Ceara, Secondborn, I hope this letter finds you in poor health and a general state of ruin. It appears that I made a grievous lapse in judgment by letting you and your brigand ilk take shelter in the generous boughs of my arbor. I was promised information, secrets I have been chasing for years, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing but a small army of Lionguard scurrying about my sanctuary where they do not belong. Never mind that you had the nerve—nay, the audacity—to recruit my courtiers away to carry out your pointless schemes. Do you think you are clever? I know you lured Caithe into a trap. I even know that you ensnared my dearheart within your wretched web for a fleeting moment. It must have been quite the intriguing repartee... Enlightening, to say the least. So, heed these words: I will get the answers I am owed. You have exceeded the limits of my patience. Keep an extra eye on the shadows, my dear. Never rest. Never blink. Expect me, Grand Duchess Faolain, Firstborn