Dyan Harvest:
I should have burned your letter without reading it. I should have ordered that no more reach my hands. I didn't. I read it. Twice. And here I am, writing to you again.
Do not confuse that with affection. Do not fall into the temptation of thinking that your letter has softened me. It has not. But there are words I cannot allow to go unanswered. Not for you, but for me. Because if I remain silent, it would be like admitting you are right. And you are not.
You say you knew me, that I knew you. I don't deny it. There was a time when I believed that. When I thought that having you near was enough. And perhaps it was true for a while. Perhaps. But the truth is that you always wanted something I could not give you. Something no throne allows.
Your love was a refuge. I know. But refuges also become prisons when one can no longer breathe inside. And you, Dyan, turned your loyalty into a debt I never asked for. You looked at me as if you expected me to one day cast off the crown, and simply remain with you. And I... I cannot cast off myself.
You say you didn't leave me alone. That you left me projects, paths, foundations. And you believe that compensates for your absence? No, Dyan. What you left were the ruins of a story you yourself abandoned when I most needed someone to stay.
If you expected to be begged, you chose the wrong queen. And if you didn't expect that, why didn't you say goodbye clearly? Why did you leave tangled words, open letters, half-open doors? Were you perhaps hoping I would run after you?
I do not run. Not for love. Not for nostalgia. Not for you.
I will not call you a traitor, though your departure so resembles a betrayal that even those closest to me whisper it secretly. But I will not say it. Because I knew your heart, and even with its cracks, it was once sincere. And that, at least that, I will not deny you.
Do not try to make me the villain of your story. I was not the woman who closed her eyes to love. It was you who stopped fighting for it. Perhaps out of weariness, perhaps out of cowardice. I do not judge it. But do not pretend now to be a martyr. The life you chose to live, you chose to live without me. That is your victory. And also your loss.
I will continue to rule. Not for you. Not for the plans we left half-built. But for the people. Because they deserve a queen who does not tremble before a letter, nor hesitates before a poorly written goodbye.
I don't know if I will read you again. Perhaps. Perhaps not. But do not confuse my silences with hope. Sometimes silence is the only dignity left when love has turned to shadow.
Eleanor Willfrost
Queen Regent.