Dear R,

It is nearly midnight, and tomorrow I will marry you.

I should be sleeping. My lady’s maid has already scolded me twice for still having one of the faelights glowing, warning that I’ll have shadows beneath my eyes tomorrow. But how can I possibly sleep when every thought is of you? When tomorrow, after all this time of letters and longing, I will finally be yours in every way?

Do you know what is strangest of all? I’m writing to you from the very same room where I penned that first letter, thinking I was pouring my heart out to enchanted paper. The room where I first called you ‘Not-So-Imaginary’ and you called me ‘brave’ when I felt anything but.

I hardly recognize her now, that terrified girl who wrote to an enchanted box, convinced she would shatter under the weight of her own magic, convinced she could never love anything as much as her music.

But you were right, weren’t you? (Yes, I know, you are R for almost always Right About Things.) That day you asked if there might not be room for different kinds of joy, different colors of the same light. I was so certain nothing could shine as brightly as the feeling of my own musical creations flowing through me.

I was wrong.

You shine brighter. You shine so bright sometimes I can scarcely breathe for the wonder of it And tomorrow I am going to promise to spend the rest of my life basking in that light. I will walk toward you—not run away, not hide, not flee to the kitchens or the music room or the gardens—but walk steadily forward to take your hand.

With my whole heart,

L

P.S. My mother insists on an elaborate hairstyle tomorrow with approximately three thousand pins. I do hope someone will be available to help remove them all tomorrow evening. Someone patient and gentle, with clever fingers. Any suggestions?

~

My Dearest Soon-To-Be-Princess L,

Midnight finds me equally awake, sitting at my desk composing a reply to the woman who altered my very existence with a single letter, whom I can scarcely believe I will have the right to call my wife by this time tomorrow.

And speaking of this time tomorrow—you asked for suggestions regarding the hair pin situation. I might know someone. Devastatingly handsome fellow. Legendary charm. Has been dreaming about running his fingers through your hair since approximately the sixth letter you sent him. I could make introductions if you’d like?

But perhaps I should stop there before this letter becomes entirely too improper for an unwed lady to receive. Though after tomorrow … well. After tomorrow I’ll be able to write all manner of improper things without your roses’ disapproval. They’ll have to accept me as family.

And while we’re on the subject of family—how scandalized do you think they would be at this somewhat unconventional addition to my vows: ‘I promise to kiss the honey from your fingers whenever

Ah. I was just interrupted by Spark lifting his head long enough to fix me with a look of withering disapproval and a most judgmental puff of glittering smoke. I swear, he knows precisely what I’m writing. Nearly as bad as Horatio. Thimble, on the other hand, would no doubt approve—if she were conscious. She’s currently collapsed against Spark’s side like a fallen courtier after too much wine, one tiny paw flung dramatically over her face.

There. Spark has gone back to sleep now, Thimble has begun to snore, and I’m left sitting here imagining that first glimpse of you tomorrow—the hush of the hall, the swell of music, and then you, radiant and blushing and beautiful. I make no promises about remembering how to breathe.

Yours (in only a few more hours), 

R

~

Dear R of the Legendary Charm and Clever Fingers,

I think I have forgotten how to breathe already.

But I’m glad to hear that Spark and Thimble have made themselves at home in your study. They did look rather forlorn when I left Solstice Hall. I shall be delighted to see them tomorrow at the ceremony (though that excitement pales in comparison to the breathless, heart-pounding thought of seeing you).

And as for that devastatingly handsome fellow you mentioned … an introduction won’t be necessary. I believe I’m already quite well acquainted with this gentleman. Though I must warn him that I was not exaggerating about the number of pins (all right, perhaps I was, but only a little). It might take considerable time. He should probably clear his schedule. I’m thinking I shall likely require his services … all night.

Boldly yours, 

L

My Darling, Daring Soon-To-Be Wife,

I … have no words.

Speechlessly yours,

R

P.S. All right. I found some words. You are going to be the absolute ruin of my composure, Lise. Fortunately, I look forward to the devastation.

P.P.S. Schedule cleared.

~

My dearest blushing (you, blushing!) R,

Who could have known, at the beginning of all this, that I would one day be the one to ruin YOUR composure?

Delightedly yours,

L

~

I did, L. I knew.

Would you like to know what else I knew?

I knew I loved you before I knew your name.

I knew I loved you when you started teasing me in return.

I knew I loved you when you suggested that first outrageous prank at your grandmother’s tea house.

I knew I loved you when you admitted I made you blush.

I knew I loved you when you said our letters made words come as easily as breathing.

And I will love you for every heartbeat this world allows me.

~

Ryden …

I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Thank you for being real.

Thank you for waiting while I learned to be brave.

Thank you for loving me through ink and paper, through silence and distance, through all my anxieties and insecurities and overthinking.

P.S. I LOVE YOU.

P.P.S. That last one was just in case you missed the previous four.

~

My darling Lise,

I am perilously close to committing a royal scandal by stealing a carriage and racing through the night to you, because the thought of waiting even a moment longer to hold you in my arms feels intolerable. But I’ll attempt restraint. Barely.

I LOVE YOU!

(That was me exercising truly heroic restraint.)

For now … sleep, my love. Dream of tomorrow. I’ll be there waiting, trying my best to look composed and failing utterly the moment you walk in.

All my love,

Ryden

~

My love,

Sleep well. I will be dreaming of that first quiet moment after the final note of celebration fades, when the world grows still around us and it is only you and me at last.

Bravely, boldly, entirely yours, 

L