Narnia = not mine.

After a couple of months one review made me open up some dusty old files on my computer and start to write a bit more of them. I, personally, think that this feels a little fragmented and generally a bit choppy. Maybe I need to work on multi-character narration.

Prince Hartian of Narnia

The birth ceremony for my cousin's son – the baby that can't even think for itself, yet has already taken my place – is a reason for celebration across the land. The fawns dance all night long, the nymphs and dryads and woodland creature shall be making merry long after the sun has gone down. I too, shall be celebrating. I shall be putting on my own mask of joyfulness in the hope that no one notices my sour face and remarks behind my back about my resemblance to my father.

What do I even want? I'm not even sure I'd know what to do with the throne if someone gave it to me. Maybe it's more the concept of power that appeals to me – would I be a tyrant like my father if I were given the chance? Maybe it is better to be cast aside, to never be given the chance.

My logical thoughts do nothing to change the overwhelming resentment I feel for this Rilian. My cousin decided that Narnia had seen enough Caspians to last all of time, and now it was time to put to rest this name that connoted the iron fisted Telmarine rule, but I note how they still chose a Telmarine name, for all his fine words my cousin is one of them at heart. So am I.

King Caspian X, King of Narnia

The pressures of ruling a kingdom are those that would ruin any man without support. I shall be forever grateful for the likes of Trumpkin and Doctor Cornelius, for without them I know I should crumple. I must sort out the Lone Islands situation and organise the birth ceremony and spend time with my wife and son and look at other matters, more trivial, but still of vital importance to Narnia.

I ought to be relieved now that I have a son, but now I feel as though I have one more thing to fear. Now I know that my child is alive in this world, I want so much to protect him from anything that might come his way. He will become the greatest king Narnia has ever seen, I shall make sure of it. I shall tutor him and teach him all I know, and Aslan shall guide him.

I watch my wife prepare to make the walk down to receive His blessing and I can see that she looks tired, but proud.

I remind myself that I need to find out more about the Lone Islands, and the manner of the invasion. We have not yet received word back from Duke Bern. The mer-people, who are usually such reliable messengers, have been unable to tell me anything.

I must stop worrying. I must enjoy myself, today of all days, when we hold this feast for my son, the Crown Prince of Narnia.

Ramanda, Queen of Narnia

I have never seen the hall look so beautiful. Neither have I seen my husband look so weary. My wonderful boy, Rilian, looks up at me from my arms, where I am cradling him to take him to the altar, where we may ask for Aslan's blessing – but I am sure he must have it already. I swear no other woman's child has ever looked so radiant and good.

When the trumpeters solemnly commence their fanfare, I walk through the hall, my ladies in waiting on either side of me, perhaps to catch me if I fall from weariness. But pride makes me stand tall, as I carry my beautiful Rilian.

Prince Hartian of Narnia

I plaster a smile on my face when the fanfare starts. It doesn't have to be the end of everything. It might as well be a new beginning where I don't have to bother with politics. A new beginning where I can slide comfortably into the background and be an advisor and loving cousin towards dear little Rilian. I'm already starting to hate him.

I can feel my face twisting into a grimace, and I'm careful to stop myself there.

The queen professes to anyone who will listen that her son is the most glorious week old child to have existed in Narnia. Everyone repeats this and soon the whole of Narnia is in love with this boy child. He looks like a shrivelled piece of fruit. I can see no difference between him and any other baby – only that I must bow to this baby and address him as 'your highness,' or perhaps I could call him cousin. I wonder if that would be permitted?

Anyway, this Rilian is an ugly a thing as I've ever seen. Aslan only knows what Ramanda sees in him – her belief in his beauty is genuine, which astonishes me.

They ask the almighty Lion for his blessing at the altar, although we can never know for certain whether their murmurings have any effect. Various delegates from foreign lands make their way to present him with gifts – what use a baby only one week old has for gifts, I know not. The whole ceremony is presumptuous and a waste of time.

Finally, the diplomacy is over and a group of creatures with instruments strike up a lively tune. It is our cue to dance, and I gladly join in. Anything to take my mind off the boy will be welcome.

"Prince Hartian," a young lord, a few years my senior, catches me as I stand, "my cousin, although she is too shy to admit it, wishes for the pleasure of your company in this dance."

I don't know whether I am being mocked or flattered, so I brush him aside and move to the others my age.

Ramanda, Queen of Narnia

The music begins and they start to dance, I do not dance, I am still not well enough recovered from the birth to engage in such a strenuous activity, but instead I watch.

I can see sweet Lucie Eldon, who is the daughter of one of Caspian's most devout followers, dancing with Prince Hartian. He looks content, he is smiling and perhaps he is enjoying the company.

I can see Trumpkin, making a spectacle of himself after a few too many intoxicating beverages, and my heart warms towards to gruff dwarf who has done so much for all of us here.

I know that my husband is beside me, and I turn to look at him. I do not catch his eye, but view the profile of his head. I note the features that made me love him; the strength in his brow and the determination in his eyes. His hair appears to be thinning a little – not already, surely! – and the blonde is losing the battle against a stately grey, which I think suits him just as well. He will be handsome and my husband, Caspian, no matter if he turns green and grows horns. Well, perhaps not so handsome outwardly.

"Would you dance with me, fair queen?" Caspian turns to me and offers his hand.

"Caspian, you know full well I cannot dance in such a fragile state that I am in." Nonetheless, I take his hand, if only to reassure myself of something. He has a firm but gentle grip that is reminiscent of his rule, of his person.

"I promise I shall not dance as the frivolous young men and women do, but in a stately manner, such as befits a king and queen. Surely you would not object to that." He speaks with such mock seriousness in his voice that I find it hard to say no.

"It would be my pleasure, my king," I reply and together we stand.

Duke Bern, Duke of the Lone Islands

I am old.

The men inhabiting my house know this. They show a little compassion, which I am grateful for. I know many of these men, they are not uncivilised, nor are they prone to unnecessary cruelty. On the most part, they appear quite uncomfortable to be in my house and appear to regret taking action against their fellow man. They do not feel the same way about the beasts.

I saw them, yesterday, watching from my window, as they dragged a netted mer-man into the town square. How they tormented and tortured it until the poor creature could no longer find it in his heart to survive. How he died there and the men looked around, pleased with themselves, congratulating one another.

I can only hope that King Caspian the tenth will come to my rescue. It is my unwavering loyalty to my king that leaves me in my current situation. I have nothing to cling on to now but my belief in the young king who has done so much.

I hear the sound of guards talking outside followed by a key scraping in the lock. I had not used those locks in all the time I had been in power.

"So, you are the Duke of these islands." It is a woman's voice. I do not turn from my window to face the entrant. I will not grant her any satisfaction.

"I was." I reply, stiffly and with as much dignity I can muster. She appears to note my use of the past tense.

"You could continue to be so – should you chose to give up these ridiculous beliefs that we are somehow equal to them," the woman appeared to be unperturbed by my lack of movement, "you must know, deep down, that man possesses far superior qualities than any animal."

I do not speak; merely consider how long this absurd coup will last for – quickly calculating how long it will take for Caspian to send ships here to end it all. Although, I am ashamed to admit, my first and foremost thoughts go to my own wellbeing. Will I still be alive when he comes? Do I care?

I realise, with some degree of reluctance, that I possess no heroic qualities. I find myself disinclined to part with my life – I have been used to living for many years now and the more I live, the less I want the ability to do so taken away from me.

Then I think of Caspian – not our current king, but his father – and I remember how all I wanted was to serve him until I died. I remember how I stood up for him after his untimely death. I remember his brother, Miraz, always lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. I remember when he found it.

"What is it you are waiting for, Duke Bern?" she asks, her tone is cruel when she speaks my name, "why do you not turn and face me?"

"I do not face you because I care not what your face looks like. From your voice I can tell that you are a woman, that you were educated on the mainland and that you were of high birth. From your words I find that you are cruel, ignorant and foolish in your beliefs."

"In that case, I shall disturb you no longer, Duke Bern, for I would not be cruel enough to rob Time of the victim he is about to take."

She leaves the room and I turn, just in time to catch the door shutting, firmly and decisively.

A review would make me happy.