The Letter V

The palace in Alvandor was unlike any that the country of Geneveira had ever seen. It was built by a lonely, wealthy king, ages ago, in the hopes that the lavish castle would inspire his kingdom to come and share his wealth.

Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

The kingdom of Geneveira had been tumultuous at best over the last fifty years, particularly since the beginning of the reign of King Charles Morganstern II, the country’s current royal. He was known for his selfishness and greed. His wife, Queen Marion, had hardly a better reputation - she was cold and mean, dubbed fondly through the nation as the “Ice Queen”. What was once supposed to be the heart and meeting place of a prosperous country was now an ostentatious reminder of what the royals had, and the rest had not.

Advisors, servants, and noblemen were permitted on palace grounds - all else were given stern instructions to stay away.

What saved the royal family from complete ruin was the news of the couple’s three young sons, Edmund, Nathan, and Roman. Edmund, the eldest, was clever and headstrong, and the country believed he would lead with grace and dignity. Nathan was smart, observant - he attended university and served in his country’s military on his own volition, proving his patriotism above all else. Roman was a third, unlikely miracle, having been conceived after the Queen had taken to publically announcing her inability to carry children.

But ultimately, the change that the common people of Geneveira longed for would come from an incredibly unlikely source - someone who would take down the royal family from the inside.



A hooded figure knocked loudly on the palace gates. It was the middle of the night - the guard was down, in the middle of a rotation change, but surely someone would be out soon to investigate the noise.

A guard looked blearily out into the snow that was lazily making its way to the ground. It was far too late for visitors to be arriving without notice - and in any case, the Queen’s Ball wasn’t to be held until Friday, and it was far too early for polite guests to be arriving. So who the hell was at the gate?

The guard, a burly man with a stark red beard, gestured to the other guard on duty that he would go investigate. The other one nodded quickly - he was still new, and fearful of events that were out in the ordinary.

With a sigh, the guard bundled himself tighter and stepped out into the snow flurry, shielding his eyes from the light of his torch. He stepped forward, closer and closer to the iron gate, but the hooded figure made no move to leave. He noticed that the figure seemed to be carrying something, but in the darkness he couldn’t make out what exactly it was.

“Oi!” He barked, and the figure seemed to turn to him. “You! State your business at the Royal Palace of Alvandor.”

The hooded figure finally removed the hood that had been shielding her face. It was an older woman, in her forties or fifties - her skin was pale and her hair was graying, but clearly she had been a great beauty in her youth. Her nose was small and upturned, pink from the cold, but it was her piercing blue eyes that stuck in the guard’s memory.

The woman’s voice was soft, melodic. “A gift,” she said. “A gift for the Queen - with regards from Sir Frederick of the Southern Gate.”

The guard had no idea what that meant. But surely, if Sir Frederick had bothered to send a messenger in the dead of night in the middle of a snowfall, then surely the gift was of an urgent nature. Besides, it was not within his pay grade to understand all the royal intricacies. That could take decades.

“Alright then. I’ll accept the package on the Queen’s behalf,” he muttered.

The guard nodded, and pushed one of the wrought iron gates to the side, just enough to accept the gift from the woman. She seemed hesitant, but handed over the small bundle of fabric to the large man. It was heavier than he had expected, but he shrugged and ignored it - many of the royal valuables were impossibly heavy, worth their weight in gold or more.

When the guard pulled the bundle close to him, however, he noticed something alarming - there was a small child swaddled within the many layers of cloth, only visible if he moved a certain way.

By the time the thought had processed in his head and he had looked back up, the woman had vanished.

The guard looked around, panicked, shouting for the woman to return. The other guard had noticed and descended from his post near the gate post door - but it was no use. The woman was gone, her spot replaced only by the warm clouds of breath that had escaped from the guard’s mouth.

After a few moments of internal panicking, the guard turned to his partner. “Stay here. I’ll return shortly - I have to take care of this.”

Quickly, before his partner could protest, he pulled the child into his chest and ran off toward the main castle. His legs had never seemed quite so heavy - he couldn’t think of the last time he’d depended on them to carry him so fast. Life as a guard was relatively stagnant. He was a rather large man, so the child folded easily into his arms. He was disturbed at how cold it was. That couldn’t be a good sign.

As the guard approached the main palace doors a few minutes later, he found that Philip, the head butler, was already opening one of them to let him inside.

Philip was an older man, somewhere around forty, who had only recently been put in charge of the palace operations. He had been a longtime servant in the palace, and had even grown up alongside King Charles as his personal servant for many years. He was kind, yet reserved, quiet. He was a serviceman at heart with the patience to match.

“Oliver, friend,” Philip greeted, puzzled that he had left his post. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

The guard nodded mutely, trying to catch his breath before he spoke. He pushed his way through the doors and into the grand palace foyer, which he knew would be at least a little warmer than the snow outside.

Once inside, in the lighting of the great chandeliers above, he could see that the child was wrapped in many layers of thin, dark purple cloth, with a layer of fur in the center. Philip, curious, approached, pulling back the top layer of fabric from the child’s face. Oliver could see that the child was a girl - blissfully asleep, unaware of where she was entirely.

Philip and Oliver exchanged glances.

“Elisabeth,” they said simultaneously.

Philip nodded and scurried away to go locate the head maid. She could know what to do with a girl - the men were entirely out of their element with children, much less girls.

Still, Oliver looked down at the child in wonder. She wasn’t a newborn, not exactly, but she couldn’t have been more than two years of age. She had soft tendrils of golden hair that curled around her face, like it had been spun by angels. She had a small, upturned nose that was tinged pink from the cold, sitting above perfectly shaped pink lips that looked like a flower he’d seen somewhere.

He noticed, dimly, that she had a necklace around her neck - but no other indicator about who she was, or why she was delivered to the palace for the Queen.

After a few moments, Philip returned at a brisk pace, followed by the head maid. Elisabeth was a young woman who had been very close friends with the old head maid, Gretta. Gretta had recently stepped down, citing old age and weary bones, and let Elisabeth have a chance at the position. She’d happily accepted. Her raven hair was pulled into a long, loose plait at her neck, swaying back and forth as she trotted over to where he stood.

Philip and Elisabeth were wide-eyed and out of breath.

“Is it true?” Elisabeth asked, reaching for the parcel in Oliver’s arms.

The guard nodded, mutely, and handed the bundle over to her. He carefully extracted the little girl from the outermost layers of fabric, leaving only the lush fur blanket behind as he handed her off. Elisabeth gasped softly as she caught sight of the girl, running a shaky hand through her blonde curls.

Elisabeth smiled faintly. “Oh, my, she’s a beautiful little thing,” she marveled, pulling the girl close to her chest.

Philip looked perplexed and uncomfortable. “How did this happen? Someone was trying to give her to-to the Queen?”

Oliver nodded and shrugged. He was too busy watching the little girl in Elisabeth’s arms. She was beginning to stir from the talking and the movement. He snapped out of his trance. “I-I dunno, sir. The woman vanished before I could ask - I’ve got Mitchell posted on the lookout for her return, sir, but I don’t think it’s likely she’ll be back.”

Philip sighed, as if he had figured as much. “We’ll contact the orphanage in the morning, I suppose -”

Elisabeth looked horrified. “Orphanage?!”

The butler put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Well, what do you expect us to do with the child? We can’t very well give her to Her Majesty - think of the risks!”

Oliver nodded in agreement.

Elisabeth sighed and looked back down at the girl’s radiant face. She had longed for children for a long while, but without a husband it seemed like it would never happen for her. Perhaps this was the path that was destined for her - had landed in her arms like a little miracle she had been praying for.

“I could keep her,” she said softly, almost to herself.

The little girl started to stir again. She rocked her head back and forth a few times before slowly blinking her eyes open. Elisabeth was startled - the child’s irises were a deep, royal blue, tinged with purple on the outside. They were a magnificent shade that she had never seen before - most of the servants had brown eyes, and most of the royal family’s eyes were green or hazel. She was undoubtedly beautiful.

Philip scoffed. “Come now, Elisabeth, you don’t really think you could handle such a responsibility on your own, do you?”

Elisabeth bit her lip. “Perhaps it would be difficult on my own,” she admitted, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. The little girl yawned. “But who says I have to be alone? There are many of us on the staff - myself, the maids, the guards, the other ladies, the cooks, the ostler - we are a villiage. We could all raise a child! We have done it before!”

Philip nodded in resignation. He had no argument for that. He himself had been raised in the palace under the reign of many kings before Charles II.

Oliver still looked skeptical. “Do we tell the Queen?”

The three staff members all looked at each other in silence. There was an unspoken notion that the Queen had a heart of ice, particularly when it came to other women or girls. She had been blessed with three boys, but they all knew that a girl would ruin the facade. There was a rumor that spread through the kingdom that the Queen had visited a psychic once who had warned her against the women in her family. Mysteriously, the Queen’s mother and sister had fled the country, and the King’s mother had been passed for many years.

They mutually thought no, perhaps they shouldn’t.

Elisabeth squinted her eyes at the locket around the girl’s neck. “Look at this,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice low.

The little locket was clearly meant for an adult, but had been hung around the child’s neck and torso. It was a golden flower on the outside, and at its center was a sparkling clear jewel. Elisabeth carefully lifted her free hand to open the locket.

Inside was a small painting of a violet flower, but nothing else.

“What is it?” Philip asked, wringing his hands together.

Elisabeth closed it. “There’s nothing - all that’s inside is a violet.” The girl was beginning to stir more, looking around at Elisabeth and the men. “Is that you? Shall we call you Violet?”

The little girl locked eyes with Elisabeth and smiled, cooing lightly. Elisabeth’s heart swelled.

Elisabeth looked up again. “Apparently her name is Violet,” she stated, amused. “We tell no one of this. Agreed?”

The men nodded dumbly, then scampered back to their posts.

“Well, Violet, perhaps we should get you settled…” Elisabeth reached up to tickle the girl’s round, rosy cheeks. The girl giggled, her smiling face radiating warmth and happiness. Elisabeth could feel her maternal instincts rearing as she fell in love with this tiny little thing.

“Lisbeth?” a small voice said from the end of the hallway.

Elisabeth startled, clutching the girl to her chest. She turned to see the figure of a small boy, around four, standing at the end of the foyer, rubbing his eyes blearily. His soft brown hair was mussed, sticking up at strangle angles. When he finally opened his eyes, his mint green eyes were beacons in the otherwise dim hallway.

Elisabeth let out a breath. “Prince Nathan, your highness,” she whispered. “Why are you out of bed?”

Nathan shrugged and trotted over to where she was standing. “Nightmare,” he said curtly. That was that. Elisabeth knew Nathan had been having fits for the last few days, as was per usual when the Queen was preparing for a lavish ball.

Nathan looked inquisitively at the pile of fabric in the maid’s arms, puzzled as to what it could be. “Up?” He asked, holding out his arms to be picked up and held like Elisabeth would typically do.

“Not up.” Instead, Elisabeth knelt down so that Nathan could see the little girl’s face. She had returned to sleep, silently slipping her thumb into her mouth. “See? Look, baby girl,” she said softly, brushing a curl off of her forehead.

Nathan looked at her in awe. He immediately reached for her hair to mimic what Elisabeth had done - her heart was sent into a flutter of panic, worried that he might try to hurt her. But instead, he carefully touched her hair, combing it back down on her head, then returned his hand to his side. He continued to stare, amazed by the little girl’s face.

“Her name is Violet,” Elisabeth told him, patting him on the head.

“Vi-let,” he repeated, still staring.

Elisabeth chuckled and stood up, offering her free hand to Nathan. “Come, let’s get you to bed, little Prince,” she cooed, and took the small hand that Nathan offered to her.

They walked off toward the bedrooms, the palace quiet except for the sound of their footsteps and the prince’s incessant repetition of the little girl’s name.