There was no ceremony today.
Commander Hale stood alone in the ring, shoulders squared, face drawn into new lines.
“War room in twenty,” he said. “Marsh commanders get briefed. And…”
His voice thinned. “Prepare arrangements for Roland. His body came back with us.”
Silence was a living thing.
Amalia didn’t weep. She didn’t crumble. She pressed her lips together, spine straight, as if anger alone were keeping her upright.
Elder Neris lifted a small carved box. Two keys rested inside—one heavy iron, one polished silver.
“By bond-law, Amalia, you are Roland’s fated mate,” Neris said. “His estate, his house, and his personal locker here are yours to manage.”
Amalia stared down at the cold metal. One heartbeat. Then she closed her fingers over the keys without ceremony. Talia reached to
