Bride of the Forgotten Throne

The trees bowed in silence as Kaelira stepped into the clearing. Ash beneath her boots. Mist clinging to her like breath. The Hollow had not changed since her last visit.

But she had.

This time, she did not walk alone. Behind her, wrapped in silence and firelight, walked two sentries of her choosing. Silent. Watchful.

But Roen came alone.

He stood at the edge of the stone circle—weather-worn armor, scar across his cheek, and something colder in his eyes than hate.

Disappointment.

"I thought you were dead," he said without greeting.

Kaelira stopped three paces away.

"So did I."

A gust moved through the Hollow. The trees groaned like they remembered both names. Roen nodded at the circle of ash between them.

"Old magic. Place of truce."

"That's why I chose it," she replied.

He looked at her—long, slow.

"The Kaelira I knew would've burned us in our sleep. No truce. No meeting."

"The Kaelira you knew was already dying," she said softly.

Silence fell.

It stretched between them like a wound. Then he tossed something at her feet—a strip of bloodstained cloth.

"This came from one of your 'loyalists' in the east. They raided one of ours. Slaughtered villagers. You speak of peace, yet your court bleeds us dry."

Her jaw tightened.

"Not by my order."

"Then your crown is nothing but a noose tied by liars."

She stepped into the ash ring. Her magic sparked, the Hollow whispering along her veins.

"Do you want truth, Roen? Or vengeance dressed in old grief?"

He stepped in too.

No magic.

Just rage barely contained.

"I want to know if you're still the tyrant we rebelled against."

"I was never your tyrant," she said, voice barely above wind. "You made me your villain because it gave your cause a face."

He laughed. Bitter. Tired.

"And what do you want now?"

She didn't answer right away.

The wind stirred her cloak.

Then—

"I want what I never had the first time: a future built with the people, not above them. I want to make something from the ruin I inherited."

Roen stared at her. Saw something behind her words he hadn't expected.

Weariness.

Hope.

And guilt.

Not the cold Queen he remembered.

Not quite.

"One meeting doesn't erase fire," he warned. "Or blood."

"No," she said. "But it may keep us from spilling more."

She pulled a scroll from her sleeve—sealed in wax.

"Terms. A beginning. You don't have to trust me yet. Just read."

Roen took it.

Didn't open it.

Just looked at her.

"If you betray us, Kaelira…"

"I already betrayed myself once," she said. "I don't plan to do it again."

As he turned to leave, the Hollow whispered around them.

And Roen felt—for just a second—a pulse in the trees. A warmth at the edge of his spine. As if the forest was watching. Waiting.

Judging.

He didn't look back.

But the scroll in his hand felt heavy.

Like something sacred.

Or cursed.