Chapter Text
From: Violet Sorrengail, Queen of Tyrrendor.
Dearest Mira,
I survived the journey home, but I am entirely convinced that leaving Xaden alone with the children for three days was a near-fatal error in judgment. Not because he can't handle them—though he certainly learned some humility—but because our friends are absolute menaces who should never, under any circumstances, be left unsupervised in a castle.
You would think a house full of hardened elite riders could manage three small children. Instead, I returned to what can only be described as a festive natural disaster.
Apparently, the moment my dragon cleared the mountains, the entire estate dissolved into absolute chaos. Ridoc arrived with a crate of experimental itching powder and somehow managed to weaponize our children. They turned the Great Hall into a massive fortress made of every silk cushion and velvet blanket we own, launched a full-scale water balloon war, and—I am not even joking—somehow coated the entire main foyer in sentient, iridescent pink and blue glitter. I am still finding sparkles in the stone grout, and I think Xaden will be washing blue dust out of his hair for a week.
It gets worse. You remember General Aetos? Since he’s doing manual labor around here to pay off his debts, the kids and Ridoc decided he would make an excellent guinea pig. They rigged a trap that dusted the poor man in hydro-reactive itching powder while hanging by his ankles and then swaddled him in a heavy wool blanket in the infirmary to "keep him from scratching."By the time I walked through the front doors on the third day, the entire household was in a state of absolute panic because they had managed to lose baby Aine.
While Dain was frantically trying to save the cake, and Sloane and Nyxra were literally using a hammer to ‘cream’ the butter, Aine had used her new crawling skills to scale a decorative stone ledge near the ceiling.
Mira, she fell.
I almost gasped when Xaden told me about this, he said he was too far across the room, and his shadows couldn't reach her in time. But right at that exact second, Aetos—who had escaped his wool cocoon, hopped into a bucket of black paint, and was sprinting through the castle like a lunatic to escape the itching—came barreling into the kitchen. He hit a massive patch of spilled butter on the floor, went completely horizontal, and slid across the room like a human sled.
Aine landed right on his stomach. I’m not kidding, they all said the same thing and I saw a bit of the situation myself. It knocked the wind out of him and gave him a spectacular black eye when he hit the island, but he caught her. They shot straight down the cellar stairs together and landed in a pile of grain sacks. When Xaden and the others found them, Aetos was half-unconscious, but Aine was just sitting on his chest, completely unharmed, laughing her head off and holding the dribble cup like a trophy.
I walked into the Great Hall to find a ruined welcome banner, a kitchen covered in grease, and my husband looking like he had aged ten years.
I gave them all a severe tongue-lashing, made Ridoc scrub the kitchens, and sent the rest of them to clean up the wreckage. Xaden was completely wracked with guilt for losing sight of her, but I reminded him that Aine clearly has the Sorrengail streak in her—she's too clever and far too quick for her own good. Once the kids were asleep, we actually had a good laugh about it. We even sent Aetos a massive jug of the good ale as a thank-you, though I think he’s still too concussed to drink it.
I already miss the quietness of Poromiel, right now I’m writing this letter while ignoring Caelum who’s asking if we could just change the cellar stairs to a slide so they can ‘go again’. If Drake ever wants to test how strong his castle’s structure is, then I’ll just come over with the kids and Ridoc. Write back soon!
With all my love,
Violet
From Mira Sorrengail-Cordella, Crown Princess of Poromiel,
Violet,
Drake and I are currently sitting by the hearth in our quarters, and I have to tell you, we have read your letter three times now because we couldn't quite believe what we were seeing. Drake actually had to pour us both a glass of wine halfway through just so we could process the mental image of a former general of Navarre operating as an accidental, butter-slicked human sled.
First of all, thank gods Aine is completely fine. I nearly had a heart attack right here on the velvet settee when I read the word fell. Leave it to a Sorrengail babe to look at a sheer stone ledge, decide it’s an excellent playground, and then treat a terrifying plunge like a thrilling ride at a midsummer festival. She clearly inherits our family’s complete lack of self-preservation and Xaden’s talent for dramatic timing.
But honestly, Violet? A house full of hardened, battle-tested elite riders defeated by three children under the age of seven? I am utterly delighted. I always knew Xaden Riorson was a terrifying force on the battlefield, but knowing he can be utterly dismantled by a giggling baby and a rogue crate of glitter brings me an immense amount of joy. Please tell him for me that the next time he commands an army, he should remember to check the rafters for crawling toddlers first.
Drake has been laughing so hard he nearly choked. He wants me to tell you that while Poromiel prides itself on its hospitality, he is formally placing a ban on Ridoc ever crossing our borders. We just finished renovating the east wing after the wedding, and the thought of iridescent pink and blue dust becoming a permanent architectural feature of the palace is enough to make his crown slip. If you bring the children, you are more than welcome, but you must leave the glitters at the border.
Though, I must give credit where it’s due—I never thought I would see the day where we owed a debt of gratitude to an Aetos. The universe certainly has a twisted sense of humor. To escape an itching-powder cocoon, step into a paint bucket, and accidentally execute a flawless rescue mission is... well, it’s a strategy they certainly never taught us at the War College. Dain must be absolutely mortified, which is really just an added bonus to the entire situation. I hope the man enjoys his jug of ale; he certainly earned every single drop and that black eye.
Things here in Poromiel are wonderful, if incredibly quiet by comparison. Married life is lovely, though Drake is far too sensible to ever let things escalate into a water balloon war. Sometimes I find myself missing the sheer chaos of Tyrrendor, but after reading your account of the day, I think I am perfectly content with my peaceful mornings and glitter-free rugs for the time being.
From: Retired General, servant Aetos
Let it be known that I hadn’t wrote this by my own free will, nor did I possess any burning desire to put ink to parchment while my left eye remains a vivid shade of purple and my joints ache with the memory of a stone basement staircase.-Fuck all of you I’ll never recover from that
However, since the Royal Messenger has apparently been instructed to stand outside my infirmary door until this document is sealed, and since your father still holds the keys to my quarters, I am fulfilling your request to answer your apology letters so you can receive it from the royal messenger like your parents.
So here is my reply,
To Princess Nyxra:
Your apology regarding the flour and the butter is noted. However, please be advised that baking ingredients are meant for consumption, not for creating a grease-slicked hazard inside a royal fortress. I am still attempting to wash the scent of creamed butter out of my uniform, and the healers inform me that I might have a scar on my left eyebrow that may never fully recover from the impact with the kitchen island. In the future, please leave the heavy tools to the blacksmiths and keep the hammers why was it even there? out of the kitchen.
To Prince Caelum:
Now, as for your card, Prince Caelum. You asked if we could perform the cellar slide again for your upcoming birthday.
NO. You then asked if we could do it for Christmas, the midsummer solstice, the anniversary of the unification, every Tuesday when the floors are shiny, or "basically any special day on the calendar."
Let me be entirely clear, young prince, Absolutely, unequivocally, NO.
There will be no repeat performance. There will be no "Slide Part Two." I am not celebrating your birth by coating myself in dairy products and hurtling down the basement stairs again. My back which feels like it had been dragged across a wooden washboard strictly forbid it. If you wish to experience high-speed thrills for your birthday, I suggest you ask your parents for a very fast pony or buy an actual sled. Do not look at a retired military official and see a toboggan. And I beg you not to go and see your father so you can get permission I have a feeling your father is going to allow it, just please don’t
To Baby Princess Aine:
You are entirely too young to read this, but someone will undoubtedly read it to you. You are welcome for the catch. However, the next time you decide to test your climbing skills on a high stone ledge, I highly recommend you rely on your father’s shadows rather than a passing, heavily sedated servant. My ribcage is not a landing pad, and your grip is entirely too strong for a human nose. Also, return the ceramic cup to the scribe quarters; your father’s sanity seems entirely dependent on its location.
The jug of ale sent by your parents was lovely. While it does somewhat soothe the lingering itch of Ridoc’s experimental powders, it does not entirely erase the memory of being wrapped like a winter rug.
Consider your apologies officially filed and acknowledged. Now, please take this letter and stop torturing me leave me alone. I hate to admit but I’m an old man and I require absolute silence if this black eye is ever going to fade.
yours,
Aetos
From: Caelum, Nyxra and Aine, prince and princesses of Tyrrendor
We got the Messenger letter! It was very exciting when the guard knocked on the dining room door and blew the little horn, even though Daddy told him he didn't need to do the horn part indoors because it made the babies cry.
First, we have to tell you that your crossed-out words didn't work at all. You didn't press the ink hard enough, and Mommy used to be a scribe, so she has special eyes for finding hidden text. When she read the part where you wrote “Fuck all of you,” her face went very flat and her eyebrows did the pointy thing that means someone is about to get extra dragon drills. She made a loud clicking sound with her tongue and said that foul language in a missive to the crown's children is a violation of household conduct. She says you are going to copy thirty pages of the Navarrian Codex on Decorum as soon as your eye turns from purple to yellow. We tried to tell her it was a secret word, but she said there are no secrets from a Sorrengail.
Nyxra’s Section: I am sorry about your eyebrow scar, but Uncle Garrick is here for dinner tonight, and he looks at your letter and says that a scar from a kitchen island is very funny and you should tell people it was from a gryphon instead. It would look cool anyway. Auntie Sloane says the hammer was in the kitchen because she was using it to fix a loose shelf earlier, and it just felt like the right tool for the butter because the butter was to hard. We promise not to use weapons on food anymore unless the food is alive.
Caelum’s Section: I read your answer about my birthday. You wrote NO in very big letters, but Uncle Ridoc says that in military strategy, a "No" is just an opening offer for a negotiation. He said if we put extra blankets at the bottom of the stairs and use a mattress instead of grain sacks, it wouldn't be a hazard at all. But Daddy read the part where you begged me not to ask him for permission. Daddy laughed so hard he spilled his soup, and then he looked at Mommy and said, "See? Even Aetos knows I’m the fun parent." Mommy told him to be quiet and eat his bread, but I think if I ask for Christmas instead of my birthday, we can figure something out. We won't use dairy next time. Uncle Garrick says oil is much faster.
Aine’s Section (Dictated by her gurgles): Aine is currently biting the edge of the royal table. She likes her teeth right now. Mommy took the twelfth cup back and put it on the top shelf behind the special glass, so it is safe. Aine says "Wheee" every time someone says your name, so we think she misses the sled.
From Commander Dain: "Father, please stop writing things that Xaden can use as leverage. I am begging you. Just take the ale and stay in the infirmary until they forget about the birthday party."
From Lieutenant Bodhi: You’re still going to get a taste of that ruler Aetos, I’m not done with you.
From Ridoc Gamlyn: Tell me when you’re healed.
From Sloan Mairi:The hammer has been returned to the armory. The cake tasted like dust anyway because we forgot the sugar while we were defending the eggs. I hope your joints feel better soon.
From Lieutenant Imogen and General Garrick: I’d pay good twenty gold to see you as a sled Aetos. I’ll be there next Christmas.
From Queen Violet Sorrengail-Riorson: Aetos, if I ever see the word “Fuck” addressed to my six-year-old daughter again, the next thing you slide down will be the side of Basgiath without a dragon. Watch your mouth around the children. Thank you again for the catch, and your decorum lines are expected on my desk by Monday.
From Xaden: "The grease is already ordered, Aetos. Start stretching.