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He doesn’t realize how long he’s repeatedly been opening and closing the empty book chest until he slams it shut a little too loud, snapping him out of his reverie. His eyes dart left and right and his ears stay alert in case he accidentally woke anyone up.
He hears nothing, so hopefully the coast is clear. He opens the book chest again, and the letter he’s waited all night for sits perfectly inside, having appeared out of thin air.
He needs not wait to carefully examine the envelope or admire its design (far more cleaner-cut and colorful than what he's received from others over the years) as he immediately gets to reading.
Prince Baxter Alexander.
You’re getting better at pressuring me to reply to you faster and faster. It scares me a little.
Regarding your story, I think what you did for their sake was quite admirable. I can’t even imagine going as far as to pretend to be Cove’s fiancée for his protection, let alone for 5 years! But back to you. Since you didn’t end up falling in love with each other, does this mean Lady Ysabel’s lover is much more good-looking than you are? Would you mind getting a portrait of the Laird Qiu for your friend?
Silly Iri.
(You’ve never asked me for my portrait. You wound me. Nonetheless, I forgive you.)
You of all people should be able to know that not every long-standing friendship necessarily has the potential to end in romance.
Like us?
We are a bit of a special case because I do not think of Ysabel every day.
(Oh, what am I going to do with you?)
Ever the type to give people the answers they want to hear now, are you? You’re surrounded by far more impressive people in your daily life, people you can actually talk to and see. I highly doubt that you think of me every day.
(PS It’s way past midnight, so I should probably get ready for bed if I don’t want to be late for work. Sleep well, my prince.)
Irina Clarice, my sick twisted friend.
What? Is laying my entire self bare to you, body and soul, in the written word last night not enough for you? After all the times I’ve spent my evenings waiting for your letters?
I specifically chose this time of year to get away from my parents under the guise of beating the heat and helping the monks at the scriptorium. Summer, after all, is the perfect time to do something crazy, pursue a new beauty, to start anew. I confess to you that I imagined nightly sneak-outs to rendezvous with someone who’s caught my eye, but all this time, I’ve been holed up in the scriptorium’s writing room, idly and politely waiting by the book chest on the desk in anticipation to see if you have replied to what I’ve written about my latest misadventures. Before I knew it, I’d already spent the entirety of my summer getting to know you. Now I do know you, and there is no one else like you anywhere else in the world.
Tragically, we shall never have the chance to meet, so I don’t think whatever it is I’m feeling in my chest can be called love. My fate is sealed.
Still, whenever the sight of someone so beautiful catches my eye, thoughts of you fill my head, and I become almost upset, complaining that no matter who I meet, they will never be anything like my Iri. So, my dear friend, do not tell me that I do not think of you every day.
I do not recall you mentioning having felt this way towards your childhood companions, nor your devilishly handsome Xander from the antique shop, so I shall regrettably but with dignity take this as a victory.
On a lonely night on the month of heat’s end,
Your Baxter Alexander.
(PS Clarence and I are departing tomorrow at dawn for Golden Grove to attend Qiu’s wedding, just in time for the beginning of fall. Bringing the book chest with me would be far too bothersome for such a short trip. I expect to be away for about three to four days.
Even so, worry not your pretty little head and get a good night’s rest without my letters to bother you, Iri. I hope you do not miss me too much.)