Rain beat softly against the high windows of her chamber, the sound like the quiet tears of heaven. Elswyth sat at her desk, a single candle flickering beside her. The parchment before her was blank, yet her heart swelled with words that could no longer be silenced.
Her hand shook as she dipped the quill in ink. Slowly, deliberately, she wrote:
My dearest Caedmon,
Though the world may bind me to another, my heart has already chosen you. In halls filled with laughter, it is your silence I crave. In chambers gilded with gold, it is your hand I dream of. I would give all crowns, all kingdoms, for the simple joy of being yours. You are my only truth. You are the only crown I desire.
Her eyes blurred with unshed tears as she read the words back. To write them was to confess treason, yet to leave them unsaid felt like death. She folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with wax, then pressed her lips to it—a kiss to carry her love to him.
That night, the letter found its way into Caedmon's hands through a trusted maid. Alone in his chamber, he broke the seal and read it once, then again, then a third time, until the letters swam before his eyes. His chest tightened as though his heart might burst, and at last, the tears came.
He pressed the letter to his chest, whispering into the stillness: "If I die tomorrow, let it be with these words upon my heart."
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