Dear Ellen

I'm pleased to tell you that the mission was a success: I expect to return to Bern as a knight and reinstated guard of Princess Guinevere. Thank you for mustering the courage to give the Princess Guinevere's note to Gale: I'm grateful that you overcame your fear of men for my benefit.

By the time you receive this letter, Gale and I will be travelling to visit his mother. She lives in an Etrurian village near the Ilian border. The fact that she raised Gale alone in a small village speaks to her fortitude, which I have always seen in Gale: I am overjoyed that he will become the first foreign-born Dragon Lord of Bern, a testament to the universal virtue of our country's ideals and, most of all, his hard work and integrity.

Though the suspension had been such a humiliation, I am almost happy it happened now. During this time, I acquainted myself with Bern history books that Gale mentioned in his letters. Over the course of this mission, we have learnt so much about and from each other: what patriotism means for a native compared to an immigrant, how the world is so much better when people connect and see each other as individuals rather than tribal enemies. Without this misfortune in my career, I would never have recognised what a… Dear friend and gentleman Gale is. Ellen, it's difficult for me to describe: I've never yearned to be close with anyone the way I do with him.

Your friend and comrade (once again),

Miledy

'Ah, Zeiss, your sister and the captain sound like newlyweds already!' After reading out the letter, Ellen swoons as she holds it to her chest. Her eyes glisten when she looks up at the stain glass window, 'it's as if St Elimine showed her hand, using supposed misfortune to draw Miledy and Sir Gale together – what's wrong, Zeiss?'

'N-Nothing,' Zeiss stops staring into the holy water's shadowy reflection, 'I'm happy… Sort of.'

'Teehee, are you jealous that Sir Gale will snag all of your sister's attention?' Ellen tucks the letter into her pocket, 'just think: Sir Gale will be your brother-in-law. You already get along splendidly as comrades!' She skips past Zeiss and towards the altar, 'it's only a matter of time before they exchange vows!'

'Yeah…' Zeiss forces a weak smile.

Ellen sighs, 'I suppose it will be an adjustment, not being the sole male receiving Miledy's attentions.'

'That's not—.'

'And one day, Zeiss,' Ellen's eyebrows slant downwards towards her cheekbones, 'it'll be your turn.'

Zeiss' heartbeat drums in his ears. Ellen's fingers slide along the altar's edge as she walks out from behind it. Her silky brown hair is a curtain that shields her face, 'anyway, I must go to choir practice. If you're ever injured during training, do let me heal you. Though I'm a beginner with healing staffs, I'm sure I could be more useful to you if I keep practising.'

'Ellen, you don't—.' Before Zeiss can continue, Ellen slips behind a curtain leading to the back of the church.

Zeiss' breathes with an unsteady staccato rhythm as he curses at the saint's stain glass image, 'you hag! Was pulling Ellen away from me also part of your plan?!'

'You must be Lady Miledy,' Gale's mother, Ilya, immediately reaches up to touch both my cheeks. Her fingertips are callused but warm, 'my son has written so many letters about you.' Wrinkles form around Ilya's eyes when she smiles. The dark irises remind me of Gale.

'Please just call me Miledy,' I observe the frail elderly woman shaking her apron and sack-like dress, 'I'm grateful to be invited to your home.' The cottage smells like damp wood and rust.

'You are the princess' guard and yet I would have believed if you claimed to be the royal herself,' Ilya's diction is clear like a noble's, even though she is a peasant. Is that what Etrurian commoners are like? My image of the typical Etrurian was a smirking dandy decked in jewels, a velvet cloak and shrill nasal tone as if trying to insulate himself from his subjects' stench.

'That's too much!' My cheeks are furnaces, 'the princess is known to be the fairest, kindest soul in all of Bern.'

'You think independently and take destiny into your own hands. That is what a princess would do for her country,' Ilya's eyes flicker to the small woodcut of St. Elimine hanging above the mantelpiece. The saint's depiction has a narrower face than the ones in Bern, 'Gale wrote about your debate with Lord Narcian. The news of your defiance of the court's initial deliberation spread. There are plenty of people, especially those with relatives outside of Bern, who agreed with your sentiment but are too afraid to say it.'

I mouth a 'thank you' when Ilya gestures for me to sit at a stool. 'Narcian stirred up quite a hate storm against me, claiming I hated Bern and wanted foreigners to decimate its culture.' I want to ask about relations between rural Etrurians and those at the capital but fear that it will expose my ignorance. If only I had listened during the council meetings, or even just Mother's pet formulations about international relations.

'Any thinking person would realise how blatantly false that is: the personal guard of Princess Guinevere, sister of King Zephiel, can only be a model citizen. The princess chose wisely.' The skin wrapped around Ilya's wrists are translucent membranes. Purple veins pop out as she hauls the kettle up and pours into two metal cups. A fragrant scent of cinnamon and flowers fills the room, 'these are rare flowers from Ilia.' Her face brightens when she utters the snow country's name.

'You and Gale seem to admire Ilia - and the country's pronunciation is the same as your name.' The steam leaves a moist layer on my forehead when I lift the cup to drink. A sweet, woody flavour coats my palate.

'I was born prematurely in the snow country when my parents were delivering corn. My mother died in labour and my father was determined to save me. We stayed with Eliminean priests and clerics for six months, waiting for Spring when the worst blizzards would have passed.' Ilya's eyes close when she takes a sip of tea, 'I would be too weak to survive there now, even though I'd like to go back.' Spidery veins show along her eyelids, 'before my father died, he often cited the fact that bandits could not venture close to our church because of the gales surrounding it.'

Gale— I picture him slicing through the air on his wyvern like a strip of ribbon.

'I wanted to go back, away from being the farmer's daughter who watched landlords cheat the peasants of their produce. That was what Gale's father, a visiting nobleman promised me, a naive 16-year-old, sick of life in this little village.' Ilya watches three sheep pottering outside the window. Her hands clasp as though in prayer. A hair comes undone from her bun, floating in front of her face like a web, 'only he went to Ilia. I do not know where he is know.'

'That's... Terrible.' I observe the jutting cartilage and bones in Ilya's face. She must be about my mother's age, yet looks decades older with the silvery hairs and crepe-like skin, 'shouldn't he at least financially support you? He's Gale's biological father and a nobleman after all.'

'Our trials happen for a reason. I don't need his money either,' Ilya tucks the loose hair behind her ear but it just hovers back out. Her eyes turn to the woodcut above the mantelpiece, 'St Elimine watches over me, just as she did when I was born in the snow.'

I think back to the times I trailed behind Gale at mass, waiting to pounce at any suspicious exchanges between him and any other potential Etrurian sympathisers. Yet every week was the same: him lowering his dark eyes as he knelt at the pew, dipping his hands in holy water with the other attendees in a queue. I couldn't comprehend his motivation for listening to the bishop drone on about the same creeds and parables for hours while other knights brawled in taverns or visited their girlfriends in nearby towns. Now, seeing his pious mother, I understand.

'St Elimine gave me a good son,' Ilya's hand traces the kettle's handle, 'Gale sends most of his income back home. That's how I could afford that kettle and extra crockery for when guests visit.' No wonder Gale polishes and maintains his weapons until they break.

Ilya gazes at me, as if my status as the princess' guard should make me well-versed in every aspect of Bern's geopolitical situation, 'I wonder what will happen when war starts. Bern will forbid any financial exchanges with countries deemed enemy nations. Etruria will be the first.'

'I'm sorry…' I am the princess' personal guard and yet never cared to understand anything beyond the training grounds and barracks.

'Please forgive me for speaking of such grim matters,' Ilya forces a smile. Her lips are cracked from the cold air.

'Not at all,' I almost choke on a leaf while taking another gulp, 'it's ignorant for someone of my rank to say but all-out war still seems like such a distant, terrifying prospect.' How could I see someone like Ilya as part of the enemy?

Ilya places a hand on my knee, calming my leg's involuntary shaking, 'you're not ignorant, Miledy. Just kind.'

A fly buzzes through the window only to speed out again. Gale's farm tools clatter as he appears at the door, 'Mamma, Miledy and I must leave. There's news that a young Etrurian noblewoman was kidnapped by a wyvern rider. We must report back to General Murdock before the situation escalates.'