Forever Yours

Dear Frederick,

This past weekend my mother’s sister, Evangeline, came with her husband to visit my family in the Capitol. Remembering the few times you had come with me to visit them at their home outside of Langford, my aunt inquired about you. Evidently, my father’s efforts to keep quiet the ‘scandalous’ relationship we shared have been successful, for she appeared to have heard nothing of it, nor did she think that relationship had any bearing on my decision not to return to Langford Academy next fall. The subject was not raised, and your name quickly dismissed to avoid embarrassment.

Before that occurrence, I had a rare encounter with my brothers. They have distanced themselves from the family in recent years, but made an appearance at a banquet held in late July. I feigned illness in order to excuse myself from the meal, desperate to avoid any contact with those two.

I do believe I’ve explained to you the delicate nature of my relationship with my brothers, but, I will nevertheless retell the story here. If nothing else, it shall give me excuse to continue writing, an activity which does comfort me so.

Traditionally, the oldest son of the King of Corsica is designated as the Crown Prince and expected to take the throne upon the occasion of his father’s death. There have been plenty of exceptions to this rule, of course, one of them being my very own father. My father, the revered King Alexander, was of no royal lineage, but chosen as heir to the throne after he wedded the daughter of King William, whose only son had died at a young age.

Now, my father has three sons, the youngest of which is myself. My brothers, William and Henry, are twins, born on the very same day. For years, the pair bickered over which of them was to succeed our father, and our father quickly grew frustrated with it. I was born eight years after these twin brothers, and my parents considered that perhaps they may solve the matter of succession by naming this third son Crown Prince. But, I was a born small and sickly baby, and my mother worried I may not survive more than a few years, as had been the case of my older sister. I was thus not named my father’s heir upon my birth, but it remained a consideration. Twelve years after my birth, at which point the bickering of my brothers over succession had reached a new peak, my father announced that neither of them would be awarded the title of Crown Prince, for he had resolved to hand it down to their younger brother, myself. I was a meager boy of twelve, and perfectly terrified by this development, having previously been under the impression I would escape the responsibility of succession as the youngest son.

My brothers were enraged, but they did not dare lash out against my father. Though typically even-tempered with me, his youngest, my father has never hesitated to reprimand my brothers with harsh words and clenched fists. Thus, I was left to enjoy the full brunt of their frustrations, despite the fact that I were just as upset as they that the responsibilities of Crown Prince had been thrust upon me and not one of them.

This is the part of the story you must know best. I seem to remember a certain playful competition between you and I surrounding the subject of abusive older brothers. Indeed, I have many fond memories of heated debates over which of us had endured greater hardship in this area of life. I will confess, your brother Damien is a most wicked creature. This I gather from your own testimony, as well as the few interactions I shared with him in my time at Langford Academy. I need not remind you it was he who discovered and exposed our secret. I can only imagine what horrors you have suffered at his hands in the months since. Oh, it bring tears to my eyes just thinking of it!

Now, my dearest, I turn yet again to begging. You must return my letters, Frederick! Every day that passes without a word from you my agony grows ten-fold. How long will you let me suffer? Some days, I feel I am nearing a breaking point. I can endure this pain only so long. With every day that passes, the promise of relief which death offers, the promise of escape from this life I so hate, grows all the more tempting. But, for you, I may resist temptation, if only you may answer my letters!

Yours,
Robert