A Small Sample of Letters Written by Prince Brendon, Previously Unopened

A Small Sample of Letters Written by Prince Brendon, Previously Unopened

To Her Highness Princess Francesca Woeful,

I don’t exactly know where to begin. Though we have been engaged for most of our lives, I know nothing about you. My mother insists that it is better to learn through speaking with the person themself, so she refuses to tell me even simple things like your favorite color. I hope that these letters offer us both an opportunity to learn about each other and will provide useful insights into the people we are.

Wishing you well,

Brendon Banes

P.S. My favorite color is blue.

Dear Princess Francesca,

I hope all is well in Woe. My first two letters have not received a response. Perhaps this letter will end the same way. If you truly don’t wish to hear from me, please tell me, and I will stop writing. Since we are to be married, I don’t want to cause you any additional stress or unhappiness, even if my mere existence is the source.

Sincerely,

Brendon B.

Dear Francesca,

You’re probably tired of hearing about all the mundane facts of my day by now. I wish I had something more interesting to write to you about, but the truth is that my life is very simple. I don’t know what palace life in Woe is like—I hope you’ll tell me, one of these days—but here most of my days are spent in service to the kingdom. Though one interesting thing did happen last week. A farm near the castle had three births in one day: a new foal, a litter of kittens, and a new baby. Kit and I were each offered one of the kittens, but I declined. I’m so busy during the day, someone else would be responsible for taking care of it anyway, and I don’t think that’s fair to the poor cat.

Kit called me an idiot and claimed both of them. Their new names are Fortune and Chance. She can’t take them home until they’ve been weaned, but she visits them every day.

Yours,

Brendon

Dear Fran,

Kit has been assigned as my personal bodyguard. When I asked who was supposed to guard me from her, she looked ready to hit me, but she somehow managed to compose herself. I almost shed a tear at how well she’s matured. She cut her hair short and dyed it red to match mine, which I told her wasn’t necessary, of course, but she has taken to this role with a ridiculous amount of glee. She’s been quite a pest, mimicking me every time she’s on duty—practicing the way I talk and walk like she’s an actor in a play.

Because of her new position, she’s moved into the castle and has a room close to mine. The cats had to join her, of course, and she claimed the sweet little angels—her words—would stay in her room. She lied. They roam all over the castle, getting underfoot and distracting the staff. Yesterday, Fortune interrupted a court session and jumped onto father’s lap in the middle of a verdict on a grain dispute. He managed to keep a straight face as he stroked the cat like nothing was strange, but afterwards Kit received a stern lecture on animals in the castle.

It probably won’t change anything.

From,

Brendon

Dearest,

I apologize for being remiss in writing to you. I know it’s been half a year and I have no excuse except this: I didn’t feel like it.

I’m sorry, that was too blunt. It’s just difficult to keep writing to you when you never reply. I don’t even know if you read any of these. I really thought the anecdote about Chance eating half of the yule goose would earn a response of some sort. The silence afterwards …

I wonder if you throw these letters into the fire. I wonder if you read them and are so disgusted with me that you tear them into minuscule pieces. I wonder if you’re kind or cruel. I wonder if you will always treat me like I don’t exist.

I wonder which of us will be more miserable in this marriage.

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be maudlin. If you are reading this, that’s not really fair to you. I’m sure you have your reasons for not replying. I wish I knew them.

Brendon