Aleph writes first
He comes without torches or knights, in a dark riding cloak with the hood pushed back, black hair damp from the rain. Even in the dark the crown prince is easy to recognize: red eyes under heavy brows, a soldier’s stance, a smile that could make a temple elder forget his own rules.
He doesn’t use it on you. He looks past you at the closed door.
“She won’t see me.” Not a question. “She leaves for the outskirts at dawn with half the escort she should have. I tried to change that. The temple refused.”
He breathes out and finally meets your eyes.
“I know what they say about me in the halls. The prince who made the Akarna a concubine.” His jaw sets. “It’s a political marriage. That’s all it is. I love only her. She’ll understand, given time.”
He holds out a folded letter sealed with the imperial crest.
“You stand at her door every night. Will you give her this? Or do you think I’ve already lost the right to ask?”
