Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
“At last!” I say, standing in the middle of the paved road. The glow of the swamplight lamp attached to his saddle reveals a frown on the man’s handsome features. I suppose it isn’t often that someone stalls him before he can reach his destination. Other than perhaps bandits somewhere along the stretches of road leading through the forest.
His gaze passes me up and down as he looks for clues to my identity, but I haven’t made it easy for him. I was never much into fashion, and unless I’m somewhere in an official capacity, my clothing of choice consists of leather pants and loose, flowing shirts. Granted, it is cold enough that I’m wearing my jacket, but the Bloodweed crest is embroidered on its back. I suppose he must have noticed the green gold of my buttons and buckles, because he bows, lowering his head until I can barely see his face.
“Ser?”
“Ser Tristan. Prince Tristan Bloodweed. Is there any mail for me?” I ask impatiently and hold out my hand. It’s highly irregular for a royal to pick up his own post, so I don’t blame him for not recognizing me. I just want to read any message coming from Nate as soon as possible.
I have never been in such a frenzy over a lover. My stomach is clenching in anticipation, because there must be some mail from the tower.
The postman freezes, then slides off his horse and bows much lower than before. “Prince Tristan Bloodweed! My apologies, I have never delivered to the palace before. Of course… I mean, there is plenty of mail for the royal family. I am certain I’ve seen your name on one of them,” he adds, opening one of the saddlebags to reveal neat rows of folded paper.
He licks his lips, briefly glancing at Lady, but seeing me pet her forehead seems to have a reassuring effect on him. “That’s... an unusually tame wolf, Ser Tristan. Will they too be off the menu, like the bats?” he asks, browsing through the letters.
I’m so focused on the envelopes it takes me a few seconds to catch on, but I eventually laugh. Right. Luke loves bats, so the Lord of the Nocturne Court forbade all the elves in his principality from consuming them. Wolves aren’t particularly tasty, with the exception of their hearts, so they’re rarely eaten anyway. I know the answer as soon as I look into Lady’s big, glowing red eyes.
“Very probable. She’s a dog though. They’re different. Obedient and kind, even if protective.” The postman raises his eyebrows at me. “She’s from the human realm,” I add quickly.
His full lips form a funnel perfect for the whistle he makes next. “I’ll be damned! I’ve never seen such an exotic creature. I would… very much like to learn more about them,” he muses, approaching me with a single piece of paper bearing Gloombane’s seal. “I hate to be so forward, but would that be possible, Prince Tristan?”
I’m so focused on the seal, I only realize now that he’s trying to catch my gaze, and he’s a little flushed. When he passes me the letter, he slides his fingers over mine for just a moment, but enough to be bold.
My mind is so far away from even considering anyone other than Nate that I’m taken by surprise. I hold up the letter. “This is too urgent. Another time maybe, thank you,” I say to soften the blow, and walk off, because I’m greedy to be alone with the precious piece of paper that holds my future.
I whistle at Lady when she stays back by the postman for too long, and she makes a happy yap before following me.
I break the seal as soon as I’m on the stairs inside, my heart pounding.
Chapter 14
Tristan
The tone of the letter is dry.
Maybe even drier than the previous ones, and the whole message doesn’t even take up a full page. Most humans are not well-versed in the art of calligraphy, but the writing in front of me is unusually sloppy, with uneven breaks between words, wonky lines, and even an inkblot bearing the partial print of Nate’s finger.
Is a note written hastily and without care really all I deserve?
There’s a hint of iron to the scent clinging to the letter, and following a couple of rather dispassionate sentences about the excitement of shadowcraft, new foods, and the craftsmanship put into every single item in the tower, is his signature, as well as a postscript signed by Gloombane himself.
I scowl, unhappy to see his name in an elegant flourish at the bottom of the page, but it’s the words written in his hand that have the ground crumbling under my feet.
As touching as your care for my promised’s wellbeing is, Nate doesn’t wish to further continue your correspondence. But you will likely see him next month, when we make our vows.