The letter is in your hands. The ink is old, the handwriting unmistakably his - Callum's neat, careful script outlining every step of a plan. How to approach you. How to earn your trust. How to make the lonely prince fall. Your chest feels hollow. You think of every quiet evening, every small gesture, every time he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world. Was any of it real? Then his knock lands at your chamber door - three soft raps, the way he always does it. Your name on his lips, gentle and warm, completely unaware of what you now hold in your trembling hands.