In Which Gennie Throws to the Fire

October 8, 1198

"Damn you!" Gennie ground her teeth as she watched the letter crumble into itself, edges to ashes and center to flame. "Damn you damn you DAMN YOU!"

Her maid might as well have delivered a poison arrow to the chest. Lord knew it would have brought the same feeling to her heart.

Dearest Gennie,

I trust this letter finds you well, especially in the wake of your graduation--and congratulations for that, by the way. In spite of my grandfather's reservations, I believe I've settled in quite well here at the monastery--

Then why the HELL was he writing to her?

Hadn't it been enough, breaking her heart like that? Hadn't been enough, passing up the love of a princess for... for some dusty old books and a lifetime of kneeling? What need to he have to rub it in her face?

--Of all the letters I've received from my brother, there's not one in which you weren't mentioned. I hope you know just how fond of you he is--

And to rub that in her face too? Her misplaced guilt over not loving Wolf properly? She had thought him a better man than that!

The last of the letter gave way to the flames. When the fire had exhausted his kindling, no one would be able to tell what had been wood and what had been parchment. No one ever had to know there had been a letter there at all.

But Gennie would know, and she wouldn't forget it. How did one forget a letter from the man who'd scorned her? A man who, for all she knew, had given up all earthly pleasures for the mere sake of not having to look at her again? She'd know that he'd seen fit to remind her, even though there'd never been a chance of her forgetting. If only memories burned as easily as letters.

She'd have thrown every thought of Dalston to the fire years prior.

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