Chapter 1

Edmund sat in his chambers, a scowl upon his face, glaring at the mask that sat on his dresser. Another formality, another useless display of wealth. Another opportunity for the useless air-heads that called themselves women to throw themselves at him.

Damn Susan and her love for parties.

The mask was lovely, onyx and diamond embedded in the delicate metal lattice-work. But it was not him. The Just King let out another frustrated growl, tugging a hand through his dark locks. At twenty years old he was already sick of women and everything they represented.

"Ed," Peter's voice was deep, it enthralled the ladies easily, but in that moment it was resigned. His summer blue eyes watching from behind the intricate lion's mask. The perfect completion for his scarlet and gold tunic. The very image of the noble King. Peter the Magnificent. "Your thoughts show in your eyes."

Edmund shook his head, strapping his sword to the belt he never left behind. It paid to be prepared.

…..

Lady Arianna did not smile, her face hidden by the delicate mask as Cair Paravel rose like a beacon in the distance.

"Keep your head about you, Ari," it was a warning he had given her many times before. And he would for years. He did not agree with her coming that night. Though she highly doubted they would notice until a spy whispered to them in the dark of the night. King Edmund the Just would not miss a thing. But by then it would be far too late.

The dwarf by her side was looking at her; watching her as closely as a hawk would a mouse. But she was not the prey. She could feel everything changing around her: subtly was discarded, thrown away on the wind. She could see all the plans falling into place; plans that had been in place for centuries.

She glanced at the dwarf who had once been in the White Witches army; one who had been her teacher; her mentor.

She shook her head, the steps of her horses steady and even. A constant in the magical land that was called Narnia. She did not smile; but schooled her eyes into merry emeralds; shining like the stones they so perfectly mimicked but betraying none of her thoughts.

She would speak with High King Peter the Magnificent of Narnia before it was too late. She would move in the shadows. They would not find her to kill her. Not yet.

The invitation folded carefully within the bodice of her gown; the lady it belonged to lying in a shallow grave.

…..

The hall was shimmering with a multitude of torches, hung from strands of silver that were strung across the pillars. Upon closer inspection he could see they were crystal balls, with flames flickering inside them. Creatures of all manner flitted smoothly around the small round tables that had been set up near the walls of the hall. The tinkling sound of the waterfalls underlapped everything, giving the hall a peaceful atmosphere. The musicians played a light tune, the flutes and string instruments wound a delightful melody that floated about the room.

Susan had really outdone herself.

But Edmund watched the festivities with a scowl upon his face, not moving from his throne even when the beautiful ladies of the Court surged forward, those braver than the rest. Fluttering eyelashes in a way they hoped would tempt him. He did not glance at the pretty blonde who was chattering away to his right, leaning forward in such a way that he would have ample view of her bosom if he chose to look.

Did she not realise that Peter would enjoy the attention far more? In fact he was laughing boisterously amidst a cluster of females who giggled in return.

He could not let himself relax, not with the northerners raiding the villages, creeping further and further south. He felt the fluttering female move away, scanning the room once more. Invitation only, Susan had said. He'd also doubled the patrol for the night. But he could not dispel the feeling of unease that grew within him.

Perhaps he should dance, perhaps with one of the dryads who flittered through the throng of waltzing couples in twirling circles. Or with one of the nobles wives who would not presume his dancing was an interest in them.

It was barely a glimpse – startling eyes the colour of fresh spring leaves met his from across the room, hidden behind a golden mask inlaid with emeralds and diamonds, as she wound her way towards the dais. He did not recognise her, yet at the same time she was eerily familiar. Something flickered through those pretty eyes; her hands – he imagined – were clenched in her volumous emerald skirts. And then she was gone; disappearing in the throng of dancing couples. He'd met girls before who'd turn their heads and pretend they were interested in the hope that it would interest him. But unease had flared through him when he'd noticed her hidden hands. Hands which could have been hiding a weapon.

It was that and nothing else that caused him to rise from the throne and seek her out. That and nothing else. It had nothing to do with the tempting curls of her lips as they parted slightly, or the shimmering silk curtain of her hair, or the soft golden hue of her skin.

She was fast, almost too fast. But he knew she was human. Even at a distance he had seen the dusting of small freckles across her delicate nose. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, knowing his siblings watched his every move.

…..

Ari wove through the revelries, through the wide open doors that lead to the balcony and the sweeping stairs that descended into the picturesque gardens. Her lungs were tight in her chest, her breath coming in audible pants. She could feel him following her as she ran through the tranquil paths, lined with lovely blossoms. Flames flickered along the path, in tall torches that cast small patches of warm colour over the moon-bleached flowers.

Dread stole through her, as he followed like a shadow in the dead of night.

She'd not expected one so young, or so handsome. She'd seen the paintings of him – dark and regal. She had not expected someone but a few years older than herself.

Her heart beat faster in her chest.

The knives strapped to the insides of her wrists burnt like cold fire. Like the chilly kiss of winter it sent icy shivers through her body that she welcomed.

And then she was slammed against the tree, her wrists pinned above her head, the rough bark digging into her stomach. Fear gripped her. Her attacker did not speak but she knew it was him, she could feel his warm breath blossoming over her cheek, over her neck. She could feel his large hand sliding across her waist, across her shoulders and arms, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Chasing away the coldness within. Everything within her rebelled at the thought of being touched. But she could do nothing, helpless within his grasp.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

One by one the daggers fell to the ground, shimmering icy blue in the moonlight.

Then she was spun around, looking up into his face. The mask discarded, she could see every handsome plane, those dark dark eyes boring into her own. Unbidden a shiver ran through her. She could see why Jadis had wanted him. That dark hair looked heavenly to the touch, his skin soft, his hands rough.

"Who sent you?" that low, deadly growl sent shocks straight through her.

…..

She would have been Peter's type, with those wide eyes and small heart-shaped face. Those lips that were oh so tempting, parted to let her soft breath fan over his face. The silken hair that cascaded about her, unbound in the style that Susan had made fashionable. But he could see past that, he could see the wry strength in those lithe limbs, the concealed tension, hidden by volumous sleeves and lace. She moved with the grace of a born warrior.

The glittering silver daggers that lay in the grass were oddly familiar, but he knew he'd never seen her before. He would have remembered her. Was she an assassin? She was not a true guest, for none would dare bring a weapon inside the home of their host.

"So, Knight of Narnia, what are you going to do with me?" her voice was soft and melodious, her expression demure. His every instinct screamed at him to protect her. But his instincts had been wrong before.

"Who sent you?" he repeated, his patience wearing thin. He knew the moment he released his hold she would flee, disappearing into the night like a wraith. "You weren't on the guest list."

"I should have been," her voice, haughty and aloof, sent a shudder of cold straight to his heart. No…

He glanced back to those daggers. The design…the intricate swirling patterns across the blades that looked like glass…"Jadis…"

Her eyes glanced up to meet his intense ones. A smirk played on her lips. Your close, those eyes seemed to tell him. "Close," the woman laughed, her emerald eyes almost mocking. He imagined if she could she would have bowed mockingly, sweeping her skirts out like a flower spreading its petals. "Arianna of Charn, at your service. Just King."

"Impossible," he breathed, staring at woman before him.

The colouring was all wrong. But it was her face; the expression, the posture.

The White Witch.