PROLOGUE

TA 2770

Never before have the walls of her home felt like a breathing, living entity cutting off her air, closing on Eleni like a dark pulsing thing with claws and teeth.

She feels too large, too hot for her in these halls.

There is no room as she watches her father stride across towards his throne, discarding his pieces of armor.

She cannot breathe, anger tightening her ribcage.

“Why?” She forces out and it comes out somewhere between sorrow and rage. “You could have helped them. You could have stopped Smaug together instead of letting him desolate the land. You just—you just shut the gates and left them to their fate.”

Her father makes a tsk-ing sound, and sends her a look over his shoulder. “And risk the wrath of the dragon?” He asks, a bored tone of dismissal in his voice. “Would you have me lead our men to sure slaughter for the sake of a few dwarves?”

Something akin to horror takes hold of her heart as she stares at her father.

Never before has she felt this rift, this unbreachable chasm between them. Not like this, not like—not like she doesn't know this man at all. Like he is a strange entity he cannot comprehend as she can feel her heart cracking like glass with each word.

“You could have brought them here,” she whispers, eyes burning.

With anger or grief, she does not know.

It just hurts.

Her father takes his seat on the throne, finally looking at her again, face blank and cold. “My decision is final, Eleni.”

She flinches a little as the hardness in his voice.

And all she can do is stare and stare.

Her fingers clench, tips shaking with it all.

He left them there. Their neighbors. Countless people—dead. He had gone to fight the dragon, so why hadn't he? The dwarves of Erebor, the men of Dale. They were the only ones who could have helped them in time.

“Why?” She breathes again. “Why?”

How could her father have left them there, running from the broken ruins of their home?

“I warned them,” her father replies, a warning in the sharp edge of his voice. “I warned Thrór of what would happen from his greed. He did not listen. Now he may reap what he sowed.”

Eleni shakes her head in refusal. “You can't—”

“Enough,” her father hisses and her teeth click together. “I will hear no more of this. The matter is over, do you hear me? My decision is done.”

This is not a father's advice.

It is her King's command.

Her jaw tightens as she stares at him.

For one moment that stretches into eternity, the room is silent as if the entire Greenwood is holding its breath. Watching, waiting.

There are some things that cannot be forgiven, Eleni learns in this moment. And some that cannot be forgotten.

And some you cannot let stand, you must move against.

It is the first and last time in her immortal life that the Silvan Elves hold their breath, watching their princess. Heir to Greenwood, a gentle soul of too much heart—and wonder whether this is the moment power will be pitted against power.

For Eleni will never let this stand and Thranduil will never put a blade against his daughter.

For a split moment, the world holds its breath and waits for which gives in: in the end, it is her.

Eleni, daughter of Thranduil and heir to Greenwood, chooses exile.

And to this day, she has not returned