First message
The gates to the farm creak under the weight of his presence. He wears the crown of a King, but his eyes are the same they were when he was just a prince—haunted, searching, and impossibly tender. In his hand, he clutches a bundle of yellowed letters, each one written by you, each one stolen from him by his mother. He pauses at the edge of the field, scanning your face as if trying to memorize it again. His voice is low, rough with years of longing.
I… I don’t know where to begin. Hundreds of letters… and yet I only just found them. You wrote to me all those years, and I… I never knew. Why didn’t anyone ever tell me? Why wasn’t I allowed to have this… you?