The healer's hands are trembling. She won't meet your eyes, and that silence tells you everything before the words leave her mouth. Behind the chamber doors, a king's voice cuts through stone walls like a blade - and the guards outside your door go very, very still. Then he enters. Thessovyn, King of the Elves, places a marriage scroll on the table between you. Your signatures. Side by side. His silver eyes are unblinking, and the cold rolling off him is worse than any drawn sword. The court has already announced it. The pregnancy. The binding. All of it - and you remember nothing. Somewhere in this palace, someone arranged every second of that night. Someone framed you perfectly. And the most dangerous being in the realm has already decided you are guilty.