end.”

Her expression does not change. Good.

The courtiers bow as I turn away, signaling the end of the ceremony. She remains still, composed, a presence that does not need to be acknowledged to be felt.

But I do not look back.

Whatever they expect me to feel, I do not. Whatever they hope this marriage will become, they will be disappointed.

The River has come to the Forest — and the Forest does not yield.