Legolas turned out to be closer than they realized. A soft knock on the grand doors guarding the entrance to the public section of the royal wing announced Haedirn and his sleeping bundle. Legolas had his hands locked behind Haedirn's neck, and his head lolled against the guard's shoulder where a small dark stain grew.

"Idhrenes says he's been asleep for about a half-hour," Haedirn whispered, as he passed the elfling to Thranduil. Legolas grumbled before roosting atop Thranduil's shoulder with one arm dangling down the length of his adar's back.

"Have the guards—" Thranduil grimaced as Legolas stirred, and then he dropped his voice lower. "Have they resumed their post?"

"Ferion and Dínenor are in place now."

"Excellent, see if they're willing to extend their rotation tomorrow morning. Offer the usual. I want to see you, Maethor, and Ellavorn in my office at dawn." He threw a quick glance at Charlotte before telling the guard, "For tonight, you're dismissed."

Haedirn made to argue, but Thranduil cut him off. "I will notify you when she returns to her room." He gave her guard a brief nod of thanks and slipped into the private wing to tuck Legolas into bed. It made her stomach tighten pleasantly to watch him, to see his bare feet, swift and sure, padding across the stone while he clutched his son to him with such a look of contentment. For a small moment, she could picture the idyllic future he'd laid out before her.

"I know that look," Haedirn said.

"What look would that be?"

"That one." He wiggled his finger in the direction of her eyes. "It's been a few centuries since I've seen it, but I know the look ellith possess when they're thinking of infesting the Woodland with the little beasts."

"Haedirn, since when do you hate children? Elflings, I mean?"

Her guard grinned, eyes twinkling. "You mistake me. It's not the elflings; it's the ellith. You've never seen an expectant elleth, but I promise you, they're terrifying. My adar swears that my naneth threw a heavy tome at his head after he gave her a compliment."

"And that compliment was?"

"I believe he'd said something to the effect of, 'Look how well our son is growing. He will be strong and fierce if he is already so large.'"

Charlotte snorted and shook her head. "The book throwing was deserved."

"It was a compliment! Besides, he was correct; just look at me." He did a slow, exaggerated turn, and Charlotte laughed. "Fine, we won't count that one, but there have been others. The last elleth I heard of…" His expression fell, his brow tightening.

"The last expecting elleth of the Woodland Realm," Thranduil said roughly, closing the door with a snap, "single-handedly decimated half a company of orcs before reinforcements could arrive."

Charlotte shook her head in disbelief at the pain in Thranduil's eyes.

He nodded, reaching out to squeeze her fingers gently, before he said to Haedirn, "There is a feast in the dining room. You and Maethor are welcome to take what you wish before you leave."

Haedirn's eyes lit up, and he vanished in search of the promised food. She'd completely forgotten about their barely-consumed dinner. It felt odd to be worried about it when she'd just become engaged to an immortal king from a different world. Her thumb spun the ring around her finger.

"I've set aside a more intimate dinner for us," Thranduil said, his voice purring the words. His hands scrolled over her hips, locking behind her back and tugging her against him.

"If you," she chuckled as he pressed a soft kiss to her neck. "If you are implying that I am, in any way, a part of your meal, I'll have to decline."

Thranduil's laugh filled the room, and he pulled back, his eyes glittering at her. "Such a delicious thought had not occurred to me, meleth nîn."

"Mhmm."

"I meant," he said, releasing her, only to hold an arm out in offering, "that I have set aside our own meals and left the rest to your faithful guards. If you are still interested in pursuing our dinner?"

She slipped her arm through his with a grin.

Thranduil's office was immaculate, save for a single spot: his desk. Scrolls, thick leather tomes, droplets of dried evergreen wax, and stacks of maps covered the surface.

"What are we doing here?" Charlotte asked, running her fingers down the stiff black feather of a broken quill. A dark splash of ink had dripped from the tip to stain the map below.

"My sincerest apologies for the mess," Thranduil said. His warm hand was still wrapped around hers, his thumb stroking across her new adornment as he dug through the papers strewn across his desk. "Normally, I clean it before I leave." She raised a brow, and he shrugged, "Galion assists, of course."

Charlotte chuckled, but the laugh died on her lips as she examined the map closer. It was an aerial view of the Greenwood, and the artist had been thorough. Grey cobblestones marched from west to east through the image, leading to an enormous lake on the map's eastern edge. The bowl where Berior had killed the spider was visible beyond the tiny painted bridge, and a single Elvish letter marked the sanctuary where Thranduil had found them after the attack. The Northmen's old settlement to the south even included teal markings for the gates. It would have been stunning had it not been for the webs painted along the forest's southern section.

"Are these all…"

Thranduil's head snapped to see what she was pointing to, and his brows furrowed as he frowned. "Spider nests that have been located and destroyed."

"And the missing elves?"

His thumb stroked her hand, and she knew.

"There is nothing you could have done," he said. "Somehow, these creatures are hiding from me. We were only able to discover these nests by luck. The patrols have been doubled, and the only option now is to wait for an attack and follow a surviving spider back to its nest."

"And how many elves perish during such an encounter?"

The weight of his absent crown pressed his head down until his hair curtained his face. "A single elf would be too many, and yet the price is paid in triple."

"Can I help?" Charlotte asked. She rested her fingers atop his. They could soar through the forest together, hunting down the spiders that were terrorizing his people. "Like before?"

His lips tightened, and he rolled his hand to squeeze her fingers. She saw the answer in his eyes.

"Thranduil, my fëa is only affected by the necklace. I can do this."

"Have you considered removing it?"

She froze, hand darting up to cover the stone against her collarbones. Hadn't she? So many times she'd debated on ripping it from her neck and casting it into the forest to be lost forever. If Thranduil was unable to wield it, she doubted anyone else could. With her luck though…

"If I did that, I would never be able to fix this. Your river would remain enchanted, your people would stay ill… all the damage I've wrought would become permanent. I can't even consider it. Leaving these people to suffer because of me… I can't do it, Thranduil."

"I understand that well enough," he said, and for a moment, a shadow crossed his gaze. He sighed. "Very well, we will try tomorrow."

"No, we will try tonight." She straightened, setting her hands on her hips. Her feet felt weighted to the stones as if she were a part of the mountain. She was perfectly able to wander the forest with him. Still, his expression did not budge. She pursed her lips. "Or I will do it alone."

Thranduil whirled on her, rage and pain blooming in his eyes. "Do not force me to watch you fade once more! I cannot bear it. Think of Legolas. Would you subject him to such loss again so quickly?"

"I will be fine! Thranduil, we've traveled the forest song together before with no ill effects. This is important! You know this!"

"Important enough for you to die for?"

"Yes!"

Thranduil pulled back, his eyes wide. A muscle in his jaw leaped as he said, "I can see you will not be swayed. Let us have dinner together before you attempt it, at least. Besides, I did bring you here for a reason, though I cannot find it in this chaos." He waved a hand over the debris on his desk.

Charlotte felt hot and itchy. Couldn't he see how much this meant to her? She'd caused so much damage and suffering, and this was one safe way of actually helping. She glanced at his face, taking in the stressed lines about his pinched eyes and tight mouth, and felt a sigh bubbling up, dragging a swell of guilt. She wasn't going to back down on this, but she could understand his fear. They'd nearly lost each other before, and they had both lost far too many people already. She held out a peace offering. "How about I help you tidy, and you tell me what you're looking for?"

The relief in his expression nearly made her laugh.

It didn't take long to straighten the mess. She helped him sort his papers, separating the missives and contracts he'd completed from the incoming paperwork, shifting his maps and figurines to a wide side table along the wall, and disposing of the drafts that he had hastily scratched out and crumpled. There were at least two regarding the northern border farms and another four drafts to Amroth. In the carnage of his workspace, she found three broken quills, half of an arrow caked in dried blood, a tipped bottle of ink, which had been mercifully nearly empty and had only dripped a small green stream across a trading contract with a settlement of Northmen, and a shining gold stamp with the Greenwood's crest.

"It looks like Berior," Charlotte said, fingering the tines of the antlers. She needed to visit with him again soon. He'd appeared so sickly the last time she'd seen him, with his fur thin and patchy.

"It is my adar's seal," Thranduil said. "Having it near is a good reminder."

"Of?"

Thranduil paused, his fingers curling the edge of the scroll he was reading. He set it in his to-do pile and picked up the next one. "Of the strength of a good king, and the sacrifices he must make for his people. I probably should have disposed of it or tucked it away forever, but only Galion knows I have kept it, and it is so similar to my own that none truly notice it's presence should it be out. Ah!" He held up a scroll triumphantly. "I wanted to show you this."

Her fingers gingerly unraveled it, revealing a page littered with flowing script, blessedly in Common Tongue. It would have been beautiful if not for the inkblots and deep frustrated lines scratched across some of the words.

"It's a betrothal contract." He rubbed his neck and his cheeks pinked. "Well, it is the beginning of one. I have signed one, but this is the first time I have written a contract of this nature myself. Normally, I would ask Cúthon for assistance on such a matter, but he is…"

"Trying to hook you up with his daughter?"

"Indeed," he said, though his twisted brows betrayed his slight confusion. "He is unsuitable for the task, and I would require your input regardless."

Her mouth formed an O. A contract? For marriage? Her people signed a quick certificate and called it done. Aside from all the rigorous preparations for ceremonies and receptions and honeymoons, the actual act of "getting married" was relatively simple. A wave of unease rolled through her. Wedding planning. By herself.

She hadn't thought about the "after" part of Thranduil's proposal. Would there be a ceremony? Like Celebrian's? How would she get a dress? And flowers? And catering? And music? Her mind spiraled. Meluieth currently hated her. Half of Eryn Galen despised her. What would Thranduil do with a queen his people wouldn't accept? Her stomach rolled. "Can we discuss it tomorrow? I'm afraid I don't know much about marriage contracts."

"Of course." He tucked the draft away with a smile.

"Speaking of things I don't know…" she gently settled Oropher's seal into Thranduil's desk alongside the contract. "I was wondering if I might borrow Legolas's tutor at some point? I had a few questions, and I need help sorting through the library."

"I could assist you."

She eyed his newly-organized desk with a pinched smile, studying the stacks of scrolls he still had to review. "I think you already have enough to deal with. No, I was actually hoping I could meet with Golodhon? I wouldn't want to pull from Legolas's lessons, of course."

"Legolas trains with the guard in the afternoons. I will inquire with Golodhon in the morning when he arrives for Legolas's lessons."

"Thank you. I was hoping to speak to Glorfindel as well, but I'm guessing we haven't heard from Lord Elrond yet?"

"He has been considerably silent for one so verbose and pedantic." Thranduil scrunched his brows and studied the wall as if searching the dark forest behind his view. "Indeed, I sent him a missive before we departed from the settlement. Perhaps, it was lost… I sent two additional missives yesterday: one to Elrond and the other to Amroth, requesting their presence for the counsel. If we're fortunate, those two will not attempt to usurp the meeting location. It would be difficult to leave the Greenwood so soon again."

She could see the wheels turning, his brilliant mind working over the possibilities and coming up with contingency plans for each. The strain was visible in the tightness around his eyes and his clenched jaw. "Come," she said, holding her hand out for him to grab. The ring shined in the lamplight. "You promised me dinner. If Haedirn hasn't made off with all of it."

Thranduil huffed a laugh. "That is exactly why I did not leave ours at his disposal. Though I doubt he would've stolen yours."

"And you think he would have stolen his king's dinner?"

"Oh, easily." Thranduil grinned, "and he would have considered the punishment worth it."

"Into the dungeon with him then? Wait, do you have a dungeon? Does anyone actually get into enough trouble here to warrant one?"

"It does not happen often, but we've had to use our dungeon in the past. Obviously, the new one has yet to be broken in, but I estimate it will hold at least one guest before the end of the century."

Charlotte shivered. She pitied the inevitable soul that ended up a prisoner of the Woodland Realm. Thankfully, Haedirn and Maethor had left that off her cavern tour.

Thranduil escorted her through the family's private chambers, passing the dining room where a gleeful Haedirn was packing their feast, beyond the sitting room where Thranduil had proposed, until Thranduil stopped at an arched door down the hall and placed a finger to his lips.

The hinges were silent as he cracked the door to Legolas's room, though it wouldn't have mattered. Legolas lay spread eagle on his bed, where he'd somehow managed to flip himself upside down until his feet were on his pillow and his head dangled off the side. Half of his blonde hair was trapped beneath him, but the rest poured onto the stones in streams of gold. If he had a blanket, it had vanished, leaving the elfling exposed to the cool cavern air.

Thranduil rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched at the corners. "I have no idea how he manages this every night. I found him asleep on the floor yesterday morning," he whispered.

"He'll wake with a crick in his neck sleeping like that." She toed her shoes off and hiked her skirt to soften the swishing sound the fabric made as it slithered across the floor. Her hands gently scooped the sleeping elfing against her body, and Legolas snuggled his face into her shoulder and sighed.

Thranduil had retrieved the blanket from wherever it had fallen and was busy straightening it on Legolas's bed, though each time his eyes darted to her, she swore she saw something soften in his face.

He seemed so amused by Legolas's nighttime antics, but Charlotte couldn't help but wonder if Legolas had told his adar about his nightmares yet. She hadn't thought about how difficult it would be for the elfling to sleep with everything he had seen on the journey west. Did orcs haunt his steps at night? Did he wake in a cold sweat after being chased by massive spiders?

A hand on her shoulder jolted her. Thranduil had finished making the bed and had pulled back the cover for her. Legolas's brow scrunched as she tucked him in, and he reached out with weak hands, searching for her.

"Naneth?" He mumbled. His lips turned down, and his hands fisted in the blankets. "Naneth, please come back. I'm sorry… 'm sorry." The words were followed by gibberish, but she could see his eyes frantically tracking in the dark.

"Legolas?" she whispered, but he only whimpered.

"He is still asleep," Thranduil shook his head, gently prying his son's fingers from the blanket until he could cocoon Legolas's hand in the safety of his own.

"Poor Legolas," Charlotte breathed. She'd never realized how difficult it would be for Legolas to trust himself to sleep after Nemir. His room was almost as bare as it had been when she found him alone and crying in Imladris. He had a chest at the foot of his bed and a chair and small table against the wall. It was no wonder his mind so easily traveled back to that trauma. The room could have been a replica of the guest chambers in Elrond's home. And yet, night after night, knowing what was to come, her little leaf climbed into his bed and tried to sleep.

Thranduil's arms suddenly came around her body and gently turned her, pressing her into his chest. "You're shining again," he whispered. "Do you feel well? Any weakness? Dizziness?" He ducked his head to search her gaze and sighed, relieved at whatever he saw there. "Look." He shifted them slightly, so the glow of her necklace illuminated Legolas's serene expression. "Peace, at last, thanks to you."

She only hoped it would last through the night.

...

Thranduil's chambers were opulent. The moment they'd crossed through the tall double doors, they had stepped into an expansive sitting room, though she could see the hint of a bed through the large archway in the far wall. The floors were draped in furs, and elegant tapestries depicting vibrant forests and crisp winter mountains hung against the stone walls. Two cozy chairs had been shoved out of the way to make room for a small dining table for two in front of the massive fireplace. A more reasonable portion of Idhrenes's feast was kept warm by vented silver pedestals beneath covered dishes.

"One of Idhrenes's many geniuses," Thranduil explained, as he wrapped his hands in thick linen to carefully remove the warmers. He popped a lid off to show her the hot coals within. "She got tired of me letting my dinner grow cold and so fashioned a manner to keep it warm longer."

"Is it often that you insult your cook in such a way?" Charlotte teased.

"These days, I find I am fortunate that I do not require much rest." Thranduil shrugged. It was the burden of an Elvenking. He guided her into her seat before taking his own. "I am thankful that Legolas will rest well for at least part of tonight, though I am curious. What were you thinking of before?"

Charlotte nibbled her lip. Would Thranduil be insulted by her description of Legolas's room? She tried for a more delicate approach. "I was thinking about the guest chambers in Imladris. They're comfortable, of course, but they don't feel like home."

"You think Legolas does not feel at home here?" He swirled his wine glass, contemplating her words. She worried she'd offended him until he said, "I'd wondered if he was perhaps simply uninterested in material possessions. He said he brought with him all that he owned. Most of his belongings were clothing, though a good portion no longer fit him well. With the relocation, I've yet to summon a tailor to remedy the situation."

Thranduil seemed lost in his thoughts, and Charlotte was content to allow him space to think while she finally enjoyed Idhrenes's efforts. Her eyelids grew heavier with each bite, and the rest of their meal was comfortably quiet. The warmth of the fire against her side and it's soothing crackle combined with a full stomach and a long day made her wish for her bed.

How many hours had she been awake? Usually, she drifted off long before the others. Her sleep schedule was more in line with Legolas's than an adult elf. Sometimes, she figured the other elves forgot that. By her estimation, it was probably closer to midnight than she wished, and as much as she didn't want to leave Thranduil's company, she knew she needed to get to bed so she could experiment with her necklace and hopefully meet with Golodhon. "I should get some rest," she said and stood. "Dinner was delicious, thank you."

"Stay." He rose gracefully, meeting her halfway around the table, where his hands settled atop her hips. "Please?"

All of her excuses were on the edge of her lips when he clarified, "I mean, sleep here." His thumbs rubbed against her, and she swore she could feel the heat of his skin burn through the fabric.

She narrowed her eyes at his imploring gaze. "I doubt I'll get much sleep if I stay, and I'm sure tomorrow will be just as long as today."

"I vow that I will not attempt anything that shall overly disturb your slumber." He placed a fist against his heart and bowed his head slightly. Her lips fought against a grin, and she made a great show of debating it, though she knew she'd already decided.

"Hmm," she tapped her lip for dramatic effect, "I suppose, if you've vowed to behave, I could stay. It is an awful long way to my own chamber."

Thranduil winced. "That," he said, "would be my doing. There were far too many nights where I considered striding to your door."

"Well, tonight, that shouldn't be a problem, I hope?"

His smile split his face, and he pulled her closer. "Indeed not. I may actually rest tonight without you haunting my every thought."

"Haunting?"

Thranduil tipped his head back, and his laugh echoed through her body. "A poor choice of words indeed. You beguile me, entrance me…" His voice grew husky though she had frozen. "More poor words, though it is only proof that there are no adequate words in any language to describe the way you have settled into my heart. I see your fear. I can assure you, my affections are my own."

"How do you know?"

"From the moment I set eyes on you, bedraggled as you were, caked in filth and blood, I knew I needed to know you—"

"Because I was dirty?"

He rolled his eyes and smiled, a soft upturn of his lips meant just for her. "Because you stood before us all, with the tiniest uptick of your chin, a fierce gaze, and though I knew you were fearful— how could you not be amongst strangers in an unknown land? You met your circumstances with defiance and courage."

"I didn't feel very defiant. I was terrified of you at first."

Thranduil laughed, "That did not last long. I swore you would strike me down on Elrond's doorstep for pointing out the hay in your hair." His fingers wove into the strands, twisting the curls around his fingers until he could cradle her cheek. "I wondered how it would feel to run my fingers through it, just like this, and then my traitorous mind quickly devolved into less… honorable… intentions each time I spoke to you. Your fire, your kindness… This passion, my love for you, it did not occur within an instant as is a mark of the necklace's power. Nor did it manifest over hours as the river enchantment has done. I have loved you a bit more each day since you first stood in front of me with your torn clothes and fiery soul."

She flew at him this time. Diving her hands into his hair and pressing her lips to his until she was certain her heart had tumbled into his own rib cage. Thranduil met her eagerly, his mouth taking charge as his hand slid from her hip, around her spine, until he could tug her flush against him. Heat burned low in her belly, and she only pulled away long enough to breathe, but it was long enough for one of them to come to his senses.

Thranduil dropped his forehead against hers, panting. Puffs of air fluttered her hair. "If I do not stop, I will break my vows."

"You have made more than one?"

"I also vowed that I would not bond with another without speaking with Legolas first. Any elleth I bond with would be bound to my son as well. I vowed I would never be separated from him again until he has matured. Within the confines of his title, he will be free, of course, to decide his own path after that. I do not doubt that my choice in elleth will meet with his approval, nor do I doubt that my bonded will have no issue with my son."

"I can promise you that your future bonded loves your son as much as she loves his adar," she whispered, gliding her thumb across his cheek.

"Then the Valar have blessed us both." He kissed her the pad of her thumb, before pressing his lips to hers, soft and slow and full of promise. "Come, I have delayed your rest long enough. My vow remains fragile yet intact, and I do not trust myself any longer."

Thranduil's bedchamber was dominated by a substantial four-post bed, with a towering headboard carved to resemble the two trees she had seen in so much of Eryn Galen's decor. The sheets were neatly tucked, and she was surprised to find a fluffy, thick duvet folded neatly at the foot.

He left her standing at the oak footboard while he disappeared through the closest of two smaller archways built into the left wall. There was a soft thump and the rustling of fabric before he reappeared, dressed in a dark green tunic and leggings and clutching a bundle of clothes. "Here," he said, passing it to her, "I doubt that dress would be comfortable sleepwear. I've gathered one of my tunics should you wish to wear it instead."

"Oh." She hadn't thought about that. It was likely too late to trapeze down the hall for nightwear. Not to mention, she'd have to walk past Thranduil's guards to do it. Still, she did have her own clothing not too far away. Politeness and temptation warred with her, but the promise of sleep won out. "Thank you. Are you sure?"

"You've been wearing them for weeks anyway." He smiled, though it quickly turned predatory. "Seeing you draped in my clothes, knowing that you favored them, my mind went wild with it."

"I should've known they were yours. They were so fine and soft and beautiful. How did I end up with them though?"

Thranduil settled on the edge of the bed with a frown. "From my understanding, there was a mix up during the orc attack, and your clothing vanished. With the short notice, Meluieth was only able to bring mine. It was easier to slip you into those, rather than your dresses anyway. Once the rest of the party joined us at Beorn's, Meluieth disappeared into the camp for the day and was able to locate them. Obviously, I never asked for it to be returned."

"And after the river? Why then? My clothing had already been found."

"Pride once more struck me, though it was tinged again with affection, perhaps even love at the time. I wished to care for you in some way, and I knew the tunics brought you comfort, so I delivered another to Meluieth when she arrived to dress you."

"Pride or not," Charlotte said, heat blooming across her cheeks as she ducked into his closet, "I'm grateful for it."

In his closet, if it could be called that since it was nearly the size of her own chamber, she wriggled out of her gown and slipped on the tunic. As all the others had, it dropped to mid-thigh, and she had to pull the sleeves back to see her fingers. She held the soft leggings Thranduil had gifted her and debated before she smirked and set them aside. Thank goodness elves did not grow leg hair; she would have saved a small fortune on razors back in her world.

She nearly lost her nerve stepping into the bedroom. None of her very few dating excursions had included sleeping together and actually sleeping. What if she snored? Did elves snore? It seemed silly concerning herself about such a small matter when there was so much at stake in the other areas of her life. But there was so much vulnerability involved here. Thranduil had a habit of that, coaxing her beyond the careful walls she'd constructed to defend herself.

And yet…

Each time he did, he was right there to catch her. He smoothed the jagged edges of her pain and gave her space to simply feel.

She stepped into the room confidently. Thranduil's back was to her as he spread the duvet across the bed. "This is actually fortuitous. You've saved me the trek down the corridor to deliver this gift to its owner."

"You had this made me for me?"

"Of course," Thranduil said, flipping back the top so they could climb under. "I noticed you get cold, which is uncommon for an..."

Thranduil stared slack-jawed, long enough that she began to feel uncomfortable under his gaze, and she eeked out, "Well, goodnight then," and swiftly moved to the other side of the bed and dove under the covers.

"Yes." Thranduil cleared his throat and tried again, "Yes, goodnight."

She tracked his body as he glided around the room, his nimble fingers extinguishing the lamps, and then her body stiffened as the mattress depressed beneath his weight. They were silent, only the sound of their breath filling the air until Thranduil rolled and tucked her into the cove his body, slipping a leg between hers with a groan.

"You wicked little elleth," he whispered. The words skittered down her neck like leaves in the wind. "Sleep, meleth nîn. By what little remains of my will, I shall keep my vow. Though I have learned not to make such promises in the future." His lips were soft against her hair, and she let herself snuggle deeper into his embrace and the warmth he offered. Finally, she would have a night of rest that did not involve shivering under her thin blankets.

...

Thudding on the chamber doors woke her hours later, and she blinked her bleary eyes in the darkness. Thranduil was the picture of grace and swiftly rose from the covers, leaving her feeling oddly bereft as he donned a thick night robe to answer the door.

The thudding sounded again, quick staccato thumps against the wood, and Thranduil whipped it open so quickly, the two ellon on the other side stepped back.

Ellavorn was in the lead, though when he spotted her, sitting rumpled in Thranduil's bed, his eyes widened briefly, and he took an almost-natural step to his left. "An attack, your majesty. The messenger just arrived from the north."

"I will see him in my office shortly. Have Idhrenes send up tea and something for our messenger to eat."

"Already arranged, your majesty." Cúthon stepped around Ellavorn, clearly displeased with being left from the conversation. In an instant, he spotted Charlotte, and though he did not address her presence, hatred burned in his narrowed gaze. It flashed away quickly, the shadow of it left behind only in the tight lines around his pinched lips.

"Dismissed then," Thranduil said, and not waiting for a reply, he closed the door on both of them.

He popped into his closet before she could ask him anything and emerged in his elegant robes and tunic with the branching crown balanced neatly atop his blonde hair. "I will return to you shortly," he said, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Rest, meleth nîn." And then he was gone, sweeping from the chambers and leaving her marveling at the whirlwind of the past five minutes.

She could get dressed and follow him. She would be forced to wear the same gown she wore yesterday, and that had "Walk of Shame" written all over it. She doubted wearing his tunic and leggings into a meeting with soldiers and advisors was a great plan either. Besides, did she truly have any right to be there? She was only engaged to him, not bonded or married or even officially betrothed. Though she didn't like it, she burrowed into the covers with her arms crossed, determined to at least wait for him. Naturally, she fell asleep within minutes. Perhaps unnaturally, Thranduil had not returned by the time she woke in the morning.