The letter had come of something of a surprise. Kurt didn't usually get letters. He especially didn't get letters from foreign legate offices.

Cracking the heavy seal was deeply satisfying, as was the way the parchment sprang upwards as he did so – an invitation to peek.

Kurt had been handed the letter first thing that morning, his receipt of it framed by curious faces and far too much interest. Kurt had hurriedly pushed the letter into his satchel with what he hoped was an air of nonchalance – as if getting missives from foreign dignitaries was a perfectly usual part of his day. Then he'd tried to forget about it.

The other lieutenants who shared his room at the barracks were out for the evening, drinking at the tavern. Kurt had made his excuses and slipped away early, the letter having grown increasingly heavy in his pack. Now, as he lay on his bunk to read it, he found he almost didn't want to know what it contained.

He scanned the page and laughed aloud at the signature – 'from her excellency, Lady De Sardet'. 'Excellency' was underlined no fewer than eight times.

It had been a year since she'd gone. She was 19 now, he realised – a full year older than he had been when he took on Constantin's training. He could scarcely believe the time had passed so quickly.

The letter was friendly – familiar. She wrote about the things which made her happy, and the things she missed. She spoke with excitement about the coming voyage and then, towards the end…

Kurt sighed and folded the letter. He hopped down from his bunk and began to pace the room.

She said she'd heard rumours, whispers which had crossed the continent. Her mother hadn't been seen at court, talk of barbers and sawbones and priests attending the Princess's apartments at strange hours of the night… There were murmurs that her mother – her beautiful, kind, loving mother – had caught the sickness.

She wrote that Constantin avoided the topic in his missives, even when she asked him outright. She said that her mother wrote at length about memories, as if trying to 'commit herself to the paper, lest she vanish.'

She ended with, 'Please, Kurt – you're the only one at that palace who ever treated me like an adult. Discover what you can for me. Go to her and say there's an unpaid invoice for my training – she'll likely argue but it'll be long enough for you to see her. Please.'

Kurt had heard the rumours too, but he didn't often have cause for contact with the princess. Without doing as De Sardet suggested, he couldn't offer her any solace.

He continued to pace the room, thoughts spiralling. They began at anger, tumbling down through jealousy at her relationship with her mother, envy of her station, affront that she'd asked him to do it, disappointment in himself for caring enough to agree and disappointment in himself for being disappointed at caring.

A sudden, cool, calm settled on him and he inhaled deeply. He did care about her – she was the closest thing to a family he'd ever known, and he was as close to a father as she was ever likely to get. The second realisation sat uncomfortably, though, as the weight of it dawned on him. Part of him felt an inordinate amount of pride, whilst the other half chastised him for having ideas above his station.

"Alright Greenblood," he said to the letter, holding it up at arms' length so that it was level with his face – De Sardet's height matching his own, "I'll do it. But after that, we're back to mercenary and coin-purse…"

The door opened and a clatter of drunken lieutenants tumbled into the room. One made to snatch the letter from him. Kurt deftly tossed it into the fire where the seal melted and crackled in the flame.

"Letter from his girlfriend, lads!" said one of the newer men – Kurt thought his name was Jack.

"Can't be!" laughed Elsie stumbling in, "I'm right here, eh Kurt?"

Kurt took a deep breath and donned a proverbial mask he knew so well that it fit like a glove – armour shaped like a smile with the voice of a teasing joke.

"Sorry Els, my heart belongs to his mother – he knows that!"

Raucous laughter bubbled up around him and Kurt found himself drunk by proxy. He'd missed this, in the years he was looking out for De Sardet and her cousin. He'd spent his youth being sensible and protective and distant from the men and women of the guard. He'd been getting used to spending more time at the barracks during the last twelve months and for the most part he'd been enjoying it.

Someone produced a bottle from somewhere and Kurt found himself with a glass. He raised it with the others, but said a quiet, fond goodbye to his royal fledglings.