Prologue
King Graham of Daventry reclined in his desk chair as if it were his throne and looked down at his handiwork. He'd spent the entirety of his afternoon writing draft after draft, trying to concoct the perfect letter, and three hours later he finally finished his magnum opus. Amidst the sea of broken pen nibs, crumpled papers, and pools of spilled ink lay his masterpiece. Graham sighed blissfully and held up the parchment that displayed his hours of grueling work.
At the very top in his best calligraphy, he'd written the words, Dear Vee. Classy. Beautiful. Elegant. Graham couldn't remember producing something so refined. It was the perfect beginning to a perfect letter.
The rest of the page was blank.
Graham blinked, certain he was seeing things. He stared at Dear Vee again and let his eyes move down the page.
Still blank.
"No," he mumbled. There was absolutely no way he had spent three hours just writing her name. He'd remembered every thought racing through his mind while he was writing and was sure he'd jotted these thoughts down. Graham flipped the page over to see if maybe he'd scribbled something back there, but that side was even emptier than the front.
"Zounds!" Graham tossed the paper aside so it fluttered gracefully into the graveyard of crumpled letters at his feet. This was ridiculous. He'd written letters before. He and Vee had been corresponding almost every day for the past few months. They kept each other up-to-date with the goings-on in their respective kingdoms, they spoke of books quite often (Graham had a stack of her recommendations by his bedside), and they'd even touched on Bridge Troll rebellions across the kingdoms (in which Graham went into detail about how he solved that dispute with a singular pair of socks). Graham could talk about any subject under the sun with Vee, so why was writing this letter giving him such a migraine?
He picked one of his drafts off the floor to see where he'd gone wrong. This one was riddled with red ink, as if someone was grading a first grader's spelling test rather than writing a love letter.
Dearest Vee,
Your hair is like (INSERT SOMETHING DARK HERE), your eyes are depthless brownish orbs (someone told me never to use "orbs" to describe someone's eyes, but also I'm the king and I'll do what I want), and your lips are like two soft, succulent, velvety (CAKES? VELVET? WHAT ELSE IS VELVETY?)
Graham crumpled the letter and pitched it forcefully into the wastebasket, cursing his stupidity with words and his inability to tell Vee exactly how his feelings had deepened for her. He grabbed up another failed draft and tore it open.
My Dearest Vee,
Already it sounded too formal, and much too forward. They hadn't talked about whether Vee was even "his" to begin with.
I hope you're happy, because I can no longer repress my feelings for you (love-type feelings). I can't get you out of my head, I can barely eat, and every time I think about you I get these horrible pains in my chest and I know it's all your fault.
Graham felt his face grow warm. Okay, maybe he'd come on a little too strong.
I love your wit. I love your stubborn little frown. I love how you get when you talk about "Lady Knights with Big Swords" (I'm on book three: Queen Auralia has just slain the knight who catcalled her in book two, and I'm so jazzed that the phrase "Yas Queen, slaaaay!" finally applies).
I think about you every moment I'm awake, and I dream about you every night. (Seriously, last night I dreamt I was working on some addendums and you tried to get me to make a law about legalizing big cheeses in Daventry. This would be ridiculous in real life because big cheese is already super legal here, but anyway, that's not the point I'm trying to make...)
Graham crumpled the letter up and tossed it back onto the ground, too embarrassed to continue. Perhaps telling Vee about his feelings through post wasn't such a good idea after all. Truthfully, he probably wouldn't be much better telling her in person—just the thought of being in Vee's presence again made him all fluttery. Graham hadn't seen her since the day they broke away from Hagatha's spell, but he remembered every detail about the day fondly. He remembered Vee's expression of relief and vigor as their feet touched down on the grass, he remembered the space between them vanishing as he came to stand right beside her, and he remembered the faint smell of rosewater in her hair.
Unfortunately for their budding mutual attraction, Vee had to return to Eastern Kolyma right away. Graham accompanied both Vee and Neese back to their respective kingdoms, despite Vee's stubborn protestations that she could get there on her own. Before disappearing behind her city gates, Vee made Graham promise to write. He promised, and drafted a letter the moment he stepped into his castle study.
Because of conflicting schedules and two kingdoms in need of rulers, Graham and Vee had not seen each other since that day. Her absence had only made Graham's heart grow infuriatingly fonder, but he often wondered if Vee shared these same sentiments. What if she'd lost interest in him? What if she'd forgotten what he looked like? What if she'd met a handsomer king from a handsomer kingdom?
These were all valid fears, but the thought that scared him the most was the possibility of Vee's indifference towards him. When Hagatha had kidnapped the princesses, she created an enchantment to ensure that only true love would break it and set everyone free. What broke the spell was Hagatha's acceptance of herself and Vee's love for her best friend, Neese. Graham's crush on Vee had nothing to do with breaking the spell: he was simply the one holding the adventuring rope. What if Vee had subconsciously convinced herself she liked Graham in an attempt to break the tower's spell? Now that she'd been released, what was stopping Vee from letting her feelings fizzle into nothingness?
All this self-reflection was making him sick, so Graham stood up from his desk chair and went to the window for a change of scenery. He could see all the way down to the town square from his perch, and stood here for a while watching the townsfolk sweep up snow and string up lanterns for the upcoming festival. Graham sighed, his breath fogging up the glass, and he absently traced his finger along it, a pout on his lips. For a few minutes, he observed his people struggling to hang monstrous banners that proclaimed, "BADGER DAY NEXT WEEK" and "WILL THE BADGER SEE HIS SHADOW? COME FOR THE CEREMONY, STAY FOR THE FESTIVAL!"
Graham squinted at the words more closely and something akin to elation ignited in his chest. With renowned vigor, Graham leapt back to his writing desk, tripping over his cape and knocking over his chair in his haste. Bending over the mahogany desk, he dipped a new quill in the ink and wrote Dear Vee at the top of a brand-new page.
Sending Vee a love confession was not the way to approach the situation—he'd have to tell her in person, and inviting Vee to the Badger Day Festival was the perfect excuse to get her over here.