Fourteen-year-old Robellia had been feeling incredibly gloomy lately. Unlike the cloudless, sunny sky outside, the sky in her painting was covered with dark, threatening clouds.

She had no motivation to start a new painting, so she just swept her brush indifferently across the canvas. Just then, her maid, Laren, slipped quietly into the princess’s room after a brief absence.

Laren glanced around the room to see who might be present before addressing the princess in a low voice.

“Your Highness.”

“You’re here? You’re here!”

Robellia finally noticed Laren and jumped to her feet, excitement lighting up her face. Laren, who had just returned from meeting a courier in the back garden, nodded solemnly, her expression grave. Robellia bounced on her heels, eagerly holding out her hand.

“Hurry, hurry, hand it over!”

From beneath Laren’s voluminous dress, a thick leather envelope emerged. Robellia grabbed it eagerly and clutched it to her chest. At a glance from Lady Suther, the other maids quickly began to tidy up the painting utensils before slipping out of the room.

Robellia’s patience had long since run out. Even with the fastest couriers, it took ten days for a reply to reach her, an agonisingly slow correspondence. But this letter was even later than usual – twice as late, in fact.

Sitting at the tea table, Robellia carefully opened the weathered leather envelope.

Inside was a rough yellow paper bag. She opened it to reveal a more refined envelope, its surface decorated with handwriting she knew only too well.

[To the princess who resembles spring.]

Robellia pressed her lips softly to the elegant script, as if drawn by some instinct. She thought the envelope had a pleasant scent, though she wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined. Letters had been exchanged for more than two years, but each one thrilled her heart as much as the first.

She carefully broke the seal with a letter opener. As she unfolded the thick bundle of stationery inside, a cascade of tiny, dried flower petals sprinkled over her dress.

The smile on Robellia’s lips deepened as she recognised the source of the scent lingering on the envelope. She shook her skirt gently, gathering up the scattered petals, then unfolded the letter once more.

[To Princess Robellia, 

First of all, I must apologise for the delay in my reply. I have been away from the castle, accompanying my father on an inspection, and only discovered your letter on my return.]

The polite opening made Robellia chuckle softly. Despite the countless letters they had exchanged, sharing even the smallest details of their lives, Akan had never once strayed from proper decorum.

[As I’ve mentioned before, the winters here are incredibly long. Only now does spring arrive and the flowers begin to bloom. The petals enclosed are from a wild flower that grows in a crack in the castle wall, but I couldn’t find its name even after checking several books.]

Akan went on to fill an entire page with vivid descriptions of the villages he had visited during the inspection, and the mountains and fields he had seen. His sentences, woven like poetry, seemed to paint the landscape for Robellia as if she were there herself.

Raised in the palace, Robellia lived in a world much smaller than his. She had visited provincial villas for seasonal retreats, but her understanding of the life of the commoners came only from Akan’s letters. Reading his words was like reading a travelogue, and she savoured every line with joy and curiosity.

However, the next page read: 

[You mentioned that studying was no fun, but I think it is a wonderful thing that His Majesty has found you an excellent tutor. Especially in politics and diplomacy, which you said you disliked the most. Perhaps His Majesty is having you study them because he expects you to play an important role in the future. I suppose it can’t hurt to learn something.]

Robellia scowled at the overly sensible advice, which sounded like something straight out of a textbook. It was little different from the lectures she heard every day from her elderly, grey-haired tutor. Even her eldest brother, Raves, was relentless in his nagging, but when Akan added his polite yet pointed wisdom, she had no excuses. 

She loved Akan’s mature side, but at moments like this she felt like the fool in their correspondence.

[In truth, my father has also decided that I should begin proper succession training this year, which has been a bit overwhelming. Still, I’m doing my best to officially assume the role of heir as soon as possible.]

Robellia sighed, her lips curling into a reluctant smile. Akan’s letters were always so serious, and even when he wrote of his own troubles, he did so with calm determination. It was both admirable and frustrating – especially when she couldn’t find the right words to counter his unwavering logic.

Robellia let out a small sigh. What kind of studies could even Akan find difficult? Maybe he was just saying that to comfort her.

As she read on, something caught her eye. At the end of a sentence, where the graceful script flowed seamlessly, there was a slightly darker and smudged period.

“Hmm…”

Having exchanged letters with Akan for so long, Robellia had become familiar with his little quirks. This one often appeared when he hesitated, pausing to choose his words carefully. Curious, she immediately read the next line.

[As you may already know, heirs who wish to inherit their titles must officially receive the Emperor’s approval in an audience. As the Empire will surely remain peaceful, I believe this would be the time for me to finally visit the Imperial Palace – or so it seems at the moment.]

Robellia’s fingers tightened slightly on the letter, and her heart gave an involuntary flutter. His words, though formal, carried an unspoken hope that resonated deeply.

Robellia’s gaze dropped, her expression drained of energy. It was unfortunate, but since their last meeting two years ago – when they had been introduced during an official audience – Duke Roxas had not returned to the palace. In fact, he hadn’t even visited the capital. As a result, Robellia had no chance of seeing Akan again.

If only she could come up with a reasonable excuse, but a princess’s simple desire to meet a count was not a legitimate reason for an official visit. Especially since her strict father would never allow her to form a special relationship with any particular family. And as for Duke Roxas? He certainly wasn’t on her side.

In the beginning, when they first exchanged letters, everything had been fine. Instead of sending secret messengers as she did now, Robellia used the Imperial Seal and sent her letters with extravagant gifts. However, after this happened two or three times, they both received stern lectures from their respective guardians.

Her father had sternly warned her that if rumours spread outside, it would damage not only Robellia’s reputation, but Akan’s as well. With that, he had crushed Robellia’s grand plan to send a gleaming gold carriage laden with letters and gifts.

How long had she cried? Half a month, perhaps. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Lady Suther had discreetly hired a messenger for her so that she could finally send her letter. Fortunately, Akan had also secured a collaborator on his side and was able to send his replies without difficulty. What was so important about these old-fashioned formalities?

Still, it was comforting to know that she wasn’t the only one frustrated by the situation. Akan, too, seemed to be eagerly awaiting the day he could visit the palace. A small smile returned to Robellia’s face.

Just as she was about to read the next line, the door swung open.

“Your Highness, it’s time to get ready.”

Baroness Karen led the maids back into the room. Robellia frowned, annoyed at being interrupted before she could finish reading her letter.

By the time she came to her senses, the sun had already set outside the window. It was time to go to the Emperor’s palace. Her stern but loving father valued family dinners above all else.

“Just a moment.”

She folded the letter carefully and placed it back in its envelope. The petals scattered on her skirt were gently brushed together so they wouldn’t crumble, and placed in the rough paper bag. Laren took the leather envelope, tucked it away and hid it under the small desk by the bed.