The Archduke's Songbird-Chapter 351: The Letter
Jerrick’s eyes blurred as he held the letter in his trembling hands, his heart aching with each word Jessamyn had left behind. Her elegant script wove through the paper, carrying the weight of her regrets, her unfulfilled wishes, and the sorrow of her abrupt departure. It was as if her voice, delicate and haunting, was murmuring in his ears.
"No, My Songbird, I could never be angry at you..." His voice broke, and his fingers traced the lines she had written, pausing on the words where she asked whether he was angry for the way she had left him—without warning, without farewell.
It pained him to think she had planned her departure long before the moment she vanished in that explosion of light. Jessamyn had anticipated his anger, believing it would be the fire that kept him moving forward. She thought his fury might sustain him until time softened the edges of his loss. But Jerrick knew then, just as he had known every lonely night since her passing, that he was not angry with her.
"I am left only with grief, my love," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the room. The grief had settled into his bones like an old companion, filling every hollow space in his heart where she had once been.
Further down, Jessamyn had written of William’s way of coping with loss—his infamous method of drowning sorrow in the arms of many women, of seeking solace in fleeting moments of lust. ’Bed many women,’ she had written. ’Forget me. But do not bring any woman into the Theodulf Castle, to our room. My son cannot live the life I did in my father’s house.’
Jerrick’s lips twitched into a faint, bitter smile. "As if I could even consider being with another woman," he murmured, letting out a sigh that carried the weight of his despair. Jessamyn must have thought him capable of such things, thinking he could move on as easily as William had. But she didn’t understand—or perhaps she did, but underestimated the depth of his love for her.
No, it was understandable since he had married another woman in the past. She knew how much he loved her and how devastating her loss would be for him. She was trying to console him.
The letter, despite the sorrow it stirred, made him laugh softly at times, too. Jessamyn’s wit and warmth, captured in the ink of her words, made her feel so alive in that moment.
In the dark, still room, Jerrick could almost imagine her beside him, teasing him with that knowing smile. He could hear her voice in his mind as if she were reading the letter aloud to him, see the familiar expressions on her face as she spoke through the written words.
Hugging the letter to his chest, Jerrick lay back on the bed, closing his eyes. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to fall into that dangerous fantasy—the one where Jessamyn still existed, where she was waiting for him in some distant part of his mind. But he couldn’t dwell in that imagined world forever.
He had responsibilities, a life to tend to. A son to raise.
With a heavy sigh, he rose and went to tend to Ricky. The little boy squirmed as Jerrick bathed him, splashing water in playful rebellion. Afterward, Jerrick helped him into fresh clothes and gave him a warm glass of milk to drink before bedtime.
"You’ll sleep in your own room now," Jerrick said as he led Ricky to the adjacent chamber. During their travels, father and son had shared the same bed, but now that they were back at the castle, Jerrick knew it was time to follow the traditions of nobility. The young master of the castle needed his own space.
The moment Ricky’s face twisted into a scowl, Jerrick stifled a laugh. His son, who commanded the respect of others with his regal presence, suddenly looked so much like a child—a boy who didn’t want to sleep alone.
"Are you afraid to sleep by yourself?" Jerrick teased, though he knew it would prick at Ricky’s pride.
Ricky’s small jaw clenched in response, and with all the dignity a toddler could muster, he marched toward the door and slammed it shut in his father’s face.
Jerrick chuckled softly as he returned to his own room. Despite everything, the boy still had a heart full of fire.
Once back in his room, Jessamyn’s memory washed over him again like a wave. She filled every quiet moment, every breath. It was as if she was always just out of reach, lingering in the air around him. He lived with her so much in his thoughts that sometimes he couldn’t tell if the memories were real or if his mind had begun to weave its own fantasies.
He fell asleep imagining her beside him once more, the weight of her absence pressing against his chest.
Morning arrived, pale sunlight streaming through the windows. Out of habit, Jerrick went to check on Ricky, expecting the door to be ajar. But it was still shut. His brow furrowed, and he gently pushed the door open, stepping inside. The room was calm, the curtains drawn, and as he approached the bed, he let out a sigh.
"When did you get here, William?" Jerrick asked, his voice a mix of amusement and exasperation.
William lay sprawled on the bed, Ricky snuggled up to him, fast asleep. William rolled his eyes, his silent expression a clear rebuke—blaming Jerrick for thinking Ricky could sleep alone when he had his uncle to run to.
Jerrick stifled a laugh. His son may have acted all grown-up and regal, but when it came down to it, he sought comfort just like any child. And if not from his father, then from William.
Later, after breakfast, Jerrick and William sat in the study, their conversation flowing easily, as it always did. William shared news of the grand coronation being arranged for King Louis. The people of Ayberia weren’t content with the subdued affair held before; they demanded a lavish ceremony to honor their King, who had delivered them from the threat of Altania.
Jerrick listened in silence as William spoke of the noble houses that had conspired against the Kaiser family, now forgiven by the King. The betrayal had stung, but their remorse—and their efforts in defeating the Altanian army—had earned them a reprieve.
Despite the news, Jerrick’s heart remained heavy. The castle felt strange, unfamiliar, as if it were just a hollow shell without Jessamyn. Yet, with William’s frequent visits, he found the strength to stay.
The day of the coronation arrived, and though the Kingdom prepared for grand festivities, Jerrick’s mind was elsewhere—trapped in a world where Jessamyn still lived, where her laughter still echoed through the halls of Theodulf Castle. And even as he donned his formal attire, ready to play the part of the loyal lord, the grief within him never lessened. It only grew deeper, more entwined with his very soul.
