07.09.1673

My brave lion,

I arrived at the capital on the seventh, yet have not been able to steal a single moment to write you even a brief letter. Chancellor Tarax, that cunning fox, has consumed all my hours, and I have been confined to days filled with ledgers and conversations with ministers. Truly, one ought not to leave affairs of state unattended for so long, and now I am compelled to spend my evenings by candlelight until the very letters blur before my weary eyes.

The weather in the city is utterly despicable. A feeble rain falls daily—not a proper cleansing storm, but a perpetual, fretful drizzle that wears upon the nerves. Yet I fear in the field it must feel far more dreary and oppressive.

Are you well? I often recall how cold and damp your tent was when I visited you in the night. Now, with none to bring warmth to your quarters, life within must be utterly unbearable. Will you not command that a better one be found? The thought of the hardships you endure for Arethas and for your Queen weighs heavily upon my heart.

You visited my dreams on the fourth night, whilst I was still upon the road, and again on the eighth, here in the capital. The dream on the fourth was… pleasant, and I awoke much flustered by it. But the eighth… my dear, I shall not anger the gods by giving life to troubled visions by speaking of them. I have not prayed since my father was taken by his illness, yet now I pray for you each night—for your safe return, for your continued health, and… No. I shall not tempt fate with clumsy words. All I ask is that you be cautious and do not risk yourself needlessly. I swear upon my crown, if I learn you have suffered wounds from recklessness and not necessity, I shall recall you at once. You will sit locked within my palace until you learn, once and for all, that your Queen will not share you with a cold grave.

I never before noticed how chill this palace is, and only now do I see it, when you are not beside me. I remember your hands, your lips, your touch, and I languish each second without them. Every memory of our nights together warms my heart and fills me with fire. Every moment, every caress that returns to me in memory…

My beloved! My beautiful marble knight! There is no greater joy that awaits me than to feel your affection once more. Be quick, be quick, my soul, I beg of you.

But no, I must not be so selfish. Pray, do what must be done, for my own knowledge in matters of war is limited. Do not rush your hand, yet do not tarry overlong, I implore you, for I fear you may forget your Queen's love if we stay apart for too long. Do not leave me yearning.

Write to me whenever your hands still obey you after the long days, lest I begin to think your ardour for me has cooled, my lion. My heart, inflamed by the memory of your touch, is truly impatient. Every letter from you is honey for my soul and a balm to my heart.

Eternally devoted to you,

Salacia