You've Got Mail!!
Frederic receives her letter almost immediately, of course, but doesn’t reply for several weeks. This is customary. It’s just difficult for him to fathom his thoughts into words— no, that wasn’t right.
Could it be that Lyra was especially distracting? (Unlikely. Now that was a thought that Freddie rarely entertained!) As he finally finds he time to set his pen to paper, he tells himself that he is just a thorough, but preoccupied man. There was nothing wrong with wanting to read her letters a little more carefully, or writing several drafts. (Nor was anything amiss when he kept all of her ribbons.) Thorough, that was it.
The letter is cleanly printed, but if you hold up the paper to the light, indentations of fervid crossed out pen marks are plain to see.
Dearest Lyra,
Greetings again, milady. Your Murkrow doesn’t seem too fond of me, to be honest. It’s a prickly one. Then again, you do tell me that I give a similar impression.
I hope my father will recover soon, too, but his pride outweighs almost all other concerns, including his general well-being. I do understand, in a sense. I think he just refuses to be pitied. Your thoughts are verily appreciated, but… I wouldn’t let this matter concern you. A smiling face suits you far better than a knitted brow.
Why, a private recital from the Princess Lysandra? It would be my distinct pleasure. I will hold you to that.
My family hasn’t attended your region’s Independence Day since the scandal… Indeed, it’s been a long while since I’ve last seen you at all. But if it is your coronation that is taking place, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It might take some convincing from the council, however. I suppose they believe politics requires a delicate touch.
(My mother would most likely faint if she saw me discussing matters with you so bluntly, but it is the current state of affairs.) For now, I can only assure you that I will do all in my power to attend.
Yours, Freddie
P.S: I think of Jaime often… but it isn’t good to dwell on such a bittersweet subject. He’d be very proud of you, though.
The light taps on her window were completely ignored. Murkrow squawked loudly and flapped it's wings, trying to grab it's owner's attention. Lyra was busy pacing in her study. Her hands covered in a light layer of sweat due to wringing them tightly. Something was distracting the princess from even realizing a little Natu stood outside her window. Eventually, she received his letter.
A week had passed when she replied. It wasn't like her to be tardy with responding to her letters. Though, this time it was a little difficult. Due to the upcoming events that the whole kingdom was anticipating for. The boundless energy she carried was slowly draining out of her. She found herself slouching over her desk, unable to find the motivation to sit up straight.
With a quill in her hand, she writes as if the words flowed out from the tip. Brown orbs carefully watching the black curves settling on the parchment. She gives out a tired sigh. How does one try to sound lively when you're exhausted?
