I leaned in, eyes narrowed, expecting to see some high-stakes military movement or a secret cult location. Instead, my eyes scanned the elegant, looping script. It wasn't a report. It wasn't a warning. It was just... fluff. The dangerous kind.
"I miss you, Lucian... shouldn't we hold a tea party soon? From your dearest, Helena..."
I stared at the chit. Then at Lucian. Then back at the chit. I read it again. Just to make sure it was still ridiculous.
I felt a vein in my forehead start to throb.
"What is it?" he asked, looking at me with that infuriatingly calm sigh of his.
"What do you mean, 'what is it'?" I practically shrieked, waving a hand at the window. "Why is your far, far, far—but apparently not distant enough—sister sending you letters like this? A tea party? In the middle of a national crisis?"
