To my dear Alexander,
It has been a long while since you have visited me in Lithmore city. I had hoped when you left us that you would be back once a year as you said, but life, as they say, tends as often to burn bridges as to build them. I hope the Vavardi is properly treating you. I will tell father if she has been untoward–Only write to me and tell me whether or not.
My en passant came and went, and madly celebrated by our father. I have come to suspect that he has gotten it in his head that Alessa and Leda will never marry; that if he has hope of tousling with his grandchildren before he is too old and feeble, the responsibility of securing his chances lie upon my shoulders. To my consuming humiliation he all but said as much to my betrothed–that is Aidan ab Breckenridge, to be specific. Lord but I do miss your confidence, and it does feel strange that you are not here to inspect him.
For the past year I have had near-free rein to explore the city of our birth and upbringing. It cannot come as a surprise to you that father would not loosen his grip until I could be called a legitimate woman. I have had adventures, Alexander; real ones. Though they are not the same caliber as those that you boast of in your letters, they have run the gamut from harrowing to meaningful nonetheless. There have been suitors, too, and before you start chortling as I know that you are, I ought remark that I am no longer all elbows and knees. You would be aghast if you saw me now, having left when I was but thirteen. It has been four years since then.
I am the Magnate of the Merchant’s Guild now, too, and I serve Her Royal Majesty the Dowager Queen Cellen ab Samael as Lady-in-Waiting. I have made friends, Alexander–Real friends, and of the dearest sort. I would not disparage the childhood we were so blessed to enjoy, but I had not a hint of how lonely life could be inside those walls; not until I was unburdened by our father to escape them.
My betrothed is a native of Lithmore city, as we are, though his background paints a troubling portrait. A fine family once, since riddled by patricide and worse. There are times I have reason for fear of Mister ab Breckenridge, details of which I will not divulge. I will say only that if father knew how violent his temperament he would be certain to forbid the union. But Aidan is also a comely man, generous with his affections, and gallant in his way. He can be kind-hearted and most oft presents himself as a gentleman. Barring interference we are to be wedded in two days’ time by His Holiness the Cardinal. I have rarely felt so ill at ease. With fondness for Mister ab Breckenridge, there is another–a friend of the dearest sort–that my heart leans intimately toward. Another man with an equally questionable reputation, but nothing in his manner or history beyond the chattel of his lessers to degrade him. An acquaintance imparted that true love comes to pass after the long years of marriage. I hope she was right.
I hope that you are happy, and that the lack of letters does not bode poorly for your safety. I do not mind that I have not heard from you, I only worry that it bodes ill. I should be much relieved if you would but send a blank page. Would you, Alex? You need not write, just confirm that you are well?
With All My Heart,
