Silence is the only thing this house has ever obeyed.

It sits beneath the forest like it belongs to it—buried in stone, hidden from roads, forgotten by maps. The windows are narrow. The walls are older than memory. Nothing enters unless I permit it.

That includes people.

A **file** rests on my desk.

Marriage.

One signature. One witness. One outcome.

Power has never required affection. Only permanence.

My grandfather believed alliances strengthened bloodlines. He collected families the way other men collected victories. Loud. Public. Wasteful.

I prefer cleaner methods.

No rival house.

No political bargain.

No debt owed.

Only a girl whose existence changes nothing.

Zyara Shah.

My gaze lingers on the photograph as long required before I close the file.

She isn't remarkable.

She isn't meant to be.

The extraordinary attract attention. Attention creates variables. Variables become problems.

She comes from a family that survives instead of conquers. People raised that way mistake obedience for peace.

Useful.

The marriage will remain hidden.

Not because it is shameful.

Because ownership is safest when no one knows what has already been claimed.

Outside, branches drag against the stone walls. The forest has done that every night for as long as I remember. It sounds less like nature and more like something trying to get in.

It never does.

Neither will anyone else. By dawn, the papers would be ready.

By law, she will carry my name.

Whether she ever carries herself again is a different question.

I extinguish the lamp.

Darkness returns to its rightful place.

Soon, I acquire a wife.Nothing more.