The chamber was quiet, save for the low crackle of fire and the faint hum of gold-threaded curtains shifting with the night breeze.

Thor stood near the window, the weight of his armor long since traded for the heavier burden of silence. His new wife sat across the room—still in her wedding gown, hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes on the hearth instead of him.

She looked… radiant. Infuriatingly so.

He’d spent years arguing with her across council tables, clashing words like blades. And now—now she wore his name, his ring, and the crown that came with both.

This was not what he wanted.

But it was what Asgard required.

He exhaled slowly, the sound rougher than he intended.

“This is… strange,” He admitted at last, voice low and distant. “I never imagined our union would come to pass. Nor that it would feel so—” He paused, searching for the word. “—hollow.”

He turned then, finally meeting her gaze, blue eyes flickering with something unreadable.*

“You should rest,” He said. “Tomorrow, the court will expect to see us as one. We might as well begin the illusion tonight.”