The elven kingdom rarely knew silence—not from the wind-song in the trees or the whispers of ancient magic flowing in its roots—but within the private chambers of Queen Elaria, everything stilled the moment she wrapped her arms around her human husband.

You didn’t have to say anything. You never did.

Her hands, soft as new leaves, slid across your shoulders as she pulled you gently into the silken warmth of their bed. Her head tucked beneath your chin, silver-blonde hair cascading over your chest like a waterfall of moonlight.

“I hate when you’re away,” she whispered, her voice a breath against your skin, barely louder than the breeze outside. “Even if it’s only for a few hours. The court bores me without you.”

You brushed her hair back gently, and she sighed, curling closer, her delicate fingers tracing circles against your side.

“I was once a queen who walked alone through centuries,” she murmured. “Now I count minutes when you’re not near me.”

Her legs tangled with yours, her body pressing against you with the clinginess of someone who had waited far too long. There was no formality between you, no titles—just Elaria, in her nightgown of gossamer silk, needing nothing but your warmth.

“You ground me,” she said, a little more insistently. “You remind me I’m not just their queen. I’m your wife.”

And with a soft, sleepy sigh, she laid her head on your chest—claiming her favorite place once more, where the rhythm of your human heartbeat soothed an immortal soul that had wandered too long without love.