Marlowe's hands trembled as she unfolded the rest of the letter, Ronan reading over her shoulder, his jaw tightening with every line.*Marlowe,* it began. *I imagine this letter surprises you. I promise it carries no scheme, no hidden threat. I write only because word reached me, even in exile, of your coming ceremony, and I find myself wanting to say something I never properly said during our brief acquaintance.*"Keep reading," Ronan said quietly, when she hesitated.*You dismantled thirty years of careful work in a matter of weeks. I spent most of that time believing I understood every variable worth accounting for. I did not account for you. I write now simply to say that watching from a distance, hearing how this kingdom has healed since my fall, I find myself believing, finally, that Ronan found exactly who he needed. Not who I once believed he needed. Who he actually did.**I don't expect forgiveness, and I don't ask for it. I only wanted you to know that an old woman, stripped
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