The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(24)
Better than anyone, I knew about lying on paper. “I understand. But meanwhile, I can’t sit around and do nothing.”
“I wouldn’t call your nightly excursions ‘nothing.’” He shook his head, but at least he wasn’t giving me a hard time about it. “What of the letter to Aecor?”
“I’ve been making notes.”
“Good.” James glanced at the small clock on a mostly empty bookcase. “I have some time now, if you want to get started. There are writing supplies here somewhere.”
He gave me the comfortable seat behind the desk while he leaned on the edge, keeping out of my light.
“Tobiah would be better at helping you with this, but he’s still trapped in his quarters. His guards are already asking questions, but they know better than to voice their misgivings to anyone.”
“What about the messenger? Alain?”
“I had him followed. He eventually ended up with Prince Colin, but if they’ve done anything with that information, I haven’t heard about it yet.”
When I closed my eyes, I saw Prince Colin in my quarters last night. His sneer. His satisfaction. The memory made me shudder.
James didn’t notice my discomfort. “Anyway, I’ve sat in enough meetings to be able to assist you with this.”
“And I’ve forged enough official documents—”
“Really?” He looked incredulous. “Do I even want to know?”
I smirked. “No, actually, I haven’t. Nothing like this, anyway. But I know the tone and language, more or less. Still, it might be wise to have someone look over it before copies are made. I’d hate for anyone to think I didn’t know how to be a proper princess.”
James rolled his eyes. “I can’t imagine there’s any question about what kind of princess you are, Your Highness. Now, let’s get this finished. I have both a memorial and coronation to coordinate security for, you know.”
I flapped my hands at the other chair. “Sit down and try not to drool on the paper.”
Once James was settled beside me, I arranged my writing supplies around a sheet of creamy, white paper. It was smooth, without blemishes or watermarks, and unlined. While the palace had plenty of fine paper, sending a letter like this on paper with an Indigo Kingdom crest on top might not be the best idea.
With a ruler, I began measuring line widths and making guide marks. Once the sheet was covered with pale hashes, I adjusted the ruler and traced faint lines.
Usually, the necessary carefulness of lining pages calmed me, but now my tired mind wandered toward the reason for this work. What would the people of Aecor think when they realized I was alive? Would they feel betrayed, like I’d purposefully neglected them all these years?
More importantly: what would Patrick tell them when my letters arrived? How would he twist my words until people believed what he needed them to believe?
No doubt he’d win them over just as he’d won the Ospreys. And while his goals were noble, his method for achieving them—
At what point had he become a murderer?
Betrayal burned through me as I shoved my pen into the ink.
The words I’d rehearsed flew out in a flurry of anger.
This is an official statement . . .
I, Princess Wilhelmina Korte, daughter of King Phillip and Queen Angela Korte, and rightful heir to the vermilion throne at Sandcliff Castle . . .
Crown Prince Tobiah Pierce, House of the Dragon, son of the late King Terrell the Fourth, was previously unaware of my survival. Now he wishes to help me set matters right between Aecor and the Indigo Kingdom, and we will begin discussion with his uncle, Prince Colin Pierce, House of the Dragon, Overlord of Aecor Territory . . .
Patrick Lien, son of the former general Brendon Lien of the Aecor Army, has acted without my consent. He is to be taken into custody and held until my arrival, at which point I will conduct a trial and determine how he can begin atoning for his crimes . . .
The Red Militia is an unsanctioned force . . .
I wrote, furious scrawls and flourishes and scratches across the page. The scrape of my pen against paper was an awful, unlovely sound, and I couldn’t remember why I usually liked it. Why it usually grounded me and brought me peace.
Giving in to Patrick’s demands was out of the question; it would only give him more power. But I wanted to take back my kingdom with that kind of directness. Trying to persuade Prince Colin to let it go peacefully was never going to work. He’d already said he wouldn’t give up Aecor.
And that he would retaliate if I insisted on claiming it.
My hand cramped around the pen, and my wrist throbbed from holding it too stiffly as I added the final lines of my letter.
I stopped short of signing my name.
I couldn’t make my hand shape the W. What did my signature even look like? Small? Clipped? Wild? Was it legible, or a scrawling mess of ink?
And the letter itself . . .
The letter was like the storied monster of many parts, with my handwriting fading from tidy to flourishing, from flowing to scratching where I let the ink run out. Teardrops marred the words, darkening the paper, carrying the ink in translucent blots across the grains. There were at least seven different hands.
“You didn’t sign your name.” James spoke softly.
“I haven’t signed my name to anything since I was a child.” My fingers shook as I lowered my pen, ink still pooled in the nib. “Patrick never let me; he never even told any of our tutors or trainers my true identity. I was a secret.”