Perfume
In the study room, Julius lay slumped over the desk, his head resting on a pile of papers. His voice was heavy with frustration.
"Why should I practice my writing, Henry? I write just fine," he complained.
A bead of cold sweat trickled down Henry's temple as he nervously tried to persuade the prince. "Your Highness, it's a request from my lord. It couldn't be helped."
Julius groaned in protest, lifting his head slightly. "But why?"
Henry shifted uncomfortably. "Your Highness… Do you remember the letters you wrote to my lord?"
Julius perked up. "Right! Why hasn't Maverick replied to my letters? I've sent him one almost every day!"
Henry hesitated, then said carefully, "About that… My lord has mentioned that the letters were… unreadable. Whenever one arrives, he doesn't read it—he just keeps it in his drawer."
Julius frowned. "Where are the letters now?"
Henry pointed to the desk drawer. "Probably inside there."