Letters
My dearest prince,
I hope you will not mind my combining of endearments in the greeting of this letter. You are far too princely looking in your coat to be called by your name, and yet I am not keen to call you pompous either.
The events of the night seem so far away as I gaze upon you dozing in a puddle of dawn’s first light.
You’re likely to be cross with me upon reading this as I’ve now outed myself as having slept very little.
I should place the blame on your presence so you will feel sorry, but in truth, I woke up with my mind abuzz.
My future unfolds before me like a letter, only it seems to be half written.
If Soren and Ambrose are brought to justice, then my objective is complete.
However, I cannot return home with only that accomplishment.
My father will care little of the role I played.
He will only care that I have kept up our bargain.
I have little faith in my ability to rise to the top of my class. I am outwitted. Weak in comparison to most. Ill-equipped for the life of an heir. I fear for my return to the Wild Holm.
I am so tired of fear.
Yours,
Wren