Journal Entry 64

24.08.2026

My workday started brilliantly, then ended in a blur.

I spent the day coordinating the King’s schedule for the week with Parliament, followed by accepting or declining press interview requests with Jonas. The King’s schedule is so complicated that it is a wonder I can give my friend time to eat, much less breathe.

I need to make sure Jonas is not scheduled two or three weeks—or even months—in advance. Situations arise that the King must address which cannot be scheduled. My opinion on this matter has caused several heated arguments with Parliamentary staff over the last few weeks. Today was no exception, especially following last Friday’s Royal and Parliamentary Declaration.

My expectations for this evening were simple: relax, perhaps watch a film or read a romance novel. My wants and wishes sometimes—well, more often than not—fall apart. I am used to it, but tonight I really wanted to have, um, what is the proper wording these days—“me time”?

After I finished my evening meal, I decided to leave my devices inside and relax in the gazebo. All I wanted was to enjoy nature and the flames rising from the firepit. I must say that this evening’s weather was beautiful, with a slight chill that reminded me autumn was near.

Then Jonas came into view, followed by his head of security, Damien Fernsby.

As the King handed me an envelope, he stated, “This letter arrived for you last week. Damien immediately brought it to my attention, but I decided to hold onto it until after the attention surrounding the Kronensport store’s opening had subsided. Then came the declaration.”

“Who is it from?” I asked, with a hint of excitement in my voice.

“I don’t know,” Jonas replied. “I did not open it, and there is no return address.”

I stared at the envelope, trying to recognize the handwriting.

Then I saw it.

The postmark—Port Deighton Prison, Isle of Füssen, Dorstenland.

I immediately felt nauseous. I could feel my evening meal wanting to exit from its entrance.

I opened the envelope and read the letter.

Without saying a word, I stretched my arm towards the firepit and held both the letter and envelope over the flames until they caught fire.

I do not remember whether I said goodnight to my King or Damien before I suddenly stood. However, I do remember walking up the stairs and into my bedroom.

My dearest journal, the time will come when you will know the contents of this correspondence.

Until then, sleep is calling.