Shadow Touched (Editing)

5. NAIMA

Naima,

I thought I saw you today. Needing a change of pace, I rode into the city. No, no, that's not true. I needed an escape. An escape from the Castle, from my duties, my father...from the sycophants who trail my every step, who preen and simper and agree with everything I say, no matter how stupid and foolish. So this morning, I hopped on Malacoda and rode into the city without saying a word to anyone.

Of course, Finch followed. He always does. It's uncanny how he always seems to know where I am. I digress. This letter is not about Finch (regardless of how fascinating a study he is; perhaps I'll dedicate my next letter to dissecting the good Captain's many peculiarities? I'm sure you'd just love that).

The morning air was crisp. The roads were empty, allowing me to ride Coda at full speed. I steadfastly ignored Finch. He had the good grace to allow me that respect. I rode into the city like a man on a mission, though I had nowhere to be and no one to see.

I ended up stopping at Fallhallows. I swear, I can almost feel you cringe from wherever you are. Who are you to judge? If it weren't for you, a respectable Prince like me wouldn't even know the place existed. While I can fully admit it's, to use your words, "a den of iniquity," it, forgive me, reminds me of you. Of your humour. Your bravada. Your confidence. Of the way you shine, even in the foulest of places. How your beauty can make even the most awful of spaces feel like a palace kee—I'll stop. I'm sorry. I know how you hate when one waxes poetic.

So, where was I? Oh yes, Fallhallows.

I went in, sat at the bar, ordered a pint and drank. I drank slowly, letting the taste of the ale wash across my tongue. I felt it stain my teeth as it worked its way to the back of my throat and down my chest to sit warmly in the pit of my stomach.

With each sip, I closed my eyes and heard your voice. Your raucous laughter. Your calls for more wine! More sport!

When the pint was finished, I ordered another and remembered your smell, the soft perfume of gardenias and cinnamon. I ordered a third and felt your slender hand resting on my thigh, squeezing just hard enough to entice me. I ordered a fourth and a fifth and felt the warmth of your body as it pressed into mine. Felt the softness of your lips as they released that secret breath, feeling it scurry past my cheek on its way to my ear.

I ordered another and opened my eyes. And felt the lack of...you.

My heart ached with loss. With desire. With need. I went to order another but found I couldn't speak. And then...and then I woke up in my four-poster, believing the whole thing had all been a dream. Until I recognized the taste of stale ale.

It made me laugh because the only dream is you.

Why, after all this time, must you haunt my every thought? Can you not relinquish this hold you have on me? Or, are you out there, somewhere being haunted by me? By these letters? By the weight of my love, which, despite all sense, is unending?

I—no, there's nothing more to say except that I love you. I have always loved you. And, the gods know I always will.

Yours, eternal,

Greyling

~*~

I fold and unfold the letter, rereading it for the fifth time. Like the letter writer, the big loose script is full of flourish and bravado.

When his first letter found me three years ago, it shook me. I was positive I had managed to kill Lady Naima successfully. Disgraced and exiled, I set out to reinvent myself, to leave behind the woman I was. Somehow, he found me. And he won't let me go. I can't decide if I'm happy or mad about that.