Priscilla's eyes bulged. Her mouth dropped open.
"Letters?" she gasped. "I never sent you letters! I spoke to you at parties, but I never wrote..."
"Dozens of them," Carcel interrupted, ignoring her protest. He looked at the Queen. "For the past months, Your Majesty, I have received these notes. I kept them hidden because I did not want to embarrass Lady Alworth's family. I hoped she would stop."
He pulled one letter from the bundle. He didn't read it, but he held it up so the handwriting was visible.
It was the same loops. The same slanted script. The same handwriting as the black book on the floor.
"But when she attacks my fiancée," Carcel said, his voice hardening, "my patience ends."
He closed the box.
The Queen waved her hand.
"Kinton," she ordered.
The royal secretary stepped forward again. He walked down the steps, approached Carcel, and took the box.
Carcel handed it over willingly. He stepped back, standing tall, his hands clasped behind his back.
