<i>I should like to see what an explicitly inappropriate letter from you is like, then.<br/>
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If you were sore, it is too bad I was not there to comfort you. But you sound so conceited, my dear Kethaias. You left sore. Look at the state I have been left in! (You will have to ignore the pile of gifts, they are no comfort.) Now our father has passed, Gharreld is at least obsessed with finding a bride, but the nights grow short for the rest of us once he does. Yet he does not bother so much with anyone but me, for I am the nuisance and the youngest and the prettiest, I suppose, though I shouldn't slight my sisters by saying so. At any rate, I don't find you so piteous.<br/>
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Would I could show you the stain your wine has left on my lips. Would you could taste the sugar left on them when I tried your sweets.<br/>
Where is my lewd letter now? You must be inspired.<br/>
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I am so bored that even your little dinner tale with my brooch amuses me. Gharreld has confined me for a period of mourning, and this letter is the most I can do while being respectful of my poor father. Thank for your condolences. Grief has made me restless, but the summer heat does not help.<br/>
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Your second bottle has not come with instructions, though it smells nice. Is it scented with a golden flower?<br/>
</i><br/>His usual signature marked it.<br/><br/>And scribbled at the bottom,<br/><br/><i>Gharreld is insistent I ask you when your ambassador is coming, though I'm sure he'd rather I couched it in prettier words. Gharreld is crowned in a week, so we will be ready for him or her to complete negotiations by the time</i>--and the rest scribbled off in frustrated, bored blots of ink. At the end of the scrawl--<i>You understand. Blah, blah the rest<br/>
</i><br/>Sent along was a bottle of sweet syrup, made sharp with citrus, with a few golden flowers suspended in it, and a card, where a dark wine stain was pressed to the paper in a kiss.