/D/e/a/r/ /E/l/s/a/
To Your Majesty the Queen,
. . . How are you, exactly? What's happened since my last letter? What became of Hans and Aloysius? I'm asking because Corona doesn't receive news about your side of the equator. We've lost touch with the real world; even the world we're in doesn't feel real anymore. Or maybe I'm the one who's lost touch.
I honestly resisted sitting here and writing to you tonight, but I need you.
. . . Alright, so that definitely created the wrong atmosphere by oversimplifying my point. Let me put the bottle down and sip on some water. Allow me to start over. What I meant to explain was this:
I know what you're thinking. Well, technically I don't know what you're thinking, which is why I'm writing this letter to begin with, but I have an idea of what you're thinking, and I just want to know what it is that I can do to get you and I back on the right track. This sounds like I'm begging you for a response because that is exactly what I'm doing. You left cliffhangers that you wouldn't have left if our alliance was in good standing, such as what you were planning on doing with Prince Aloysius. Since so much time has passed between then and now, you're probably married to him, preparing for the next heir to the throne, or in a situation that's way worse than those two for all I know.
It's not your duty to keep me updated on the status of your marriage, but I'm worried about you. I asked Constantine about Aloysius, and he told me everything that I was in absolutely no condition to hear. I don't know if you know his track record, but his appetite for women isn't something you should be subjecting yourself to in exchange for an insider's scoop. Unprincipled rakes like him aren't just misogynistic; they're possessive. Women are looked at as property to the point where their jealousy takes on a personality of its own.
I feel like maybe he's already done something to get in the way of you communicating with me. I doubt that he's nutty enough to physically make that happen, but cooking up schemes behind the scenes are right up the Westergaard family's alley. Obviously, millions of catastrophes can prevent someone from writing back or getting their pigeon across the border. I'm just worried about which one it is. I'd rather believe that you were choosing not to reply to me because I deeply hurt you.
Right now, I desperately need to ask for your ear. Corona is getting rockier financially. Rugen isn't getting worse and it isn't getting better. "Trade retrenchment" had its advantages before the Bovi Fever. Cutting down high expenses in a way that won't make everything else go to pieces is trickier. The council thinks we should use tax revenues to build walls around Rugen and make "security measures easier."
Constantine is also pressuring me with his own post-famine succession plans, and as of today, Rapunzel's birthday is just seventeen sunsets away...
/I/t/'s/ /e/n/o/u/g/h/ /t/o/ /m/a/k/e/ /a/ /s/a/n/e/ /m/a/n/ /g/o/ /s/i/x/ /f/e/e/t/ /u/n/d/e/r/.
From Corona,
I of July, 1848
Worrying about you exactly the right amount of concern,
Eugene
P.S. I settled with sending Anna a trinket instead of homemade sweets. We still have Arendelle's pigeons in postal lofts, so I had it delivered in the middle of June. I hope she enjoyed it.