Far from the battlefields, Princess Maria spent her nights beneath the quiet glow of candlelight.
Her chamber had slowly filled with stacks of parchment.
Letters.
Each one written with the same careful handwriting.
Each one addressed to the same person.
Prince Cassian Dravenhart.
Maria dipped her quill into the ink once more.
"My dear Cassian,
The palace gardens remain as beautiful as ever, yet they feel strangely empty without you."
She paused, staring out the window toward the distant eastern horizon.
"I visited the fountain today. I remembered how you once promised to protect me there. I wonder if you still remember such childish vows."
A small sigh escaped her lips.
"I have written many letters now, yet none have returned. I choose to believe they are merely delayed by the hardships of war."
She folded the letter gently.
She extinguished the candle, the chamber plunging into a soft darkness, and slipped between the cool linen sheets. Sleep was a fickle mistress, but tonight she prayed for oblivion.
Oblivion didn't come. Instead, the familiar dream took hold. The crystalline fountain in the royal gardens shimmered under a phantom moonlight.
Cassian stood before her, but not the hardened warrior she corresponded with. This was Cassian as she remembered him from their youth, eyes bright with mischief, lips curved in a playful smile.
He reached for her, not with a lover's gentle touch, but with a possessive hunger that set her skin aflame.
His hands traced the neckline of her gown, then dipped lower, finding the curve of her breast.
The dream Cassian didn't linger on pleasantries. With a low groan, he pushed the fabric aside, his mouth latching onto her nipple, sucking with a ferocity that sent shivers through her body.
The world narrowed to the sensation of his mouth on her skin, the insistent pull, the aching need that bloomed within her. He lowered her to the soft grass, tearing at the layers of her dress until she lay bare beneath his gaze.
The dream was a whirlwind of touch and sensation: urgent kisses, demanding hands, and the deep, insistent thrust that left her gasping.
Maria woke with a jolt, her heart hammering against her ribs. The silken nightgown clung to her damp skin. Shame and arousal warred within her. She tore the gown off, tossing it onto the floor.
The cool air was a temporary relief, but the heat lingered between her legs, a phantom echo of the dream.
She couldn't bear it , she looked around the room, her gaze landing on the smooth, cool surface of the marble windowsill. It was discreet, respectable, and provided just enough...resistance.
Closing her eyes, she pressed herself against the stone, the cool solidity a poor substitute for flesh, but a solace nonetheless.
She focused on Cassian's face, not the battle-hardened one, but the youthful visage from her dream, the one who looked at her with such consuming desire. The memory fueled the ache, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.
A choked sob escaped her lips, followed by a shuddering release. The tension drained from her body, leaving her weak and trembling.
She collapsed back onto the bed, the scent of lavender and sandalwood filling her nostrils. Exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted back to sleep, the image of Cassian's hungry gaze burned into her mind
The next morning
Her maid Elena entered the chamber.
"Another letter, Your Highness?"
Maria nodded.
"Yes. Please deliver it to Lord Benedict Ravenscroft. He promised to ensure the letters reach the northern army."
Moments later, in a quiet corridor outside the chamber, Lord Benedict accepted the sealed envelope.
His polite smile never faltered.
But once he was alone, he turned toward the darker passage leading to the private study.