The Princess's Revenge Chapter 126

Delphine’s POV

I was still lying in bed when I heard the knock. I hadn't moved since Valencia left hours ago. My eyes were dry now. I had nothing left to cry.

"Delphine, may I come in?"

Dr. Vance's voice. I sat up slowly. "Come in," I said. My voice came out hoarse, broken.

The door opened and Dr. Vance stepped inside. His expression was gentle, but there was something serious in his eyes that made my stomach clench.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like someone ripped my heart out," I said. There was no point in lying.

He nodded. He didn't offer platitudes or empty comfort. That's what I liked about Dr. Vance. He never pretended things were better than they were.

"I was clearing out Isaiah's workstation in the library today," he said. "I found something."

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. A sealed envelope.

My name was written on the front in handwriting I would recognize anywhere.

To Delphine

Isaiah's handwriting.

I stared at it. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

"This is... Isaiah wrote this?" I whispered.

"Yes," Dr. Vance said quietly. "It was tucked into one of his books. I think he wrote it before... before what happened. He probably meant to give it to you when he moved into the castle."

He held it out to me.

I looked at the letter like it might bite me. My hands started shaking so badly I had to clasp them together.

"I can't," I said.

"Take your time," Dr. Vance said. He set the letter down on my bedside table. "There's no rush. But I think... I think he would want you to read it."

I couldn't look away from the envelope. "Thank you," I managed to say.

Dr. Vance moved toward the door, then paused. "If you need anything, anything at all, come find me. I'll be in my office."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Delphine. Don't sit here alone if it gets too hard."

I nodded, but I couldn't speak anymore. My throat had closed up.

He left, closing the door softly behind him.

I sat there staring at the letter for a long time.

The sun was setting when I finally reached for it.

My hands were still shaking. I picked up the envelope carefully, like it was made of glass. Isaiah had touched this paper. His hand had moved across it, forming my name.

I wanted to open it. I was terrified to open it.

Once I read whatever was inside, that would be it. The last piece of Isaiah would be gone. There would be nothing left but memories and this letter.

I turned it over. The seal was still intact.

"Please don't let it be a goodbye," I whispered to the empty room. "Please don't let him have known."

But even as I said it, I knew that wasn't true. Dr. Vance said Isaiah had written this before the attack. This wasn't a suicide note or a final goodbye.

This was something else.

I took a deep breath and slid my finger under the seal. The paper tore with a soft sound that seemed too loud in the silent room. I pulled out the letter and unfolded it.

Isaiah's handwriting filled the page. Neat, careful letters. He had taken his time with this.

I started to read.

Dear Delphine,

I don't know how to start this letter. I've never been good at expressing my feelings, as you know. But sitting here at my new desk in the library, looking at the wheelchair Gareth made for me, I feel like I need to write this down.

Thank you.

Those two words are too small for everything I want to say. But I don't know what else to say.

Thank you for visiting me every day, even when I shouted at you, even when I cursed you, even when I said cruel things. You always came back. You never gave up on me, even when I had given up on myself.

Thank you for bringing me food, bringing me warmth, bringing me your smile. Even on the darkest days, your smile was the only light I had.

Thank you for fighting for this job for me, for convincing Gareth to make the wheelchair. You gave me a reason to live again.

I know I don't deserve your love. I'm just a cripple, a man with no legs and no left hand. I can't give you any of the things you deserve—I can't dance with you, I can't walk holding your hand, I can't protect you the way a real man should.

But Delphine, I love you.

I have loved you for a long time, ever since you first brought me flowers after one of my performances. I love your gentleness, your strength, the way you look at me—like I'm not a monster, but a person worthy of love.

I was too afraid to tell you. I was afraid you would reject me, afraid I would see pity or disgust in your eyes. So I kept these words locked inside, let them rot in silence.

But now with the wheelchair, with the library job, I'm starting to believe that maybe I can become someone worthy of you. Maybe I can slowly get better, slowly learn to accept myself, slowly find the courage to say those three words to you.

When I move into the castle, when I adjust to this new life, when I don't feel so pathetic and helpless anymore, I'll tell you. I'll tell you properly, bravely, that I love you.

I'll ask if you're willing to give me a chance—not out of pity, but because you truly see that deep inside, I'm still a whole person.

Delphine, you are the best thing in my life. You showed me hope in despair, light in darkness.

I don't know what our future will look like. But I know that as long as you're there, I have a reason to keep living.

When I'm ready, I'll give you this letter. I'll look into your eyes and repeat every word written here.

I'll tell you that I love you.

Forever yours,

Isaiah

The letter fell from my hands.

I couldn't hold it anymore. My hands were shaking too hard, and tears were blurring my vision so badly I couldn't see the words.

He loved me.

Isaiah loved me.

He had loved me all along.

And he had been planning to tell me. He had seen a future. He had seen hope. He had imagined us together, imagined asking me, imagined me saying yes.

The tears came harder. I tried to be quiet at first, pressing my hand over my mouth. But then the sobs broke through, harsh and ugly and desperate.

I grabbed the letter from where it had fallen and pressed it against my chest. Held it there like somehow, if I held it tight enough, Isaiah would come back.

"I love you too," I whispered to the empty room. "I always loved you, you idiot."

The letter stayed pressed against my chest. I could feel the paper crinkling, but I didn't care. This was all I had left of him now. His words. His love. His hope.

All of it gone before it could become real.

"I would have said yes," I sobbed into the pillow. "I would have said yes."

But there was no one there to hear me. Just the letter and the empty room and the unbearable weight of all the things that would never be.

I cried until I had nothing left. Until my body was exhausted and my mind was numb. And still I held that letter against my heart, because it was the only piece of Isaiah I had left.