Dear Prime Minister,

I must ask Your Excellency to please accept a passel of apologies for this long overdue gesture of reciprocation. I made a late recovery in December and couldn't use the pigeon post to get my delivery overseas. Corona's postal service is closed during winter, and in a nutshell, I was left with no way of contacting Her Majesty's secretary because of the embargo your parliament enacted against my country. Leastwise, my misfortunes have been partly resolved by the Storting's offshore amendment to the embargo's exportation clause last December. Because continental press releases remain inaccessible to Corona this season, the amendment was unheralded, but the surprise shipments from Arendelle have steadily reintroduced nutrients and hope to my capital since January 26th, so we aren't thankless. I took the initiative of asking one captain to return this letter on his way home.

I, as the affine of your queen, am grateful to Your Excellency for taking time out of your day to inform me about her well-being after five long months of exile. Choice words such as "intense passion, love," and "affection" towards Her Majesty utterly misapply to me, but your interior statement was much appreciated. Alas, the closing of your letter didn't necessarily round things off or add to my contentment. Your Excellency neglected sharing Her Majesty's status, to what procedures she was exposed, in which ways the ague negated inoculations, and what type of special treatment she forewent as a side effect. With no disrespect to the keepers of Her Majesty's throne, I would like to speak with Princess Anna to receive the closure that I am owed.

Above that, Your Excellency has not written to me about the queen's recuperation since October. Corona isn't getting extralocal news in general, so I have no idea what shape she's in. If Her Majesty is within reach, please tell her this: "I didn't want you to put yourself in the line of fire, but I don't plan on sitting around while the rest of the world watches it happen."

On the brightest key, Your Excellency's postal coverage on the Bovi Fever has helped me find a sanitary way to incorporate Arendelle's approach into our own healthcare system. Not all of the birds you sent crossed the border, but the people who needed those deliveries received them. I believe this was around the week that Corona's Guardian of the Crown sent a messenger bird to the Storting about the capital's victory against the Bovi Fever. I was in quarantine, so there isn't much I can personally recount, but I'll never forget the looks I saw on everyone's faces from my windowsill.

I have both you and Her Majesty to thank for that. I also know that I have a new bounty on my head and a large sum to fork over for those lost infants and mothers in Arendelle, and I will pay it. I'm already paying for it with my night terrors.

I'm going to have to close my letter here. My body isn't in the best condition for a longer heart-to-heart duologue. But lastly, I will expatiate on the articles published by the likes of trifling quidnuncs such as journalist J. Abelard. My council has petitioned against him in order to deflate his hot-air balloon, but we can't legally keep anyone from their Free Speech if that's what you're asking us to do. J. Abelard is one (potentially border-hopping) news-hawk out of twenty; from experience, I can attest to his mouth not being the head voice of all Coronans just as I don't believe Deputy Kolbein Stoltenberg speaks for all of Arendelle.

And here is where I will end my letter with this much to be confessed:

I am grateful for Her Majesty. A measuring tape can't even measure the extent of what I feel. I'm sure she's been a queen worth waiting for. Please tell her that as many times as you can.

From Corona,
I of February, 1848
With thanks,
King Eugene

P.S. I would have expected an ordinary ambassador or private secretary to substitute Queen Elsa's ink with theirs, so I'm assuming Your Excellency and Her Majesty are close enough to engage in that type of dialogue.