“Is there a reason you are still here, Vaeron?” she asked as she pushed the paper to the side, and then grabbed another.

The first was was married, covered with scrubbed out lines. Vaeron caught sight of the words, ‘To make amends,’ before the next piece of paper covered it mostly. Her hands began to work more furiously, but still using a gorgeous, calligraphic hand. Clearly she was intent on scribing this document.

She glanced over to where Vaeron was eyeing at the book. He had left the door open, and a soft draught was coming through. Though her bottom half was covered in fur her top half had flesh exposed, and she was finding herself now shivering under an ugly cold. When she saw him peer at her, but his hand still on the book's cover she scowled.

“Vaeron.”

“Princess, you have been my friend for a long time now. Many would fear to say what I need to say to you know out of respect for you but you need to stop. This is getting out of hand. You need to stop thinking about this man and get on with your duties.”

“I am getting on with them,” she argued back, “I went to talk to Celandine-”

“There are other duties than doing a singular motherly act,” he said back, and his voice was calm unlike hers. “You have an army of women beholden to you and they have not seen your here for a long time. First the incident with Osiris, then the journey to and from Alerar. Now this … obsession-”

“I'm not obsessing over anything, Vaeron,” she shouted, though her thoughts were still, admittedly, on the Huntsman. Her hand still wrote. “There is just a matter to sort out, a delicate one, a-”

But he was by her side already, the book closed some time ago. He had taken advantage of her distraction and, with a swift hand, tugged away the paper. The letter she was writing. She cried out but he was already taking steps back and reading it.

“The Huntsman,” it read. “My life is a complicated one. I have lived and seen death many times in my life. I have fought wars and have led too many funerals. My daughter's near death was too close though this time.
Our association began ill, and I wish to make amends. If you would come back with the person who delivered this letter to you, I would be grateful. If you do not wish to come, that is entirely up to …”

He looked at her, disappointment in his eyes.
“Princess.”

She cleared the space between them in a matter of seconds and snatched it back out of his hands. Her eyes were daggers. “Don't you dare to do that again, Rameses Vaeron,” she hissed. “This is my problem, my life, and I can do whatever the hell I want with it.”

He let her take the paper, but he was reluctant. His fingers stayed on it for just a second to rip a small corner from the page. Turning her back to him she marched back over to the desk and got a clean sheet to begin writing again.

He breathed in. “Princess-”

“Just go, Vaeron,” she growled. “And let me deal with my torment on my own.”