*My Prince,
While reading of a book on hunting I found a particular technique I couldn't make particular sense of. It involved something about reading the treeline before the chase.
I presume you may find it delightful or fascinating - or perhaps completely wrong. I am curious if you-*
Rudra stared at the paper for three long seconds absorbing the words, not because he had problems reading a paper in the dark - he had done things far more precise in far more darker places, he stared at it from pure confusion. He looked up at the open window on the fourth floor. It was not one of those quarters situated highest in the palace- where Rudra and Ravaan lived- but it wasn't also so low it should belong to the administrative department or office of any Royale staff like the treasurer. It was somewhere in between.
The letter was unfinished. Not my business- Rudra thought to himself. He crumpled the paper back, which was now damp from the wet weather. He throws it somewhere behind the nearest bush.
He closed his eyes.
The second letter landed on his legs. This one was crumpled more aggressively- like whoever had done it, had done with intent feelings. Rudra sighed. He took the paper ball, hesitating for few seconds before he straightened up. With two of his fingers he smoothed it out.
*My Prince,
Having arrived from Benevia some days ago, I find myself hoping-*
Hoping? Hoping what?
Whoever was the writer of these letter, he or she had not crossed nothing out, they had just abandoned the letter in its entirety.
HOPING WHAT ??
Rudra was now suspicious. There was someone in the palace writing him letters about hunting tricks and hoping. He had never received any letter like this.
He turned the paper. It was blank. He stood up to take a better look at the window from where these strange unfinished letters keep coming. The window was open but the curtain was drawn. He couldn't see anyone. Whoever was up there was either simply unaware that they were throwing their correspondences directly at the Crown Prince of Partha or they were aware and was still doing it on purpose. Rudra couldn't decide which one was more irritating.
The letters stopped coming when he had stood up. Rudra waited for several seconds before he slowly, carefully sat back.
The third one hit him on the shoulder.
"_____" he said nothing. He was a prince. He had dignity.
He uncrumpled the third letter with more force than it was necessary.
*Prince Rudra,
I happened to come across rather a find bottle of wine -*
Rudra didn't get mad this time (he would also insist he had not got mad first two times ). It dawned on him letters were not coming from someone he knew or someone who was even a Parthan.
Your fianceé had arrived from Benevia.
Rudra recalled Kesh saying something like that in the morning. It felt like he had heard those words a lifetime ago. He also mentioned about how Rudra must meet this.... paper wasting and letter-throwing woman if he received any formal invitations from her.
Rudra stared at the third letter. It seemed her attempt at formal invitation wasn't going very well.
He caught the fourth letter before it hit him. He didn't plan to, his hand simply moved, reflexively. He snatched it out of the air with the precision of a person who had spent better part of his life hunting things which were definitely faster than paper.
*Your Highness,
I hope your afternoon rides are pleasant! I, too, am fond of riding-*
Pleasant. Right.
He let out a sound between snort and scoff as he recalled how brutal his entire day had been. He imagined taking his supposed 'fianceé' on one of his riding she thought was pleasant. The thought almost made him laugh. Almost.
*My Prince,
I am writing this letter because I want to say-*
He sat on the grass clutching the letter. What? She wanted to say what?
What had she wanted to say which was so difficult that it required- he counted the papers- five attempts and she still hadn't managed to write a full letter.
The sixth attempt came faster than he had thought.
*Prince Rudra,
I am writing this letter to you to introduce myself properly as we have yet to officially-*
Rudra exhaled through his mouth.
Just write anything, woman....regardless of what you write, I'll have to accept it anyway...
....Because it was the Royale Etiquette and nothing more than that. Nothing. More. Than. That.
Then he waited.
Seconds became minute.
Minutes became hour.
This was ridiculous. He, the Prince of Partha, was loitering under the window of a foreign woman he had not even seen like some puberty hitting teenage boy who had never held hands with a woman before.
Aggressively he folded the letters together (including the first one he had thrown before the bush- he secured that one as well) and stashed all of them in his pocket.
Littering the Royale Palace Ground is a serious offence, he told himself, the punishment can range from hefty fine to even imprisonment.
And it wouldn't look good on Rudra if his fianceé get arrested for throwing unfinished letters out of her window.
That was why he was securing the letters. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He returned to his quarter exhausted more than just physically, convinced that the pitiful fianceé of his must have given up on trying to construct a proper letter.
As he was shedding his clothes, one of his male attendees entered silently, head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor and placed a nearly folded letter on top of the desk. He retreated to one corner of the room and stood there.
Rudra took the letter and unfolded it.
The writer of the letter had the same handwriting as those which were still in his pocket.
*My Prince,
I apologise for writing without a prior introduction. I am not entirely sure if this is the right thing to do or not. If it isn't, you may ignore it in its entirety.
I arrived in Benevia recently and I confess that I am yet to find my footing here.
I wish to familiarise myself with the estate grounds before the week is out but I have been advised by my maids it will be unwise of me to walk around without someone who knows the place.
I understand you have a busy schedule all day but if you could find me someone who could show me around tomorrow evening, I'd be at your debt.
Yours, Teresa Williams.*
Rudra read the letter. Read it again. This one had probably survived because she had moved faster than her second own thoughts.
Rudra caught himself smiling. He composed his face back to neutral immediately.
"Send words that I will meet her," he informed the attendee, "In the garden. Tomorrow. Evening."
The attendee bowed deeper and left.