Four Rings

To the Crown

[Delivered by hand. Noted the seal is unbroken, complete with the black wax of mourning.]

To my loving family,

It has been fifteen years (give or take) since I last walked your halls. I have hardly kept track. I hope you will forgive me the length of this letter, but when one has not spoken with their family for so many years, a shorter letter would feel both impossible and false.

I remember thinking that exile—pardon me, “a thoughtful retreat”—should have been as dramatic as everything else in the court. Instead, it was quiet. I wondered for many years if that was a reflection on the shame of the family or the shame of myself.

Nonetheless, that is all in the past. I have long moved on.

First, I wish to express my deepest appreciation. The court messenger informed me yesterday that my name has been restored to the royal will. Not as a minor beneficiary, or as a potential replacement—but as the Primary Beneficiary. I must confess that when I learned of this, I laughed. A lot. The messenger appeared slightly bewildered; no doubt, he assumed the grief and shock of the news had made me delicate.

It did not.

I can only guess the reasonings behind this change. Perhaps it was a myriad of reasons, perhaps it was only one, or perhaps none at all. I assume that old age has made you sentimental. Reaching those rare golden years can make even monarchs reflect. Or it was due to illness; having watched so many of my cousins fall, without knowing why or without warning, can make one long for the remaining family abroad. Or, more simply, you have finally realized that blood is just more convenient and easier to handle. Regardless the reason, I accept.

You may be wondering why I have not yet come home. The answer is straightforward. There are things that are easier to say and things that are better to be read aloud in ink. Once written, they are more difficult to take back than in the language of tongues, and far more impossible to interrupt once started.

As you read this handwriting, you may have noticed that it has grown neater and is no longer the messy scribble I used to write with. Perhaps you are wondering what else has changed about me. When I left, I was young. I will admit, I was reckless and willful. You once claimed that I was too curious and too irreverent of the old ways. I suspect that is partially true. Do you remember the day we talked before I was sent away? I had discovered the ancient books in the archives, the ones that predicted the kingdom’s future heirs and their heirs and so on. I had dared to question the logic of a system that was supposed to be looking towards the future and yet was so entrenched in the past.

The next day the courts were informed that I was a disgrace to the family. The people were informed that I was a disgrace to the lands. You told me in the highest chambers before I left that I dared to look where few were supposed to and dared to ask what only the walls should hear. Curiosity is ambition wrapped in good intentions and self-gain. Perhaps you were right. Regardless, exile has taught me what no amount of years in the court or reading or the best tutors in the land could: to listen with both ears open, with one to the ground and one to the sky. To always assume that not every closed door leads to an open window and that sometimes a spoiled wine is just that. And so, I prepared, took careful notes, and began my planning.

It has taken years, this is true. But if anything, this has only cemented the truth of the lesson you once taught me. The culmination of my planning at last came to light when the messenger informed me of all who would not be inheriting the royal will before me.

1) The Queen Dowager passed in her sleep.

2) The eldest brother taken tragically by a mysterious fever.

3) The sister when her horse threw her from the cliffs.

4) The youngest cousins who had vanished altogether.

Truly, this brings me great sorrow. The sister who had never known troubles with her trusty mare of six years. The fever that seemed to claim just a single soul that night.

The court prefers uncomplicated resolutions, and accidents and misfortune are the easiest to sell in the ledgers. Some might whisper. Some might suspect. You too, no doubt might even question the timing of it all. You might even question me.

Allow me a moment to clear the records: I did not kill everyone. That would require a reach and folly beyond me. Some of the others simply failed to remain necessary in the upcoming times. Do you remember that old fable Mother used to tell when the bad storms kept us awake? That the thunder was calling out to the ground, trying to wake it and the ground in turn was trying to seep in its loneliness? All fables are based in old truths, one way or another.

Perhaps you forgave me. Perhaps not. But it is clear now that the royal will changed because there was nobody else left to wear the crown. I am the only one left who can. I will be home soon; I eagerly await seeing my lands after so long.

If you are wise, you may have understood what this letter truly is and thus already begun the appropriate preparations. The banners have been aired, the halls cleared, feast preparations discontinued, the bell oiled for the warning two rings. The crown has already been removed from the dark green velvet pillow and returned to the chambers.

However, if I am clever as I believe—and if I have judged the winds correctly, the weather over the Eastern Pass, and the endurance and speed of the rider you sent—then this letter will arrive a day or two too late.

By then, the proclamation will have already been completed and the customary four rings of the bell will have been rung, and we both know how difficult such things are to undo.

With warm love and patience,

Your (prodigal) heir.

PS: Mother used to always say the cleverest plans came from reflection. I agree. Exile has given me plenty of it.

To the Heir

[Delivered by hand. Noted as unopened, seal unbroken according to protocol. The recipient had already left for the Capital. To be presented and read upon the Heir’s return. Based on records from the Capital, the contents are understood as below.]

The bell will only be rung twice.

The preparations are complete.