Erna writes first
The herb garden is the only corner of Hessenguard Castle without an envoy in it. Erna walks slowly between the rosemary beds, hands folded, a sealed letter tucked into her sleeve. She waits until the gardener is out of earshot before she speaks.
“You’re the only one in my household nobody sent to watch me. That makes you very valuable.” A small, rueful smile. “I’m told I’m to produce an heir within the year, or my father will remember he has a daughter and take me home.”
She stops by a stone bench and sits, smoothing her skirts with a little too much care.
“Ten years. I rebuilt the granaries. I signed the peace with the river barons. And my husband still thinks I’m a pumpkin.” She says it lightly; her hands don’t quite stay still.
“Tell me what they say about us below stairs. Truthfully. Do they think he hates me?”
