The courtyard was packed.

Elves of every rank had gathered, their silver hair gleaming in the light, their pale faces frozen in expressions of shock and reverence. Guards lined the pathway from the gate to the grand staircase, their spears raised, their armor polished to a mirror shine. Servants knelt in rows, their heads bowed, their hands pressed flat against the cold stone.

Tauriel knelt at the front of the crowd, her hair spilling over her shoulders, her silk robe pooling around her knees. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but her face was calm.

The perfect mask of a loyal subject welcoming her sovereign home.

The Queen stood at the gate.

She was tall—taller than Tauriel remembered. Her silver hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of molten metal, untouched by the twenty years of absence. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, with faint blue veins visible at her temples and wrists. Her robes were white, simple, unadorned—no jewels, no gold, no symbols of power. She didn’t need them.

Her eyes were the same. Pale silver, like winter moons, cold and endless.

Tauriel had seen those eyes many times before. They had watched her rise through the ranks. They had approved her breeding programs and had granted her authority over the sanctuary.

And then they had vanished.

For twenty years, those eyes had been nowhere.

Now they were here.

The Queen walked forward, her bare feet silent on the cobblestones. The crowd parted around her like water around a stone. No one spoke. No one breathed. Even the wind seemed to hold still.

She stopped in front of Tauriel.

Tauriel lowered her head further, her forehead nearly touching the ground. "Welcome home, Your Majesty. We have awaited your return for two decades. The sanctuary stands ready to serve you."

The Queen said nothing.

The silence stretched, thin and brittle, like ice about to crack.

Then the Queen spoke. Her voice was soft—so soft that Tauriel had to strain to hear it—but it carried through the courtyard like a blade through silk.

"Rise, Tauriel."

Tauriel rose.

The Queen’s silver eyes studied her face, her robes, her posture. There was no warmth in that gaze. No recognition. Just... assessment.

"You have been busy," the Queen said. It was not a question.

Tauriel inclined her head. "I have tried to maintain your vision, Your Majesty. To preserve the sanctuary. To continue the work."

"The work." The Queen’s lips curved into something that was not quite a smile. "Yes. I have heard about your work."

Tauriel’s stomach tightened. Heard from whom? The other elves? The servants? The spies she had planted among her own people? She didn’t know how much the Queen already knew, and that uncertainty was worse than any threat.

But the Queen did not elaborate.

Instead, she raised her hand—a pale, slender hand with fingers too long, nails too sharp—and gestured toward the castle.

"Walk with me," she said.

Tauriel fell into step beside her, half a pace behind, as was proper. The crowd remained kneeling until the two of them had passed through the grand doors and into the great hall.

The hall was empty.

The servants who should have been there had been dismissed. The guards who should have lined the walls had been sent elsewhere. Only Tauriel and the Queen walked the length of the marble floor, their footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

They stopped at the throne.

The Queen did not sit. She turned to face Tauriel, her silver eyes cold.

"I have one order for you," the Queen said. "Before anything else."

Tauriel waited.

"The remaining male elves in the dungeon," the Queen continued. "Slaughter them. All of them. Remove their bodies. Burn them. Leave no trace."

Tauriel’s blood ran cold.

"Your Majesty—"

"That is my order." The Queen’s voice did not rise, but it sharpened, becoming a blade’s edge. "Carry it out tonight. I want no evidence of their existence by dawn."

Tauriel’s mind raced. The male elves were her breeding stock. Her research subjects. Her only hope of creating the perfect mage. Without them, years of work would be destroyed. Decades of torture, experimentation, and suffering—all of it erased in a single night.

But she could not refuse.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Tauriel said, bowing her head. "It will be done."

The Queen nodded once. Then she turned and walked toward the private chambers, her white robes trailing behind her like a ghost’s shroud.

She did not look back.

The interaction ended there.

-

Tauriel stood alone in the great hall for a long moment, her fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight. Then she moved.

She summoned her loyalists—a small group of female elves who had served her without question for years. They gathered in her private chamber, their faces hard, their eyes empty.

"The Queen has given an order," Tauriel said, her voice flat. "The male elves in the dungeon are to be slaughtered. Tonight. All of them."

One of the loyalists frowned. "All of them, my lady? Even the... the valuable ones?"

"All of them." Tauriel’s voice cracked like ice. "Burn the bodies. Leave nothing."

The loyalists exchanged glances but did not argue. They knew better. They filed out of the chamber, their boots silent on the stone floor, and headed toward the dungeon.

Tauriel followed at a distance.

The dungeon was deep beneath the castle, accessible only through a hidden staircase behind the kitchens. The torchlight flickered against the damp walls, casting long shadows across the iron bars.

The male elves were inside their cells, as always. Some were sleeping. Some were staring at the walls. Some were weeping softly, their bodies broken, their minds shattered.

They did not resist.

The loyalists moved quickly, efficiently. Daggers slid between ribs. Necks were snapped. Bodies were dragged to the incinerator at the end of the hallway—a massive furnace that had been built decades ago, designed to dispose of the failed subjects.

Within an hour, it was a done.

Tauriel stood at the entrance to the dungeon, watching the last of the bodies disappear into the fire. Her face was expressionless, but her stomach churned.

Twenty years of work. Gone.

She turned and walked back to her chamber.

-

The castle felt different now. Quieter. Emptier. The absence of the male elves was palpable—a void where suffering had once lived.

Tauriel sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall.

The Queen dying would have been the best case scenario. A corpse to mourn, a funeral to arrange, a succession to manage. Tauriel could have continued her work unopposed, free from oversight, free from judgment.

But the Queen was not dead.

A knock came at the door could be heard.

Tauriel did not move. "Enter."

A young female elf stepped inside, her face pale, her hands trembling. "My lady. The Queen has summoned you. To her private chambers."

Tauriel’s jaw tightened. Already. She had known this was coming. The other elves—the ones who were not her loyalists—they would have briefed the Queen by now. They would have told her about the deaths, Thalion, and Jason. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Tauriel had no idea how much they would spill. This was a delicate situation. Some of those elves were afraid of her and some were loyal to the Queen above all else.

The truth could be anywhere between a whisper and a scream.

Tauriel rose from the bed and smoothed her robes. She was not nervous. She had faced worse than an angry queen. But she was... uncomfortable.

Because there was one question that gnawed at her, one question that made her skin crawl.

Where was the Queen all this time?

If she was alive—truly alive, not hidden, not imprisoned, not lost—where had she been for twenty years? Why had she abandoned her throne? Why had she let Tauriel build an empire in her absence?

And why had she chosen now to return?

Tauriel did not have the answers.

And that was what made her uncomfortable.

She walked to the door, her footsteps steady, her mask firmly in place.

The Queen was waiting.