Dear Evan,

I have arrived at my destination, and must I say, you incorrectly called my new residence a house. You should have said mansion so I was prepared for the sight.

I thought I had seen enough opulence in the capital to never be impressed again, but Idellia’s estates have an entirely different kind of grandeur.

There is no excess for the sake of status—everything here has a purpose. Every carving on the archways, every tapestry that adorns the halls, every garden tucked between courtyards tells a story.

It is unsettling to be surrounded by beauty that means something rather than beauty that exists only to flaunt wealth.

I must admit, it’s nice to have maids and attendants again. I had nearly forgotten what it felt like to live the life of a noble.

I will write more later this week.

Cordially,
Lady Astrid Cromwell, your fourth cousin (that’s Cassandra to you)

P.S. Thank you

P.P.S. Should I address you as “Your Imperial Highness” now that we are separated and will become strangers soon?

***

Dear Cassandra,

I see you’re making good use of the magic letter sender I gave you. I’m glad you’re using it. Waiting for a whole month to receive a letter from you would be unbearable.

I may be an archduke, but I want nothing to do with the imperial lineage I have the misfortune of being a part of.

If you call me anything other than Evan, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you.

Sincerely,
Just Evan

P.S. “Cordially?”

***

Dear Just Evan,

Ohhhh, you’re into spanking, are you?

Yours,

Cassandra

***

Dear Cassandra,

For the right person, I’m into anything she wants me to be.

More Yours,

Evan

***

The first week in Idellia passed in a strange blur of new sights, new expectations, and a startling sense of quiet.

After Evan rescued me from prison, my life had become one carefully laid trap after another, every move dictated by the ruthless nature of the capital.

Here, there was no game to be played. No calculated whispers, no hidden knives waiting behind charming smiles.

Instead, there were artisans, musicians, sculptors, and architects—people who dedicated their lives to creating rather than destroying.

It unsettled me.

The duchy was still recovering from the war, but even in their rebuilding, there was warmth.

People worked together not out of obligation or manipulation but because they believed in something greater than themselves.

The city streets bustled not with desperate merchants clawing for status but with craftsmen eager to share their work, painters displaying unfinished masterpieces, weavers threading silk into new stories.

The air itself felt different—lighter.

And yet, despite the beauty, despite the sense of community, I had never felt more out of place.

I had spent too much focus perfecting the art of wielding power through subtlety.

Here, power came from influence, but not the kind I was used to. Idellia’s influence was earned through respect, not fear. Through loyalty, not careful coercion.

And I did not yet know how to exist in a world like that.

***

Dear Evan,

Have you ever found yourself somewhere that makes you question everything you thought you knew?

I walk through the streets of this city, and instead of watching my back for threats, I watch the people. I watch the way they work, the way they speak to each other, the way they build things that will outlast them.

It makes me wonder what I’ve been building all this time.

But don’t worry, I still make time for my usual scheming. I’ve met with the Duke, and he has accepted my offer of financial assistance in rebuilding the duchy.

It seems my connections in the merchant guild are already proving useful. If this keeps up, I might just become too powerful.

If that happens, will you still be able to handle me?

Yours,

Cassandra

***

Dear Cassandra,

I already can’t handle you. But that’s never stopped me from trying.

You sound different. I don’t mean in your words, but in what you aren’t saying. You’ve only been there for a short time, and already, you’re seeing the world differently.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

But I hope you don’t change too much. I like you exactly as you are.

Just Evan

***

Dear Just Evan,

Are you saying you miss me?

Yours,

Cassandra

***

Dear Cassandra,

Of course not. I just miss having someone to torment.

…Alright, maybe a little.

Yours,

Evan

***

Tamil Otron was one of the first people I met in Idellia.

He didn’t bow too deeply. Didn’t stumble over my false title. Didn’t try to impress me with borrowed charm or secondhand flattery.

In other words, he wasn’t from the capital.

At seventeen, Tamil still had the softness of youth—a too-skinny frame, collarbones that jutted just a little too sharply, and a mop of unruly blond hair that refused to be tamed. He was shorter than me by a few inches, though he held himself like someone taller. Not out of arrogance, but because he hadn’t yet noticed his body hadn’t caught up to his spirit.

His eyes were the most unsettling part. Gold. Not amber, not honey—gold, like something meant for crowns or curses. And they didn’t dart nervously like most boys his age. They watched. Steady. Absorbing.

He was a scholar, not a noble, but his confidence came from somewhere older than bloodlines.

Sharp mind. Quick tongue. A kind of unguarded brightness I didn’t know what to do with. There was no cynicism in him yet—just curiosity, and a sense that the world could still be made better if someone clever enough tried.

Since I was new to Idellia, I hadn’t decided yet if his optimism came from his youth or from the fact that he’d never been chewed up by the empire and spit back out. Maybe both.

He greeted me on our second meeting with a respectful nod and a flicker of that unsettling gold gaze. “Lady Astrid,” he said. “I heard you were the one who restored the aqueduct project. Impressive. Most nobles prefer ribbon cuttings to manual labor.”

I raised a brow. “And yet, here I am. Elbow-deep in irrigation logistics.”

A smile tugged at his mouth—boyish, sincere. “You might be dangerous.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Take it however you like,” he said easily. “But I think you’re going to change this place.”

I hadn’t known whether he meant that as praise or a warning.

Later, once I understood how things worked in Idellia, I realized it had been both.

***

Dear Evan,

I’ve met someone who reminds me a little of you. Not in personality, of course—you’re insufferable, and he isn’t.

But he watches people the way you do. He sees things that others overlook.

I think he might become someone important to me.

I think Idellia might become important to me.

Would that bother you?

Yours,

Cassandra

***

Dear Cassandra,

I don’t have the right to be bothered.

But I think I would be, anyway.

Yours,

Evan

***

The nights were colder in Idellia.

The air smelled of salt and fresh ink, of unfinished paintings and sculpted stone. I sat on the balcony of my new residence—the mansion Evan had so casually referred to as a house—holding his latest letter in my hands.

I had expected his usual wit, another teasing remark, a playful flirtation to make me laugh.

Instead, his words had settled in my chest, warm and heavy.

I don’t have the right to be bothered. But I think I would be, anyway.

A confession wrapped in restraint.

I traced my fingers over the ink, imagining him sitting at his desk, hesitating before writing those words.

A year apart. That had seemed like nothing when I boarded the ship.

Now, I wasn’t so sure.

I folded the letter carefully and tucked it away.

I would write back tomorrow.

For now, I let myself miss him.