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Summary
You turn to stare at him for a long moment, no longer blinded by his golden glow. It's dim in the dusk, flickering over his shoulders and between each finger like he's an oil lamp simmering out.
‘I wrote to you,’ you say, voice carefully empty. If he notices, it doesn't show. ‘Lost three carriers to the wilds because I was too stubborn and stupid to stop sending you letters.’
or: dirk is to be king. jake never cared much for the court.
