But on the other side of the kingdom, a handsome duke—or rather, the archduke of the king—began receiving daily letters from a maiden he did not recognize.
Initially, he thought it to be a mistake, a mix-up in addresses, but every day for months, he received these letters, opened, and read them. Over time, the girl's words became increasingly personal; she shared everything with him: her favorite food, new clothes, beloved flowers, friendships, and even her quarrels with her father. Eventually, it turned into a routine; every day Thomas would wait for the letters, sometimes receiving two or three when the girl felt particularly inspired or simply because she was sad.
"The lady is truly perplexed," Thomas said upon reading the letter that had just arrived.
I've tried to locate the writer of these letters, to ask her why she sends daily accounts of her life, but the postman is very discreet, never revealing the lady's address.
I lean back in my armchair and ponder about her, wondering if I might know her. My gaze is fixed on the large garden behind my house, where only the most beautiful lilies decorate the space. Whenever I find a different variety, I bring a cutting to plant here.
I'm not sure why I've surrounded my house with flowers because of a stranger; I don't even like flowers, as they remind me of funerals and burials. But one day, while at a local shop, I saw beautiful lily plants, and before I knew it, I had purchased several and planted them in the yard.
This is ridiculous; it's not as if she would ever come to visit, but even so, I make sure to water them, maintaining this routine every single day for three months.
I go to my office and work there; I have lunch and dinner without leaving for any reason. It's past seven o'clock when Irene knocks on the door. Irene is my maid, the housekeeper.
"Come in."
"Sir, I apologize for the disturbance, but another letter has arrived."
"Another?!"
"Yes."
Something must have happened...she doesn't typically send more than two letters a day!
I take the letter and as I'm about to open it, I realize she is still there.
"You may go, thank you."
"Yes, sir."
She departs, and I open the letter.
"Dear, I am in despair! My father thinks you won't find me! He told me to forget you; they are preparing a courting ceremony for me! I don't want this, I don't need it! I don't know what to do."
No...
I can't let them court her; I must help her! But how can I when I don't even know her name? I won't let them force her into marriage; I must do something.
I rise from the chair, leaving all important tasks behind, grab the box where I keep all her letters, and sift through them, re-reading each one carefully, looking for any clue.
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