The letter arrived at court at midday, borne by a rider in Eastern livery and sealed with wax the color of sunrise.
It was presented with ceremony, placed upon the long table before the Queen with both hands, as though it were something fragile - or dangerous. The hall had been in quiet discussion moments before; now, it held its breath.
Aya did not reach for it immediately.
She regarded the seal first. The sigil was unmistakable: a sunburst over open gates. The mark of Peduviel. And then, gold and green fields. House Ambrea.
Her fingers stilled against the table.
For a heartbeat, the court saw only a Queen considering a diplomatic missive. No one saw the memory behind her eyes - the only memories Aya had of Peduviel were sun-drenched and gentle, long afternoons walking the flower markets with Nana's arm looped through hers, the scent of citrus and spice carried on warm breezes, and laughter echoing through open courtyards where music never seemed to stop.
