My Dearest Fia,
With all my love and loyalty,
It seems that all of Solterra has felt the weight of sorrow on our tongues from the new regime. My heart aches that I have been kept apart from you because our newest king, His Majesty Raum, has instilled such harsh measures upon us all. The soldiers that patrol the streets after dark keep me from going to you as I wish, but the King has no knowledge of Solterra's resistance.
It is unbearable for me to be kept away from my Lady for so long, and I know you must feel the same. But I implore you to keep your spirits high. Raum can't harm you. He doesn't know you.
How I lament not being there to see your face as you read this. I hope you have not forgotten me.
The snapdragons reminded me much of you. They say: You are safe, and you are not alone.
I am always and forever thinking of you. These troubling times shall pass.
It is unbearable for me to be kept away from my Lady for so long, and I know you must feel the same. But I implore you to keep your spirits high. Raum can't harm you. He doesn't know you.
How I lament not being there to see your face as you read this. I hope you have not forgotten me.
The snapdragons reminded me much of you. They say: You are safe, and you are not alone.
I am always and forever thinking of you. These troubling times shall pass.
With all my love and loyalty,
VERONA
Caine placed his black feather quill into the ink pot and leaned back to survey his work. His lips lifted into a grimace when he considered what he was doing.
It wasn't the prospect of getting caught that agitated him. He knew that most, if not all, messenger doves were intercepted now by the King's spies, and their letters searched — if he thought about it that way, his reasoning for hiding his message inside a love letter made sound sense. No spy, including himself, would spend more than a minute skimming through such lovelorn ramblings. (He had taken much inspiration from a particularly besotted young man's letter, though he had diluted the passion of his own sentences to keep his dignity intact.)
It was the prospect of Fia reading it that left him slightly sick. If she ever found out who the mysterious Verona was... Caine shuddered as he rolled the parchment into a tight spiral. He had no intentions of her ever finding out.
A bundle of snapdragons lay wrapped besides his ink pot. If Fia knew of the language of flowers, she would know that snapdragons conveyed deception. And the four perfect stems of lavender buds... an oddly specific number. It barely made a bouquet. Caine wished he did not have to make his message so cryptic, but he knew Fia would note the oddity of the flowers. The strangeness of the number. Four.
Fourth. [This post must be read on desktop!]
@Seraphina
It wasn't the prospect of getting caught that agitated him. He knew that most, if not all, messenger doves were intercepted now by the King's spies, and their letters searched — if he thought about it that way, his reasoning for hiding his message inside a love letter made sound sense. No spy, including himself, would spend more than a minute skimming through such lovelorn ramblings. (He had taken much inspiration from a particularly besotted young man's letter, though he had diluted the passion of his own sentences to keep his dignity intact.)
It was the prospect of Fia reading it that left him slightly sick. If she ever found out who the mysterious Verona was... Caine shuddered as he rolled the parchment into a tight spiral. He had no intentions of her ever finding out.
A bundle of snapdragons lay wrapped besides his ink pot. If Fia knew of the language of flowers, she would know that snapdragons conveyed deception. And the four perfect stems of lavender buds... an oddly specific number. It barely made a bouquet. Caine wished he did not have to make his message so cryptic, but he knew Fia would note the oddity of the flowers. The strangeness of the number. Four.
Fourth. [This post must be read on desktop!]
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