Jasper stormed out of his room. The guards startled.

"Did anyone approach this door during the evening?" he threw at them, very agitated.

Irons and Sandon approached, alarmed, and he repeated his question in dawnian.

"A servant came to prepare your room for the night," Sandon informed him. "Your sister's maid of honor also. She greeted us before retiring. What happened, Your Highness?"

The soldier already had his hand on the hilt of his saber.

"She brought us some pastries from the reception," Irons added in a dreamy tone. "It's kind of her, isn't it? She always seems so reserved, who would have thought she could be so considerate?"

The other guards confirmed the statements of the two men.

"Someone found a way to leave an anonymous letter in my chambers," Jasper explained. "Keep an eye out, and if you hear any suspicious noise coming from that room, don't hesitate to force the door, whether I'm there or not."

Jasper returned to his room and picked up the letter again. He rubbed his neck with embarrassment. It didn't make sense. Miss Agate had no reason to send him such a letter. It was written in dawnian, but upon rereading it, the prince noticed a few mistakes that a well-educated native wouldn't have made. It couldn't have been the work of the young woman. The maid taking care of his room might have been paid to leave the letter conspicuously.

While thinking, he leaned out the window. There was only one floor below, trees with comfortable branches, and enough ornamentation on the façade for a motivated person to climb. In short, the appearance of the letter at the entrance to his chambers wasn't a mystery worthy of reflection. Its content, however, deserved more attention.

Why did his mysterious correspondent want him to question the morality of Princess Acacia? Even if it wasn't pleasant for his ego, there was a simple explanation for his fiancée's attitude. She didn't choose him. There was no need to look further. This alleged defender of morality was mostly an intriguer.

Unable to decide to go to bed, Jasper paced like a caged lion in his room for a long time. His mind concocted a thousand hypotheses about the sender of the letter and their reasons for doing so. A Duskian rejected by Princess Acacia seeking revenge? A war nostalgic trying to sabotage his marriage? The possibilities were numerous and, in the absence of more evidence, impossible to verify.

Jasper eventually sat down at a small marquetry desk by one of the windows. To help him think, he took out a list he had started regarding Princess Acacia.

Not vain, little interest in jewelry and clothing.

Likes flowers (but not in hair).

Likes horses??

This proposition was underlined with hope.

Recalling the day that had just passed, he dipped a quill into the inkwell and added:

Strongly attached to the Kingdom of Dusk

Excellent musician (ask for the name of the instrument).

Rough hands, why? (riding? Should I give her gloves?)

Not diplomatic / speaks without thinking (risk at court)

He sighed. Watching Acacia's interactions with the reception guests worried him. He needed a wife who would support him in managing the kingdom, not someone who contributed to alienating all the notables of the court. The sudden idea of seeing her face his mother made him suppress a nervous laugh. They were so different. Yet, he shouldn't rush. Acacia must also be under tremendous pressure, and her current behavior might just be a symptom of her distress.

Thoughtful, he reread his list. In this barely sketched tableau, where could there be dubious morality? Did he even have the same moral compass as the letter's author? Without truly believing it, Jasper clung to this idea. Perhaps he wouldn't find absolutely anything to blame in his fiancée's behavior?

He read the letter again, focusing this time on the calligraphy. Could it have come from the hand of a woman or a man? From an educated person? From nobility? From an official?

On a piece of paper, he even copied a few words, trying to imitate the handwriting. He hoped to thus rediscover the mindset of the person who had written them. It was not particularly conclusive. The writing was beautiful but without flourishes. Something that could characterize just about anyone.

Despite the anxiety about what the next day would bring, Jasper eventually succumbed to fatigue once more. Seeing his eyelids close on their own, he carefully stored the letter and the list in the drawer before changing to go to bed.

The next day dragged on with unbearable slowness. Seated between Beryl and Acacia in the front row of an open-air amphitheater, he found it difficult to follow the events unfolding on stage. Instead of the actors, he observed his fiancée, sideways. Was her behavior that of someone anticipating a secret rendezvous in the evening? Had she dressed differently as if to meet a lover? Because, of course, even if he refused to consider it, that was the most plausible possibility. But the answer to both questions was no. She behaved perfectly normally. As far as he could judge her normality, having known her for only a few days. She laughed and jeered enthusiastically in response to situations he hadn't understood since he hadn't paid any attention. He ended up feeling a bit ashamed of neglecting the actors' play. With some effort, he discerned a story of love and betrayal. But that exhausted all the concentration he could muster that day.

After applauding the actors profusely, they climbed the stands to leave the place. Even though the play had been given in their honor, they weren't alone, and around them, the spectators exchanged their impressions of the performance. Several people came to greet them. Jasper then decided to change his target and observe everyone who approached Acacia. Perhaps their gestures or attitude would betray them? He prepared to stand staunchly next to her, arms crossed and vigilant. This was without counting on their escort, who quickly surrounded them to extract them from the theater and the crowd.

As soon as the guards slowed down, Acacia turned to them.

"So, how did you find the play?" she asked them, impatient.

Every part of her body screamed how much she had loved it, but she had enough restraint to wait for everyone to give their opinion.

"Cyst didn't have his usual performance," Willow remarked. "I hope he isn't unwell."

"It was very entertaining," Jasper ventured without taking too much risk. "And I really liked the costumes."

"And we must say that at the moment, we feel rather concerned about the theme of the story," added Acacia in a provocative tone.

Willow burst into laughter.

"Oh! You're exaggerating!" exclaimed Beryl.

But she, too, laughed heartily. Embarrassed to be the only one who didn't get it, Jasper pretended to find the content of a passing cart extraordinarily interesting.

The afternoon passed in the same feverish way. And when evening came, Jasper realized he wouldn't be able to say what had occupied his day. There had been music, he was sure of that. A concert perhaps? After his sister, Willow had also noticed his absent-mindedness. Acacia alone didn't care, or she hadn't noticed anything, which was hardly more reassuring. The more the sun declined, the more often he searched for the large bronze hourglasses with his eyes, generously present in the palace. At every chime, he jumped and counted the strikes. Which was perfectly ridiculous, in broad daylight, with Acacia just a few steps away from him.

As the sun declined, flooding the dining room with the warm light of the setting sun, his throat was so tight that Jasper barely touched his plate's contents. In any case, all the dishes tasted the same to his palate. A bitter taste of anxiety.

"Aren't you hungry? It's unlike you to pick at your food," Beryl worried several times.

He reassured her with a smile. He mustn't talk to her about the letter. To alarm her without reason was the last thing to do.

After dinner, as they chatted in a more intimate sitting room, Acacia excused herself, citing fatigue from the previous evening. Jaw clenched, Jasper watched her leave. The moment of truth was near. The young man used the same excuse to slip away a little later.

"Already? Don't you want to stay a little longer with us?" Beryl asked, suddenly alarmed.

And she discreetly glanced in Willow's direction.

"I'm sorry, I can't stay any longer."

He hastened to move away before anyone found a reason to keep him. He could almost feel the weight of his sister's disapproving gaze fixed on his back. But this time, she would have to manage on her own. Or maybe not entirely. Despite his anxiety, he heard a chair creak and Lady Spinel's voice.

"Who wants to play cards with me? I know the perfect game for three players."

Once in his room, he changed into dark, practical clothes and comfortable boots. The guards would never let him wander around the palace without an escort. And without explanations from him. It was better to manage on his own.

Armed with his previous observations, he climbed onto the window ledge. He crouched down, then, with a powerful leap, he projected himself onto the knotty branch of a tree leaning against the facade.

He descended as best he could, scraping his hands on the bark. He was almost at the bottom when his foot slipped abruptly. Under the shock, his fingers let go. He fell unceremoniously and twisted his ankle. A groan of pain escaped him. He straightened up unsteadily. Teeth clenched, furious with his own clumsiness, he hobbled among the bushes to the rendezvous point.

A pale moon reflected in the waters of the Spring Fountain. The delicate scents of the night filled the air. An odor of damp earth and grass mixed with the lingering fragrance of flowers. Yet Jasper noticed none of it. Anxiety numbed his heart. He hid behind the trunk of the tall yew tree and waited in the darkness.

The minutes ticked by. The sudden hooting of an owl made him jump. Then it was a distant crackle he couldn't identify. Still no one. Should he be glad? Or had he missed the time? His laborious progress through the branches had made him lose track of time.

On edge, he decided to leave the shelter of his hiding place. He moved stealthily, trying as best he could to muffle the gravel's crunch under his soles. He circled the fountain while staying hidden behind its coping. He then walked along a small path alongside the tall flowerbeds. In his wake, the few remaining crickets suddenly fell silent.

His ears pricked up, and he finally thought he heard voices. He bent his tall figure in half and stealthily approached the source of the murmurs, staying in the shadow of the bushes. He recognized a section of the wall on which a jasmine clung, which Acacia had shown them during the garden tour. She had praised its nighttime fragrance extensively. So Jasper wasn't surprised to recognize her silhouette at the foot of the wall. After all, what better place for a romantic rendezvous, he thought bitterly. She wore loose pants and a cloak she had pulled the hood over her head. In front of her stood a young man in simple clothing. Jasper couldn't see his face. Holding his breath, he listened, but they were speaking too low. He couldn't catch a single phrase. He searched for a closer hiding place, in vain. To get closer, he would have had to emerge into the open.

So he widened his eyes and watched. And what he saw didn't please him. Acacia's face was animated, joyful. Several times, she covered her mouth with her hand as if stifling a laugh. The young man had moved, and he now had his back to him. Jasper couldn't guess his expression anymore. Finally, Acacia pulled something from the folds of her pants and handed it to him. The other made gestures of denial, but the princess stepped forward and took his hands, closing them over her gift. What was it? A token of love? A farewell gift? Jasper placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, jaw clenched. By the Mighty Golden Dragon, if that dandy dared to kiss her, he wouldn't hesitate to leap out of his hiding spot weapon in hand to demand satisfaction! Fortunately for his physical integrity, the young man didn't dare. He bowed several times and then ran off between the bushes. Acacia left just as quickly without looking back.

For a moment, Jasper toyed with the idea of confronting her immediately, without giving her time to invent excuses. But then he imagined the impression he would make, bursting out of a bush, dirty and scratched, demanding explanations like the jealous husband in a burlesque comedy, and he was overcome with shame. It wasn't like him. He had to think about the situation. Appearances could be deceiving.

The night didn't bring him any advice, far from it. Discovering that his fiancée might have a lover seemed quite logical considering her lack of enthusiasm in getting to know him. He knew it would be unreasonable to blame her for having had a life before meeting him. No, he wasn't jealous; he hadn't yet had time to become attached to her. His anger came from elsewhere. It seemed to him that she was throwing a wrench into his grand plan for the future of their two peoples. That she didn't care when she should, just as much as he did, be aware of the stakes.

Was he in the wrong? Could he be blamed for trying to make pleasant what was merely their duty? Perhaps he should find someone to confide in. Someone who could offer the necessary perspective to better understand the situation. But who? Beryl would have been the most natural choice, yet he hesitated to risk worrying his sister. Among the other members of the delegation, he wasn't close enough to anyone to open up in such a way. There were Sandon and Irons, companions on many escapades, but he had never broached such a personal topic with them. He would have expected teasing from them rather than advice on his love life. Furthermore, would they dare to put him back in his place if he went astray, or would they unconditionally support him, as he suspected? Sandon, perhaps, with his frankness, could offer good advice. However, the old soldier, notoriously confirmed in his bachelorhood, was not known for his skill with women.

Jasper pressed a pillow against his face and let out a long sigh. He suddenly felt very alone.