Three more days had passed, and with each one Mya feared she was losing her mind. More gifts had been left outside her window: a book she had been coveting regarding the study of physiology, more herbs—the kind that only doctors were allowed to purchase—and a letter.

She had read that letter more times than she could count, and yet she found herself sitting on the chair beside the window with it in her hand, reading his scrawled penmanship once again.

"Mya, ...