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.
