Forever Is a Decision (Book 3)

The seal of the envelope was pressed so hard into the wax that it looked bruised. Charlotte stood in the middle of her chambers in the capital, the curtains drawn tight against the late light, and turned the paper over once more as if the right angle could change the message. Her fingers smudged ink into her skin, a habit she hated because it meant she read too fast, too hungry, too afraid to miss a detail. The crest on the front was not one she recognized from court orders, only the name of her house written in Adrian’s hand—small, careful, as if he had measured each curve before he dared to send it.

Leopold had not left her alone since the messengers returned from the river road. He had insisted on staying close, on taking messages, on speaking for her when her voice failed, and she had let him because refusing him felt like refusing air. Now he stood just inside the doorway with his coat still on, his gaze fixed on her hands. He looked composed in the way a person looks composed when they are already bracing for impact. When she tore the envelope open, his shoulders shifted, like the sound of paper was a warning.

She unfolded the letter. The page was thick and faintly scented, as if it had been kept near cloth for warmth. The first line did not greet her with apology or comfort. It went straight for the wound. “If you read this, I’m already dead.” Charlotte’s breath stopped so hard it hurt.