Write To Him

Nessa watches in obstruct horror as her little sister ties her shoes— a leg unceremoniously tossed on the dinner table to better reach her riding boots without bending over, like any other child raised in a cave might. She grimaces and rolls her eyes. “Don’t they teach you anything at that fancy monastery?”

Meryl looks up at Nessa, squints at the ugly face she makes, and continues to tie a neat bow in her shoelaces. “Whas’that supposed to mean?”

Her sister rises from her seat across the way, stretching a hand to shoo away the nasty, muddy foot from the tabletop. “Etiquette! Manners!” With a few slaps, Meryl relents (alright, alright!) and slides her leg off the table. Nessa, however, is unrelenting, waggling a finger before crossing her arms. “You’re as bad as your brothers, you should be ashamed. We’ve already got too many little beasts in the bloodline.”

“I’m interested in the training bits— you know? Things that actually make a difference? Not everyone wants to be a blushing little bride to some hoity toity noble boy, you know.”

Nessa frowns comically, reaching to tug at Meryl’s ear. “You little—”

“Ow ow— MUUUMMMM!”

More tugging, “Shut up!”

“Girls,” The tempered voice of their mother calls from several rooms over, sweet and melodious and sends the fear of the Goddess in them nevertheless. “It’s the holidays,” She sighs, the same speech given almost every year the family is together in one place, “Please find the will to be kind for just the week. Heaven’s sake.”

A simultaneous 'yes mum' is uttered (albeit begrudgingly) by the sisters, and Nessa releases Meryl’s ear when the latter sticks her tongue out mockingly. “Ugh, you’re such a child.”

“And you’re a prude. When did you become so unfun? Is that what boarding school does to people?”

“A. Child.” Nessa reiterates as she makes her way back to her seat. Her brows knit together, squinting at Meryl down the bridge of her dainty upturned nose. “And what do you know of noble boys, anyways? Surely no young man worth his ilk would want a romance with such a fiend. Probably too afraid you’d attempt to eat the bouquet.”

“Oh, shut up,” Meryl sours, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not there for romance, I told you that!”

“Yes, obviously not.”

“And the young men I do know there are my friends, who are ALSO not there for romance.”

“Oh, but of course my sweet, precious, idiot baby sister. The greatest lords and ladies of the nations combined send their children for education alone with no single other intent in mind!”

“Ugh, don’t patronize me,” She moves to sit her elbow against the table, resting her cheek in her palm. “I’m not an idiot, you know what I mean.”

“What’s this about young men that are your friends?” Nessa shifts the topic with startling ease, folding her hands neatly against her lap. “Are they desperate? Or, do they assume you’re a boy yourself?”

“Don’t know— say! Didn’t Aunt Eimhear mention how much resemblance we bear to each other?” Meryl offers a sly smile, “Maybe that’s why you’re still not engaged.”

“You are abhorrent.”

“Only trying to help my sweet, precious idiot sister.”

Nessa sighs, pushing in her chair instead of sitting down. “At least you’ve made friends, I suppose. Who’s the one you wrote mother about again?”

“Sanne?”

“No, no, the noble boy.”

Meryl squints, thinking for a moment, “Felix?”

“Ah! Yes, that one. He’s the one that beats you to a pulp, yes?”

“We train together, Nessa… And I occasionally beat him, too.”

“Charming. I’m sure your relationship is the envy of all such would-be swooning girls.”

The girl snorts, waving her free hand. “Felix isn’t looking for swooning girls, trust me.”

“No?” Nessa tests, offering a faux innocent smile, “Just likes the kind that can beat him, does him?”

Color floods to Meryl’s cheeks, though she’d vehemently deny it. Her brows knit, young face funnily scrunched. “It isn’t like that! We’re friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We are!”

“I’m not saying you aren’t.” Nessa smiles teasingly as she pats her little sister’s head on her way to the sink. Meryl fusses her fingers away with a flailing arm— squinting at the woman as Nessa begins to wash the plates leftover from breakfast.

When Meryl speaks again, it’s a decidedly less confident tone. “Even if I DID like him,” She starts, slumping back with her hand again in her palm and elbow against the table, “We aren’t exactly in the same league.”

There’s a gentle sadness, enough so that Nessa stops mid-washing to look back at her sister. She considers Meryl quietly for only a moment before anger bubbles somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She was the only one that could make her sweet baby sister upset— not some idiot rich boy.

“Classism is trivial, darling sister,” Nessa starts, drying her hands on her apron. “Lords marry house-less crest bearers all the time— it isn’t so uncommon. And furthermore, if a man can not see the merit in loving for love’s sake then he is not a man at all! Just a pig.”

“It would be easy if he were just a small country lord’s son like the boys here,” Meryl remarks with a dry laugh.

“So he is baron or viscount’s boy? Still, nothing to fret over, sweet Meryl, I’m sure—”

“His father is a duke.”

Meryl looks to Nessa with a face close to constipation. Nessa nearly mimics the expression. The quiet continues a moment longer.

“I—…. what?”

“His father,” She breaths in and out, placing the palms of her hands against the wood table. “Is a duke.” Her fingers tip-tap against the tabletop as she shares a look with her sister. “Duke Fraldarius, actually.”

Nessa takes a moment to study her sister. A million thoughts file through at once, brow arched. “This Felix boy,” “Yes.”

“That you regularly beat, and are beaten by,”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is Duke Fraldarius’ son.”

“His only son, actually.”

They share another moment of silence. Meryl fidgets in her seat. Nessa squints.

“You don’t believe me, do you.” The girl groans as she tosses her arms up for emphasis, “You really don’t!?”

“I’m undecided,” Nessa admits while crossing her arms. “I can’t tell if you’re slighting me again, or if this situation is true and genuine.”

“Slighting you?” Meryl huffs, rolling her eyes, “Why would you think that?!”

“My little sister, who cares not for romance and whimsy, in helpless love with a Duke’s son while her elder sister struggles to catch the hand of a single lowly country-side lord? Really?” Nessa places her hands on her hips, tone edging on irritation, “You don’t see it?”

“Goddess have mercy, Ness,” Meryl shakes her head, “Not everything is about you!”

“Then perhaps find a new subject of torment, you foul little beast!”

“Nessa!” Meryl jumps from her seat, moving to catch her sister’s arm before she could leave the kitchen. She sighs, and Nessa looks at her from the bridge of her nose again. “I’m not being petty,” She squeezes her sister’s arm gently, “I swear.”

The girls stand there a moment before Nessa moves to cup Meryl’s hand and ushers her back the dining table. Seated again, she watches as her sister flitters away towards the hall. “Ness—”

“Wait there,” She calls coolly back as she turns a corner.

When she returns, she does so with parchment and a fountain pen in hand. Nessa gently places the items in front of Meryl, who squints first to the paper and then to her sister. “What is…?”

“Write to him.”

“What?”

“You say you're friends, that you know him,”

“You can’t be serious.”

“If he’s real and you know him, prove it!”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“And you’re either a liar or in denial!” Nessa moves sit across the way from her little sister.

“I am not a liar.” Meryl insists in a grumbled breath, though funnily enough speaks not on the latter accusation.

Her sister reaches across the table to tap the paper pointedly. “Then write.”

Defiantly, Meryl looks to Nessa— taking the pen in hand and hovering its tip over the parchment. Nerves, those she did not know she even had, swelled in her chest tight and anxious. “Fine,” She says as she looks down to eye the paper. And then, much less confidently, “I will…”

'Dear Felix'