Letter Addressed to the Baroness of Boreven

To my dearest friend, Gwen

I hope this letter finds you in good health, my dear, though I am fully aware of the dark cloud that hangs over your house at the loss of your eldest son, Rowan. As I know you are aware, I have never known the pleasure of having a child of my own, and so I cannot imagine the pain and grief that must settle on your heart. I've heard to further complicate the matter, that not a single bone of his was recovered, and might I suggest leaving a space in your bone croft empty then in his memory? It was a curious solution that my great-aunt used when her husband was lost at sea, which did seem to help with carrying on his memory in some small way. Oh, my Lovely, I wish that I could find the time to be there for the funeral rights, but I send along these small trinkets that you'll find enclosed in my stead in the hopes of your understanding as to why I must go absent.

Moving on to other matters, as the world continues on even in times of great grief, I have heard word that understandable unrest has the high courts buzzing over La'Trest and the capability of the Viotto line. While I know your husband to be a good and loyal man, I would suggest that you put it to his ear to loosen ties, lest your house get dragged down with their fall. I, of course, have always supported the Viottos and I see no reason for that to change presently. However my name has weathered greater political storms than that which is currently brewing, I fear that you and yours would become little more than collateral damage should more powerful names start to push their weight. Until next I hear from you, may the saints bless and keep you and your family.

With love,
Evelyn Du Fontine, Duchess of Recheston

***

Letter Addressed to the Duchess of Recheston

To my dearest friend, Eve

Your letter was a beacon of comfort in such dark times, and I cherished every word. Your idea was so kind and thoughtful, and I have already set my servants to the task. But there is a silver lining to every tragedy and while I will miss Rowan deeply, something in my heart told me that this would happen. He was too much like his father, and even now I fear for Emmanuel that he will not hear reason even when coming from me. He holds to his old loyalties as a carriage stuck fast in thick mud, unmovable. Now, please do not think of me poorly for what I say next. I mean it only in thought and not in earnest, but some days I wish for Reginald to be older so that he could take up where his brother and father falter. We've already heard talk of investigations into what happened the night of the festival and were not shocked to find our names among those being targeted. Emmanuel has assured me that they'll find no fault in his conduct, but I have sent our daughters to stay with relatives for fear that his confidence is misplaced. Surely, I know that he would never conduct himself in any way that was traitorous to the crown or the people of Lorellia, but evidence is easily planted and he has too many enemies for me to sleep soundly. Unfortunately, I must end my letter here, for more delegates arrive here daily from the surrounding provinces. May the saints bless and keep you, my friend, until next we speak.

Sincerely,
Gwendoline Dujardin De Saint-Pierre

***

Ardaik 16th - Tulot, Serellia

Artus was awoken by the chilled draft that breezed in through Flann's balcony, ruffling the heavy curtains and clashing with the heat from the giant fireplace at the opposite end of the room. The two competing forces made most of the stone room livable except for the occasional wave of icy air that broke across the foot of Flann's large bed. Each pillar looked like it had been carved from a small tree with a tangle of branches that formed the headboard. Flann was dozing half under a pile of furs and blankets while the rest of his exposed chest, arm, and leg were seemingly fine with being subjected to the cooler temperatures. Artus, however, was covered nearly up to his eyeballs, except for one foot which, after it had slipped out, was quickly pulled back into the haven of warmth beneath the furs. It took several minutes before he turned over and spied a fur-lined robe only a few feet away. He planned his move before slipping out from under the covers and grabbing it, quickly wrapping it around his bare form before he padded across the stone floor to a window.

It was bright outside, well past first light, and Artus was surprised that Bhalthier had not sent for him, worry pooling in his chest as he weighed the possibility that the marquis might have left him behind. He hoped the window might face south enough for him to catch a glimpse of the front gate or stables and see if Cullach's carriage was still stationed there, but the view he found was far grander. Flann's windows and balcony didn't face the front or side of the castle, but the back and all Artus could see was an endless chain of snow-capped peaks, with deep pine forests blanking the foothills and sides. The sight of them was as wild and foreign as the prince snoring lightly just across the room.

Padding back down the short steps from the balcony, Artus immediately searched Flann's room for his clothing. It was several seconds before his stomach dropped, and he remembered quite clearly that Flann had carried him to his bed chamber from the bathroom, wrapped in a heavy warm cotton towel, but their clothes had been abandoned where they're left them when they'd each undressed.

He couldn't possibly sneak back through the west wing, passed not only Lord Cullach's room but the princess's room as well, wearing only a robe of Flann's. Pilphering something of Flann's was his only option.

The doors on the heavy, large wooden wardrobe near the hearth issued a wooden creak that felt far louder than it should have, causing Artus to cringe and cast a quick glance over his shoulder toward the bed. 

The redhead's snoring ceased, and he stirred, then issued a heavy yawn as if announcing his consciousness to the world. Next, Flann surveyed his bed for Artus, his heart sinking a little when he found it vacant but lifted, in a way that anyone might count fortunate to have another being gaze upon them, the moment that they settled on Artus in front of the wardrobe.

"Morning, Artie," Flann chuffed as he noticed how his robe looked even larger when swathed around the attractive Lorellian. "Looks good on ya."

Artus laughed nervously as he pulled a tunic and some pants out of the wardrobe. "Thank you," Artus replied softly as he draped the clothing he intended to borrow over the arm of one of Flann's tall-backed chairs. He likely looked foolish, but of course, Flann wouldn't say such a thing...nor could the Serellian have mercy on him by being cold or dismissive. Flann was going to be himself. Charming and sweet. "You're going to be more difficult than ever to part myself from, aren't you?" There was no bitterness or resentment in Artus's accusation. Longing, certainly, but nothing at all ill-meaning as he shyly opened the robe only enough that he could begin to step into the pants. "Lord Cullach may have left already..."  

"Well, if he has, I wun be minding ta ask ya back ta bed," Flann murmured with a smirk. Then issuing another yawn, he drew himself out from under the furs and covers and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He barely seemed to take notice of the cold as he strode over to a table and poured himself a cup of water from the carafe. He took a healthy drink to clear his throat and then dumped the rest into a small bowl. He splashed it over his face and head before toweling off and heading towards the wardrobe as though it were his daily routine.

"Flann..." Artus paused momentarily, organizing his thoughts as he removed the robe, tucking his arms in toward himself tightly against the chilly gusts while he made sense of the way the tunic should go over his head. "Are you not worried that being this close will only make it worse when we must concede each other to someone else?"

Artus's question hit Flann rather bluntly as his expression dropped and his head tilted to the side, like a hound trying to understand a command that it had never heard before. "Aye, I suppose... but just because something wun last forever, does that make it any less worth having?" Flann wondered as he came up and wrapped his solid arms around the other prince. "Sometimes that makes them even more special."

It defied reason how Flann could make Artus feel so whole. He'd not known the Serellian for long, but he could not restrain the smile that the other man's words and actions elicited from him, and he didn't try. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Flann and leaned up, placing a light but slow kiss on Flann's lower lip.

Flann quickly deepened the kiss until a loud knock echoed through the room, pulling his attention toward the door.

"Flann?" an undoubtedly female voice called from the other side of the door.

"Aye?" Flann shouted back, and either he'd not expected or had no concern for the fact that the door was already opening. In stepped Alorta, who paused a moment as she regarded the two of them before tossing her fiery locks over her shoulder and crossing her arms.

"Oh, I do love being right," the princess snickered. "Bhalthier is looking for you, Artus..." she said, unable the contain the grin on her features.

"Ey, Lorta, ya could at least turn around until we're decent," Flann protested.

"Hah, like you haven't been running around the castle naked from the day you could walk! Who hasn't seen you bare by now?" she tossed back while she scoffed. "Besides, aint like there's much ta see, certainly no Folian Spar, I can tell you that!"

"Folian? How in the tallest branch do ya even know what Folian looks like nude?" Flann asked in disbelief.

"Women talk, Flann, and moreover, they talk about men!" Alorta tossed back, rolling her eyes as she finally turned towards the fire, though it seemed more of exasperation than out of politeness.

"Wull... what do they say bout me?" Flann wondered, his tone shifting as his ego seemed intrigued by what impressive things might have been said about him. But Alorta read his tone all too well, even for looking the other way, and quickly exacted her revenge.

"I said they talk about men, Flann.... real men."

"Ya well, ya also said women, but I ain't correct you..." Flann jabbed back with all the skill of an experienced sibling counterargument.

Artus was too embarrassed to conjure words. It was entirely inappropriate to be seen in such a state of undress and, worse still, that Alorta had plainly come to the rather obvious conclusion about the nature of his and Flann's relationship. Artus gently pulled away from Flann, pulling on the tunic and tucking it in to make up for his lack of any belt or sash. "Lord Cullach is still here, then?"

"He is," Alorta said with her attention still directed towards the fireplace. "The Citadel's envoys arrived early this morning, delaying his departure... lucky for you two." The way she added the last part almost sounded as though she were poking fun at them. "That was all, so I'll be on my way." With that, the princess strode back to the door.

Once the door had been closed behind her, Artus looked at Flann. "How concerned must we be that she's...aware of us?"

"Heh, yer acting like yer still in Lorellia. Lorta's my sister. She might have a sharp tongue, but she's no more dangerous than any other idle gossips," Flann assured.

Artus nodded, though he wasn't entirely convinced. Just because he wasn't in his home kingdom hardly meant that his actions in Serellia couldn't become well-traveled. "Would you accompany me?" 

"O'course," Flann replied as he slid his own tunic over his head.