The letter was waiting for Queen Lysandra when she entered her chambers, a splash of white parchment against the dark oak of her writing desk. She didn't hurry toward it; instead, she allowed her ladies-in-waiting to spend ten minutes fussing over her skirts before dismissing them with a tired wave. Finally alone, she sat down, the velvet cushions of the chair offering a comfort that felt more like a restraint.
She picked up the heavy vellum, feeling the grit of the road on the wax seal. The paper was cold from the drafty room it had been in, its thin, fragile surface contrasting with the weight of the moment. As she looked at it, she held it with indifference, thinking it would have been better if he hadn't written at all. While feeling the crisp and sharp edges, she cracked the royal gold wax seal, which was stubborn and hard, and opened the letter slowly and carefully as she crossed her legs.
