King of red towers, lord of iron law, You name me daughter of omen, Born beneath black clouds— But I was not made for your chains. I was not yours to cage in gold, Not yours to mold with music. I heard a voice beyond your walls— And my heart flew like a hawk. What care I for cloaks and carved torcs? What joy in feasting beside fear? The air in awen was sweet with silence, But cold as a crypt. You offered me safety— But Noisha gave me life. His glance warmed me Where your throne turned me to frost You speak of riches— I speak of love. You counted silver— I counted hours. He was laughter in the glen, Light on the loch, His breath in the morning Was more than all your kingdom. I do not deny the sorrow— I drank it, drop by drop. I watched him fall in your feast-hall, His blood on your stones, His brothers beside him, Their eyes wide, mouths full of silence. You gave me back to the world With no world left. And then—to Owen. Rot-mouthed, cruel-handed. You gave me not mourning but mockery, A year in shadow and shame. That was your justice, That was your peace. Better the wolf’s den Than a bed bought with blood. You say I chose— Aye, I did. I chose love. I chose wildness. I chose to live, Though it led to ruin. But I did not choose your hatred, Nor the ruin you wrapped me in. You call, still. I do not come. You dream of me, But I have no dreams. Only wind walks with me now, Only stone remembers my name. Let it be carved rightly— Not queen, not slave— But flame that would not kneel.
