The man Elena loves present a strong front. He does not let his emotions get the better of him, at least not in public, and he does not have a tell. There are many times of the day when she wonders what could be running through his mind, his eyes give nothing away. The dark and cold irises, a pool of constant wonderings.
The cold palace leaves her with ample opportunity to think. It was almost devoid of life, other than the guards that surround her at all times but who are instructed to stay out of her sigh and the odd servant girl running through the hallways, eyes to the floor. Her life orbits around that man, out of his own design, and so she has little more to do other than consider their relationship.
However, for all her wondering about what laid behind that mask, literally and metaphorically, she never doubted his love for her. Pierro was stoic, he was quiet as he thought things through, but she could see the love for her glistening in his eyes as he caught her stare from across the room. If further evidence was needed, the stash of love letters hidden in her bedside table was proof enough.
The letters started the morning before he left on a long campaign. The troops were going on a drill to the mountains, to prepare to a looming threat that no-one ever mentions, but it is always palpable in the air. It was, naturally, up to him to lead the soldiers through the exercise across rugged terrain, meant to improve stamina through rough conditions and secure the border for an advance towards neighbouring realms.
The letters began that morning, as horse hoofs and marching soldiers became increasingly smaller in the horizon beyond her balcony. They had said their goodbyes in private, at his chambers, and he had left instructions on how he expected her to behave during his absence.
As Elena gathered the papers on his desk, hoping to keep them from gathering dust and avoid the bin from an overzealous servant, she found the first one. Then another and another. Notes of scrap paper rotted about his rooms, left for her to discover as she went about her day.
"If I have to tell you how much I shall miss you, I should find myself unable to leave."
"The soldiers are nowhere near as beautiful as you."
"The snow-capped expanse is lonely, a wasteland of no worth or value to no man. Sometimes, though, the sun hits the ice and a halo seem to form around the mountains. There is no comparison to the light of your eyes."
"Please try not to miss me too much; it is a thought I cannot bear."
"While I wish this misery upon no man, of crossing these lonely expanses in the biting frost, I also find myself with the desire of showing the wonder of this land to you. I wonder if you would allow me this selfishness."
The notes continued, magically sealed and charmed with the scent of his preferred cologne, appearing again and again in the same handful of places, through which Elena knew that he must have instructed a servant to keep planting them or magic them away as he sends word from the frontlines.
Neither would ever say a word about such an exercise in their official, stilted correspondence through the usual means, but both happy with the comfort of them. It was something so private, so dear and precious to themselves, that not even the other was allowed inside.
The campaign was long, and she felt his absence keenly. The days crawled slowly in the palace, boring in any regular day seeming to brake into a sleepy halt, with some of its preeminent figures gone for so long. By the third month of his campaign, his pillow now longer smelled like him so she had taken to sleeping with one of his black kaftans to keep her some company in the night.
Upon his return, months later, Pierro arrived in the middle of the night, having rode ahead the last few miles, hoping to beat the distance as soon as he possibly could. He found Elena fast asleep, wrapped around his sleeping shirt and under many layers of furs.
An indulgent smile spread across his face as he untangled her, throwing the piece of clothing across the room before sliding into her warm embrace. With it, the cold that have seeped into his very bones melt away and he finally feels at peace.
And yet, even after his return back to the capital and life settling into its old and familiar pace, the letters did not stop.
"Darling, I cannot put it into words how much I missed you. If I try, I do not believe that anything will come out. Just know, I am glad to be back in your arms."
"The state of the military is appalling. They are completely uncapable of doing anything on their own, and, alas, the more meetings I find myself in, the more I wish to be back in bed with you."
"Snezhnaya is doomed if it ever has to rely on its forces, and I am willing to let it burn, if it means I am able to spend the morning in your arms."
"I am a pitiful man. I cannot make grand speeches, I cannot make grand gestures, jealousy clouds my judgement, I am cruel and cold. At the centre of it all, though, be sure I love you. I hope you can forgive this lacking creature."
The man Elena loves do not wear his emotions on his sleeve, much to the contrary.
Pierro does not have a tell and he tries to keep his many secrets locked up inside, far from anyone's reach, intended as they may be. However, the notes in her bedside table shine with the sheer scale of his love for her, and that was more than enough.